HELMER - It is the third week of November and whitetail bucks are on the move.
Driven half crazy by the desire to mate, their legendary guard is down as they prowl the cedar, larch and fir forests near here.
Now is the time of year, just a short weeklong window really, when they are apt to step into an opening without looking, or cruise through a thick stand of trees with their heads down and their blood up.
But bagging a whitetail buck is no simple task even during the rut. Hunters like me have to move with stealth, be in the right place at the right time, exercise patience and be prepared for the unexpected.
A rut-crazed buck can react in a fraction of a second if he notices something out of the ordinary and he's not likely to make the same mistake twice. I've already missed one opportunity this week and the next several days will determine if it haunts me all winter.
I picked a spot where a finger ridge joins a broad, flat ridge darkened by thick timber. Expecting the bucks to be using the wind to their advantage, I sat facing east with the stiff breeze pushing at my back. After about 40 minutes my mind wandered, as it often does while hunting. Then I noticed the unmistakable shape of a deer in my peripheral vision. It was behind me, walking with the wind at its back and it was close.
"Don't move," I thought. "Perhaps it will walk right past me and I will get a shot."
I don't know if I twitched, it saw my unfamiliar shape or caught my scent, but that plan vaporized as quickly as the panicked strategy was formed. I heard the deer bound away and spun desperately trying to see if it was a buck. As they typically do, the deer stopped and looked back at me. Of course it was a buck and a nice one. I didn't catch the number of points but noticed its antlers were wide. Before I could raise and shoot, the buck was gone.
I stayed put for five or 10 minutes and then made a slow loop, hoping to catch him trying to outflank my spot. But he was gone and I was left thinking of the other bucks that I've missed over the years.
There was the one I nearly bumped into. I was cold and hiking up a ridge with my head down and my hands in my pockets. I looked up and was shocked to see an exceptional buck walking down the ridge tasting the air with his tongue. He was so close - no way to raise and shoot without being seen. Again I tried to freeze, hoping he would turn left or right and pass behind a tree, a bush, anything that would give me a chance to shoulder my rifle and shoot. But he kept coming, looking right past me. Finally he saw me and jumped away.
Then there was the buck that waltzed into the clearing I was watching. A doe had passed through the same opening about 20 minutes earlier and he was on her trail. "He's so close," I thought. "I'll shoot him in the head so I won't spoil any meat."
I steadied myself and sailed a .30-30 round right between his antlers and an inch or two over his head.
They were all monsters, of course, bigger than any I've managed to shoot. And they are the ones I think about while sitting, watching and listening to the sounds of the forest and hoping for a buck to appear.
Maybe today will be the day.
Barker covers environmental and outdoor issues for the Tribune. He may be contacted at ebarker@lmtribune.com or (208) 848-2273.
