Dave Beck

I just looked back through the past eight weeks and was surprised to find that I have yet to post a single article about the deer archery season. Then I realized that we are now within the long shadows of the deer gun season. It’s crazy how fast that season silently and quickly slipped in on me. That doesn’t mean that I haven’t been putting in some tree stand time because I have.

Up to this point in time I haven’t been close to a shot opportunity, but I have seen some really nice bucks. One particular night stands head and shoulders above the rest. I got to see something play out that left me awestruck.

My afternoon sit started out like so many other hunts: a few does shuffling in and out of the edges of the woods. As the hunt wore on the deer ventured further into the fields. The first buck showed up but it was just a basket eight pointer. My hunt got a little more exciting when I looked to my left and a decent eight-pointer appeared out of nowhere. It was just windy enough to conceal the walking steps of that buck and if you paid me, I couldn’t tell you where he came from.

The decent eight-pointer wasn’t quite big enough to be considered a shooter, but in another year or so and he could be. A couple more small bucks showed up along with some does. All the deer seemed to be fixed on filling their bellies. There really wasn’t any rutting signs until another buck showed up and changed everything.

A 10-pointer stepped into the field and every deer seemed to be aware of the newcomer. It was almost like the 10-pointer offended the decent eight-pointer by his mere presence. As the eight-pointer sauntered and postured his way towards the 10-pointer, I was guessing that these two had some sort of ongoing bad blood feud.  

The two bucks were about 10 feet apart, both with ears pinned back, locked in a side-stepping duel, each waiting for the other to make the first move. At stake was the all-important position in the breeding pecking order. Not surprisingly the 10-pointer made the first move with a quick one step lunge towards the eight-pointer, but it was nothing more than a bluff. The eight-pointer never flinched and stood his ground. His neck and chest seemed to swell up to twice its normal size. With the 10-pointer in his sights he shot towards the bigger racked buck with speed and determination. What did the 10-pointer do? He folded. He absolutely knuckled under, turned tail and ran away. To put his stamp on “king of the field” the eight-pointer chased the 10-pointer into a thicket. That was the end of a championship fight that never materialized.  

When the eight-pointer returned to the field he was obviously still pretty amped up. He literally ran around and kicked every single smaller buck out of the field to claim the entire property as his. 

Even though I was never remotely close to getting a shot at a deer it turned out to be as great as a bow hunting night can get without bringing home a buck. 

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