To be or not to be afield, that is the question: Whether it is better to hold off during archery’s early season and wait for the rut or to take part in opening day.
There are those trophy hunters that would never begin hunting the archery deer season until the third week in October so as not to run the risk of messing up a chance at a more careless buck later on. Their rationale may even make a fair amount of sense.
To me, however, opening day reminds me of Christmas morning when I was a boy. My parents would remind me not to get up too early so they could sleep in. I knew Santa Claus had dropped off the presents, just like he had done faithfully in prior years. Maybe just a little peek toward that decorated conifer that graced our living room by the picture window. That’s all it took. “Mom! Dad! Santa was here! Get up! Get up!” That sleeping-in thing never went past 7am.
Over five decades later, little has changed. The “presents” are still under the trees and, if nothing else, October 1 means time to peek into the whitetails’ world.
My hunting partner, Joe, decided on a half-mile walk to an elevated stand that would face directly into the gusty south wind. I chose a south-facing stand overlooking a few acres of alfalfa, turnips, and scattered conifers amid tall, natural ground cover.
Before long, Joe came over the two-way radio whispering that he had spotted a doe, which upon closer examination turned out to be a button buck – a male fawn exercising his right to roam. A while later, he reported a few more deer sans headgear, but at least he had some action.
If it weren’t for the mosquitoes that had reminded me about my failure to pack insect repellant, little else was moving. After noticing a distant white object, my Leupold binoculars confirmed it to be a great egret perched high in a barren deciduous tree. The all-white, three-foot tall winged bird had been seen several times along the swamp this summer and was taking in what was left of our unseasonally warm weather.
But, as the first afternoon hunting session was drawing to a close, movement caught my eye some 100 yards away. The field’s year-long growth obscured my view, but it didn’t take long for me to realize it was the antlers of a buck moving at a right angle from my secluded hideout.
I grabbed my grunt tube and sent some music downrange. No response. The respectable 8-point buck was on a mission away from me. With nothing to lose, I gave the grunt call another chance. The tall, white antlered buck kept a steady pace out of sight, never hearing my anxious solicitations.
As light faded into the close of opening day, I was glad “to be.” And, please. Enough with the silly questions.
