This is the fourth in a multi-part series of columns about memorable deer that stand out from decades of whitetail hunting.

Chief

In October 2019, I was bow hunting on a friend’s property in Morgan County, near the town of Paw Paw. I had several deer pass by me, along the edge of a small field. A couple of the big does started staring across the field, as if they were slightly alarmed. A few seconds later, a buck appeared over the brow of the hill and ran through the middle of the other deer in the field, scattering them in all directions. He had a tall 8-point rack, but it was not very wide or heavy. I decided to not shoot him. I took a couple of photos of him with my phone and watched him strut away. When I told the couple who own the property about seeing this buck, the wife said “Oh yeah, that’s Chief. He runs all the other deer away from him. He is in charge.”

Fast forward to 2020, on the same date. I was sitting in the same stand, watching a few does and a spike buck in the field. Once again, a tall racked 8 point came charging through the middle of the herd, stopping 20 yards in front of my stand. His antlers were bigger and heavier than they had been the previous year.

This time, I sent an arrow through his vitals. After a quick dash halfway back across the field, Chief expired, leaving a vacancy for another buck to be in charge.

The First Slab Pile Buck

Many properties that have been traditionally used for hunting for long periods of time, have various landmarks that have a reputation for being good spots to watch for deer.

Hunters will meet the evening before a hunt and discuss who is going to sit where.

Conversations might sound something like… “I’ll sit at the Big Maple Tree in the morning.”

“OK, I think I’ll go out by the Tall Pine, then.”

“Put Jake out by Uncle Eddie’s Rock. He should see something there.”

A friend once invited me hunting on a large piece of property in Hampshire County. We met with the landowner a couple of days before the opening of West Virginia gun season, got our written permission, and made plans to hunt there on the opener. I had never hunted or scouted the property before and had no idea where to go.

My buddy, who had hunted the property for years, suggested that he would drop me off before daylight at “The First Slab Pile.” That sounded as good as anywhere else to me. At least I would have a landmark.

Dawn came with the mountain completely fogged in. I saw a few deer picking their way through the rocks, but visibility was extremely limited. Finally, about 10:30 in the morning, the fog cleared off, and I could see several nice buck rubs around me. It looked like I was in a good spot.

About 11 a.m., I glanced behind me. I can’t honestly say if I heard something or was just scanning the area. But as I looked back, I saw a big doe coming down the mountain, with a nice buck following behind. As they turned to my left and started out the mountain, I dropped the buck at about 60 yards. It was over that quickly.

I’m not sure what the odds would be of a hunter going into an area on the mountain where they had never been, picking out a spot to sit in the dark, then killing a nice buck, but I felt pretty lucky. The First Slab Pile Buck is definitely one for the memory bank.

Wade Shambaugh has lived in Morgan County his whole life and is a lifelong outdoorsman.

The post Everyday Outdoors: Bucks I have known, Part IV appeared first on Morgan Messenger.

Slow down to “woods time”

It was West Virginia “Buck Season” — 1986. I didn’t know it, but I was about to learn a valuable lesson. I was sitting on steeply-leaning tree, which jutted out from an even steeper hillside, simply straddling the tree, as if riding a horse. A deep fork at the top of the tree made a natural rifle rest. I was young enough and foolish enough to enjoy using such an uncomfortable and unsafe “stand.”  My attention was focused on heavily-used deer trails on the ridge across the hollow from my perch.

Suddenly, in the laurel right under my tree, a big set of antlers simply appeared, hovering above the bushes. A second later, with one step, the rack vanished once again into the laurel thicket. I was mentally kicking myself for being so engrossed with glassing the trails on the other ridge that I had let a really nice buck slip in, then slip away. I felt like my hunt was over. I continued to sit in the tree but had really given up on the hunt for the day.

Then, at least 20 minutes later, the buck carrying the big antlers stepped into an open spot and I shot him at about 40 feet! He hadn’t gone anywhere. In fact, he had moved less than 20 feet in twenty minutes.

Animals don’t have the same concept of time that we do.

The world most of us live in moves at a rapid pace. It seems that we always have somewhere we need to go and something we need to do. Most people have a very short attention span. It’s hard for lots of folks to slow down to “woods time.”

The next time you go hunting, try allowing yourself a little more time walking to your stand. If you feel the urge to head back to camp, allow yourself to sit another 20 or 30 minutes. If you are still hunting, spend more time looking than walking. Pause for a second before stepping over that ridge, or around that turn in the logging road. Don’t let yourself rush.

Good luck to all the hunters heading into the West Virginia fields and forests next week. Hunt hard. But remember, slow your mind down to “woods time.” Not only will slowing down a bit make for a more enjoyable, relaxing outdoor adventure, it will likely make you a safer, more successful hunter.

Wade Shambaugh has lived in Morgan County his whole life and is a lifelong outdoorsman.

The post Everyday Outdoors: Slow down to “woods time” appeared first on Morgan Messenger.