Southern Michigan Deer Opener

By Glen Wunderlich

Opening day of firearms deer season didn’t go as planned. Mother Nature saw to that by sending heavy cloud cover across southern Michigan. Hunters that had set up for long-range shooting had no choice but to wait it out. Normally, the eager throng of deer hunters provides the percussion section of the music that is opening morning. This time, the band was missing a few drummers.

Certainly, the fog was a contributor to the relative silence. So, too was the fact that opening day fell on a Tuesday. For me, however, Murphy’s Law joined forces with nature to force plan B into action.

If ever my friend, Joe Reynolds and I, get an early start, it’s on the opener. I shouldn’t have had to worry about a thing, because weeks ago, I had installed a good padlock on my hunting shack, because of vandals and thieves. The fog had yet to roll in and moonlight allowed me to find my stand after a half-mile trek in the wee early-morning hours without aid of artificial light. When I reached for the hidden key, it was gone. So were my plans to hunt with my .45-70 single-shot pistol in the chosen location.

Mr. Murphy sent me back to camp, for my single-shot slug gun. Plan B now had me relegated to an open area with the long gun amid the dense fog. Joe, on the other hand, was perched high above thick, low ground along a creek over 300 yards from me.

A week before, Joe had issues with his new Mossberg model 500 with its fully rifled barrel. For whatever reason, his Leupold scope, purchased on eBay, seemed to be the culprit for inconsistent groups at the range. He then swapped out the scope for a quality Leupold VX 3 and was back in business.

The new Mossberg rang out at 7:30 am and the voice on the other end of the two-way radio said, “That was me!” Our self-imposed 8-point-minimum antler rule meant it was a good buck but recoil and heavy cover had Joe wondering how good the shot was. Although several accompanying does had not left the scene for quite some time, the buck had vanished.

Impulse compels a hunter to begin looking; experience dictates otherwise. We waited for three hours and headed back to camp and prepared for the tasks of field dressing and dragging. We also picked up a helper, Joe’s mixed-breed Lab, Cocoa, in case tracking was in order.

At the scene, Cocoa led the way sniffing at a low hanging branch along the perceived escape route. I followed along expecting to find the prize at any instant. Whether it was Joe’s fault for not allowing his retriever to pull him through the tangled brush or the dog got confused in the ensuing chaos, no deer was found. So, I backtracked, picked up a blood trail, and eventually found the 8-pointer less than 50 yards from where it was hit.

Joe had placed the12-gauge, 3-inch Federal Premium, 325-grain Barnes tipped projectile on target for a humane kill and completed a fulfilling deer season, after only 30 minutes. For me, the season continues.

Oh yeah, the key to my hunting shack was found during daylight hours.  Apparently, high winds had blown it into some tall grass.