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

Tripod

In the late 1980’s, my buddy Austin “Dump” Brown and I were regularly hunting a property owned by a friend near Paw Paw. In early Fall, while scouting, we saw a buck with a very pronounced limp. After getting a better look at him, we realized he was missing his left front leg below the knee, probably from being shot the year before, or having been struck by a vehicle. We immediately decided that we would try to take this buck.

A short time later, the first week of West Virginia bow season in October, I had a chance at him. I was hunting with another of our friends, Phil Guard, in the same area where Dump and I had seen the three-legged buck. Phil and I were hunting about 40 yards apart on a ridgetop where deer often crossed in the morning when they left a nearby orchard. This was a technique we used quite a bit back then. With two hunters set up 40 yards apart, a deer was not likely to pass between us without offering a shot at 20 yards or less to one of the hunters. We also tried to make sure we could shoot 20 yards off to either side of our positions. That way we could cover 80 yards of a good crossing area without anyone needing to shoot more than 20 yards. It was a method that had paid off for us many times.

On this morning, we could see a group of does coming up the side of the ridge. As planned, they passed between us, unaware of our presence. Following a short distance behind, was the injured buck. Instead of following the does, he stopped, looked around, and calmly turned to his left, heading down a trail running parallel to the ridge instead of crossing over it.

He came into an open area through the trees and paused. I estimated him to be at about 30 yards from my position. I drew my bow, settled my sight pin right where I wanted it, smoothly released an arrow…and missed.

The open area through the trees had fooled me on the distance. I had estimated him at 30 yards. He was closer to 40. My arrow sailed harmlessly just under his rib cage right behind his right front leg. He bolted away down the ridge. I noticed that he did not limp when he ran. We hunted the property a lot through the rest of October and early November. We never saw him again during that time.

The first day of rifle season, the Monday before Thanksgiving, he was sighted again. My Dad was driving out just before first light to watch a powerline right of way on the same property we had been hunting. Before he got to the property, Dad saw a buck that was missing a front leg, limping back across the orchard, headed the other way. With all the hunters in the woods for opening day of gun season, the buck had likely seen, heard, or smelled people in the woods he normally travelled through in the morning. He simply turned around and slipped away. We never saw him again during gun season.

Then, in December, Dump and I were hunting West Virginia’s muzzle loader season. By this time, Dump had started calling this cagey buck Tripod. He didn’t say a whole lot, but I knew Dump was hunting for this buck. It was brutally cold, with snow on the ground. Dump was in a stand very near to where I had missed Tripod during early bow season. Shortly after daylight, a doe came by the stand and headed down the ridge. A few moments later, Dump could see a deer coming with a distinct limp. With one well-placed shot from an  old side hammer muzzle loader, the saga of Tripod was over.

Although he didn’t have a huge set of antlers, this buck was a true trophy to take under those conditions. He had managed to survive through bow and gun seasons, in a heavily hunted area, without even being seen for long periods of time. He earned our respect and finally met his end at the hands of a good hunter, hunting in very harsh conditions, with a primitive weapon. He lives on in our memories as Tripod, a true survivor.

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

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

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

The Second Day Buck

Opening day of West Virginia deer firearms season is a yearly event that I have looked forward to since before I was old enough to even carry a gun. It is still one of my favorite days of the year. I’ve missed very few of them in the last 50 years or so. But sometimes other things in life have taken priority.

In the mid 1990’s, my daughter, Caitlin Shambaugh, was a little girl  struggling with some health problems. She was having a lot of cold/sinus issues, ear infections, and had even had pneumonia several times. Her pediatrician recommended she have her tonsils removed and tubes put in her ears to help correct these problems. So, the surgery was scheduled for — you guessed it — opening day of deer season! I definitely would not be hunting that day, or even thinking about it. Even though I was convinced that the procedure was the best course of action, and low risk, I was terrified for Caitlin to have this surgery.

Thankfully, the procedure was very successful, and later proved to be extremely helpful for her. She was only in the hospital for one night, was released the next morning, and happily settled in back home by 11 a.m.

With deer season in, and things all secure at home, by about 11:30 that morning, I grabbed my gear and was headed for the woods.

It was a mild, sunny afternoon for late November. It seemed like I had no sooner gotten settled into my stand when I spotted a big doe walking slowly along a trail on the ridge across from me. Following the doe, was a nice 8-point buck. My old 77 Ruger barked, and the buck dropped on the spot. When I looked at my watch, it was just before 1 p.m. I had been in the woods for less than an hour.

I vividly remember the overwhelming emotions of that moment. Of course, I had tremendous feelings of gratitude that things had gone so well for my little girl. I also felt very fortunate to be able to get into the woods so soon.  I felt even more fortunate to have been blessed so quickly with such a nice buck, after missing opening day.

Many different things can make a hunt memorable — an exceptional animal, beautiful country, good luck, bad luck, etc. But if a person lives the outdoor lifestyle, sometimes events surrounding a hunt can leave even more of an impression than the hunt itself. In this case, hunting, or taking a deer, was not a priority until much more important things were resolved. But as soon as everyone was doing well at home, the hunt was back on. It really is a way of life for many folks.

I will always remember the range of emotions I felt during the events leading up to that hunt and will always feel especially grateful for The Second Day Buck.

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

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

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

The Suitor Buck

In the late 1990’s I was bow hunting on a friend’s property near Paw Paw. I was sitting in a “chain on” portable tree stand, high in an oak tree. The stand location was about 40 yards from the edge of a field, just south of the intersection of two steep hollows leading to the corner of the field from known deer bedding areas to the north and east. Deer often hung out in the area around the stand, to feed on acorns, before entering the field in the late afternoon. The prevailing west wind usually made this a great spot to sit, as the stand kept deer that were coming into the field from either bedding area from picking up a hunter’s scent, even when they passed by very closely.

It was November 13th, and the whitetail deer rut was in full swing. I watched several deer approach from the east and begin milling around in front of my stand.

One thing that was interesting to watch was the interaction between a nice mature doe and a small spike buck. From the little buck’s actions, it was obvious that the doe was in some state of estrous. He repeatedly approached her and it appeared that he was trying to breed with her. The big doe wasn’t having any of his advances. She would whirl around to face him, and even struck him with her front hooves to chase him away.

As I was watching this play out, I noticed another deer approaching from the north, the only deer to come from that direction. The hollow in which this deer was travelling dropped down steeply from the corner of the field, so I was looking down at this deer from a considerable height. This also meant that he could not see the other deer at the edge of the field, and they could not see him, but I could see all of them.

This buck then stopped and went through the full ritual of making a scrape. He pawed out a spot in the leaves, while working an overhead branch, then urinated across the scent glands located on his back legs into the bare dirt he had exposed. This was first time I had ever gotten to observe this magnificent spectacle. He then came strutting and posturing up the hollow to the area where the other deer were.

The spike buck, which the doe had chased away, was standing about 30 yards from the other deer, He immediately left the area when the big buck came into view.

The doe then approached the big buck. When they came nose to nose, she veered off to her left, with the him following. After just a few yards, she paused and let the big buck mount and breed her. After repeatedly driving off the small buck, she had obviously picked her suitor.

All of the deer then moved forward towards the field, with the big buck bringing up the rear. I made a clean shot on him at about 12 or 13 yards, putting a broadhead tipped arrow through both lungs. He bolted about 60

yards and crashed within sight of the stand.

Besides taking a nice buck, I felt incredibly privileged to have gotten to observe the breeding rituals I saw that evening, especially the big doe picking her mate.

That’s why I named him “The Suitor Buck.” 

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

The post Bucks I have known: Part XII appeared first on Morgan Messenger.

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

The Old Warrior

Several years ago, the Sideling Hill Wildlife Management Area in Morgan County opened to public hunting. I hunted there on opening day of West Virginia General Firearms Season, but did not see a buck I wanted to shoot. I did manage to find a big female coyote, and happily brought her off the mountain with me.

The second day of the season found me back at one of my favorite spots in some rough ground on nearby private property that a good friend allowed me to hunt. This spot always seems to have more deer later in the morning, or midday, than it does early in the morning.  I often would hunt another spot early at dawn, then slip into this area later in the day. It is a steep, rocky area, and doesn’t usually seem to hold a lot of deer until they got pushed by people hunting the surrounding area.

But since this was the second day of season, and there is usually a lot of hunting pressure on the surrounding properties on opening day, I thought I would go ahead and watch this area at first light.

It was a decision that paid off. Shortly after daybreak, I spied movement on a trail low on the ridge across from me. Looking through my binos, I saw a big-bodied old buck heading down along a rock ledge into the laurel thickets below. By the time I managed to get him in my scope and drop him with a clean shot, he was only a few steps from safety.

He didn’t have what most people would consider a pretty rack. His antlers and body were pretty broken up from fighting. But he is one of the most treasured game animals I have ever taken.

By dawn, he was already as far away from most of the hunting pressure in the area as he could possibly get. He only needed a few more steps to be safe for the rest of the day. There is no way to know how many years he had survived by doing this.

I felt honored and grateful to cross paths with such a survivor. I have to admit, even though I was happy to take him, I couldn’t help but feel a little sadness at his death. In the end, a bullet was much more humane than whatever nature likely had in store for him that coming winter.

He was obviously an old fellow and his body had taken a beating. The meat was dark red and tough.  We boned out the carcass, ground everything, and seasoned it for sausage, which was excellent. I felt that being too tough for steaks was a fitting end for such a tough old fellow. Not a bit of him was wasted. I have a “European” skull mount of his antlers displayed in my home.

He now lives in my memories as The Old Warrior.

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

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