Photo: Larry Yuknis of Highland, Ind., was practically on a first-name basis with the many whitetails inhabiting his farm. On the eve of the state's gun season, the bowhunter finally connected with the king of the hill. |
By Larry and Matt Yuknis
My 2005 bow season got off to a very slow start. By Thursday, Nov. 9, two days before Indiana opened the doors to shotgunners, I'd seen nothing of note. Sure, I'd watched a lot of small deer: does, button bucks and about a dozen adolescent bucks. I was even starting to name them.
I had seen some of the same deer so often and so close that I could have jumped out of the tree and landed on them. My favorites were Moe, Larry and Curly. And then there was Abbott and Costello, a pair of 7-pointers who might have been twins.
The deer I was looking for, though, was named Ziggy. That was the nickname my friends and I had used, year after year, for the most dominant buck in the area.
Since Indiana law changed to allow the taking of only one buck per year, I was holding out for a good one, a "Ziggy," so to speak.
On Friday morning, Nov. 10, I went to a treestand at the farthest corner of the property. I sat there all morning and saw only a spike and a few other small bucks. At that point, since the rut was well underway, I wasn't even going to take a big doe because I was afraid that a buck might be trailing her.
After about five hours in the stand, I snuck back out of the woods for lunch at the truck and to decide where I was going to spend the afternoon. On the way out of the woods, as I neared a fork in the farm road, I spooked a couple of does at the edge of the woods about 250 yards from my truck. It wasn't unusual to see deer there, as they often bed down in that section.
But seeing them, as well as the wind direction, helped me decide to hunt that patch of woods in the evening.
Getting back in my stand about 1:30 p.m., I spooked another deer in a nearby ditch. The only thing that kept me in my stand after that was the fact that deer would be moving in and out of the area all day because of the rut. In Indiana, you are able to hunt until half an hour after sunset, but on overcast days it gets very dark, very fast in the woods.
I was on the lower part of a ridge that extended 100 yards west of my stand. I knew that there was a run coming from the top of the ridge that branched off in three directions about 25 yards from me. One run came straight under my tree, through a ditch and into a cut bean field to the south. A second trail wound straight across in front of me. And the third angled away to the northeast. The rest of the area was thick woods and briar patches, except for the field.
I checked my watch at 45 minutes before sunset. It could not have been more than five or 10 minutes later when I noticed antlers bobbing along the brushy ridge. I couldn't see the deer or how big the rack was because of the heavy cover. But I stood up, grabbed my bow and turned to face the deer as it came down the ridge.
At 50 yards, I could see that it was worth taking, probably a 10- or 12-pointer. But I needed to concentrate on when to make the shot, not on counting points. At about 35 yards, when the deer was moving toward the fork in the run, I drew and waited for a clear shot.
As the buck stepped into an opening, I put my sight pin just behind its shoulder. I didn't try to stop it with a whistle because I thought it might bolt. A second later, I let the arrow fly and heard the "thud." The deer jumped and ran to within 10 yards before switching ends and plowing back up the ridge. I could hear the rack and envisioned the arrow hitting branches along the way.
Then the deer did something strange: It stopped, turned and looked back toward me. I was expecting it to fall, but it didn't. In fact, it didn't even act like it had been hit.
At the top of the ridge, it stopped again and looked back. I silently urged it to stop: "Fall down ... just fall down." But it
didn't, instead walking slowly over the ridgetop until I could see only antlers. When it finally disappeared, I didn't know if it had fallen or not.
Sitting in my stand, I tried to figure out what went wrong. The buck had already traveled more than 100 yards. If I'd hit it where I thought I did, it should have dropped before that.
With only an hour of daylight remaining, I had to decide how soon to track the deer.
I waited half an hour, which seemed more like three hours, and then I began tracking. I didn't know what I would find on the other side of the ridge. I followed the buck's path up the hill, finding neither blood nor arrow. I had marked the spots in my mind where it had paused. At the first spot, there was a pool of blood the size of a pie plate. That was it until I reached the crest and another small pool.
A little farther, I began seeing more specks. But the trail petered out after another 25 yards. That's when I decided to go home. I was upset, tired and worried.
The next day, after almost no sleep, I continued my search soon after sunrise. Starting back at the beginning, I found half of my arrow part way up the ridge. I knew then that the other half and the broadhead were still in the deer.
Finding a spot of blood here and there, I tracked for two hours and covered another 200 yards until I finally found my deer. When I twisted its head for a good look at the rack, I was shocked.
I called my youngest son, who was home on break from college, because I needed help to get the buck out of the woods. I told him that I had shot Ziggy. He knew what I meant, even if he didn't believe me. But he still eagerly drove the 50 miles from home to the farm.
When he saw the animal, he almost whispered: "Holy (deer manure) ... It IS Ziggy!"
The 14-pointer dressed out at 198 pounds. It would have been much heavier a few weeks earlier, but the rut had taken its toll.
BTR Score: 176 5/8
-- Larry and Matt Yuknis
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