There wasn't any exclusive hunting property involved. No Booner bucks were sighted, or killed. And no, Crazy, Tiffany Lakosky wasn't there.
I just got back from a seven day hunting trip in Southern Indiana ... the land of my birth and raising. All hunts took place in the beautiful steep ridges and hollows of Jefferson County, where my brother Eric lives, and the somewhat more moderate but just as scenic and pastoral terrain of Decatur County, where we both grew up. Some of our hunting was on land that belongs to a Indiana Conservation Officer friend of ours, some on land that he has hunting rights on, and some on land that Eric leases.
I spent my mornings and evenings in the following array of stands:
The Crow's Nest
This was a permanent stand built of treated lumber in a three-forked maple tree overlooking the intersection of three trails in heavy woods ... very high and very cozy ... when the wind blew and it rocked, it made you feel like shouting, "Land Ahoy!"
The Buzzard's Roost
Another permanent stand built in another three-forked tree overlooking a twelve-acre field, two trails and a mowed path. So named because the first evening I was in it, the vulture activity in the proximity was, well, shall we say pronounced ... due to the gut-pile from my brother's deer kill that morning.
The Urinator
Yet another permanent stand built into two trees, overlooking a ridge-top pasture and a path descending into an unbelievably steep and deep crevasse lovingly called the Ho-Chi Minh Trail by it's owner and my brother. The Urinator features a corrugated black-plastic pipe affixed to one of it's trees by the owner ... intended for, well, urinating. Very unique. The smell that arises from the mouth of that tube when it is used for it's intended purpose is not to be described.
Squirrel Valley
Would you believe it? Yes ... another permanent stand built into a a forked tree and another tree, situated in a bottom between two hills studded with wonderful Indiana hardwoods. At one time in this stand, I had six big fox squirrels and three grays in sight ... and there was a perfect rain of walnut hulls coming down.
Tobbaco Road
A ground blind situated just inside the woodline from a pasture, overlooking yet another incredible descent into one of Jefferson County's ravines ... constructed of tobacco sticks (anyone familiar with Burley tobacco will know what I mean) and burlap.
Our Success:
On Saturday morning, my little brother killed a sleek young four-pointer from the Buzzard's Roost. It was a close shot, and well placed. As he is somewhat color-blind, I helped with the trailing.
Good blood, right away:
Within 60 yards, we found his deer, dead as yesterday's news, and ready for field-dressing:
Tenderloins for supper!
On Wednesday evening, I was in the Squirrel Valley stand:
It was a beautiful fall day, and the woods was perfectly alive with critters. I was constantly entertained by tree-rats, and was watching a group of hen turkeys pick their way toward me when I heard the unmistakable "crish-crush-crish-crish" of a group of deer descending a steep hill on autumn leaves. I slowly eased around and soon saw the flick of a deer's ear ... then I made out the whole deer ... and then two more. It was a huge old horse of a doe and two early fawns ... big themselves.
She slowly made her way along the woods edge and out into a path beside my stand, and looked ready to cross the creek ... so when she got within twenty yards, I let her have it. As she was slightly quartering towards and about twenty-five feet down, I shot her high in the foreshoulder. The double "THWACK-thwack!" upon my release told me all I needed to know. As she ran down the pasture I saw the entry hole, just where I'd intended it to be. At about 60 yards, she stopped and stood ... reeled and fell. I got down and looked at the arrow ... pass through!
I let down my gear, went to check her, touched her eye and went to get Eric.
One for Team Carolina:
Tenderloin for supper!
As I said, it was a dream hunt.
Not because it was anything special in the eyes of so many, but because it was special to me.
A week's worth of mornings and evenings hunting with my brother.
Staying at Mom and Dad's.
Hunting on a friend's land right where I grew up.
Helping Eric recover a fine young buck.
Killing a fine old doe.
Making memories that will go to my grave with me.
You can't beat that with the proverbial stick, folks.
BTW ... we did see, while driving to our hunting area one morning, a buck the like of which does not exist in North Carolina, or in many places ... and he still had a lot of growing to do. There are BIG BUCKS in the Hoosier State!
