Your Time Has Come

As a career wildlife scientist, Dave Samuel knows about big bucks. And now he knows one intimately.

It almost never happens, but at some rare moment, that monster buck could head your way...

"RUBY, LOOK AT this deer trail," I said. "Four hot scrapes in 40 yards. And look at that huge buck rub over there."

"I know, Dave," Ruby answered. "But the buck that rubbed that tree won't come up this trail. He'll stop at the intersection right there, and continue on around that beaver pond."

"Maybe so, but there are no trees close to that trail. So let's put the stand here and give it a try."

I was in western Iowa, bow-hunting at the end of October with outfitter Ruby Custer. The rut was just getting started, and I'd seen a fine 135-inch buck each of the past two evenings. Twice, having come up an oak ridge from a bedding area, he walked right through the middle of a cut corn-field. I needed to get in a position to get a shot at this buck. After the morning hunt, Ruby and I went down the oak ridge to check out the situation. We quickly found a cow path of a deer trail with two forks. One fork went right up the ridge to the cut field, and the trial had not scrapes along the way. The other fork went around the beaver pond, up along a far field, and finally to the cut cornfield. Normally, any stand along the ridge would carry scent into the bedding area. But we now had a rare east wind, and if that continued, this stand just might work.

With all this positive sign and the east wind holding, I got into the stand early, and within a few minutes the area settled down. A few gray squirrels were doing their fall thing, and somewhat later a small flock of turkeys fed by. This area was around 80 percent corn, soybeans and old fields, and 20 percent oak forests. Apparently that made for perfect habitat for wild turkeys, because they were everywhere.

But I was after an Iowa white-tail. At 4:30 p.m. a red fox sneaked by the edge of the beaver pond, 80 yards below the stand. Ten minutes later, the 135-inch buck made his appearance, but he did not walk up the scraped trail. Instead, he moved through a thicket 15 yards past that trail, headed, as always, for the cut cornfield. Normally I'd have been disappointed at not getting a shot at such a fine buck, but that feeling of loss was tempered. by the knowledge that I might see much bigger bucks. On the trail from the bedding area we had found two rubs on trees as, big as my waist. Obviously some huge corn-fed bucks lived in the area.

So I settled back in my tree-stand to wait -- and I didn't have to wait long. Fifteen minutes before dark, he appeared. You dream about huge bucks, you hunt them for a lifetime, you hope that each time you hear footsteps in the leaves your time has come, that the boomer of a lifetime is headed your way. But it never happens, or, at least, almost never. But when you hunt prime places, like this one is Iowa, your chances of seeing such a buck increase considerably.

This guy appeared as if by magic. He didn't make a sound. He just walked down the trail from the bedding area. Cool, No hurry. He'd step carefully and then stop and stand for a few minutes before walking a bit more. Looking at his heavy, high, wide antlers, I knew this was the biggest buck I'd ever had within bow range.

He paused at the intersection and drank from a little pocket of water. Then he started up the trail toward me. Ruby, I thought, you were wrong; here he comes. But no. He stopped at the first scrape, pawed the ground, and stuck his head into overhanging branches. Then this great animal turned, went back to the intersection, and exited off to my left on the trail around the beaver pond, just as Ruby had predicted. He moved oh so slowly, stopping, staring, and standing. Each step took him just a bit farther away from me. I hurriedly looked ahead and found one opening where there might be a shot. If he'd just walk through that opening. I began to talk to myself. You stop there big guy, with your head and butt behind those two elms, quartering away, and I just might have a change.

Five minutes later, the buck stopped right there.

In recent years, farm-country bucks have gotten lots of fanfare. Iowa, Kansas, Illinois, and Nebraska are states that don't hold many deer compared to some of our Eastern states, but they are producing more and more great animals. Life for such deer is not the same as in forested areas. Farm-country whitetails have to adjust to a life with little permanent cover. They also have to live in a habitat where cover and foods change with the seasons. For example, during the summer, adult bucks often spend long periods in uncut cornfields, which provide food and cover. Once the fields are cut in the fall, that cover disappears.

Even though farm-country habitat lacks extensive timber stands, whitetails do well with what cover exists. The cores of their home ranges -- the core being the area that is used most intensively -- tend to be small, reflecting either a reluctance to move around in open country, or good food availability. Farm-country fawns have home ranges of only 15 acres. Adult males in the breeding season have home ranges of 1.25 square miles (800 acres), and this increases to 1.7 square miles (1,088 acres) in the winter.

In forested habitats, adult bucks have larger home ranges than younger bucks. Not so in farm country. There is no significant correlation between the age of deer and the size of their home ranges in farm country. And once an older buck settles down (at two years of age), he doesn't move far from one year to the next. For a big buck in farm country, chances are the center of his home range won't change by more than a half-mile from one year to the next. For example, an Illinois study showed that the center of a four-year-old buck's wintering area was only 500 yards from his previous year's winter range. Even though big bucks don't move around much, they are very hard to pattern. Heck, they are hard to find. Mature bucks in farm country are so nocturnal that they might be seen only once, and then never again -- ever. It makes you wonder where they go.

THE WEATHER THE last of October was cold. Not overpowering, and no snow, just mid-20-degree weather that put a chill in your body. There were two other bowhunters in camp -- Regan Martin from Louisiana and his buddy Tony from North Carolina. Regan had already rattled in and shot a 130-inch buck, and Tony would do the same the day after I left camp. The first day I had seen no deer, the second only two does. The third day I saw 15 does and two small bucks. The fourth and fifth evenings found me at the cut cornfield, where I'd watched that 135-buck. The sixth and last evening brought the moment of truth.

As the buck stopped in the pre-selected opening, I was already at full draw. The flight of the white-fletched Gold Tip arrow looked good, and the buck crashed down the trail beside the beaver pond. He broke two large limbs, which seemed like a good sign. He was out of control.

I waited 10 minutes, then quietly climbed down to investigate. My arrow was not to be found, but some small splotches of blood indicated a solid hit. I got out a flashlight and slowly moved along the trail, trying to piece together a blood trail. But the blood vanished. Maybe the buck had bedded, and, if so, I didn't want to push him. Rather than plowing around in the dark, I decided to come back in the morning. I urinated in the trail and left my coat hanging there to deter any coyotes that might come along during the night and then hiked a mile to the road. Tony and Regan were waiting in the truck. We discussed the situation and decided to return at first light. Back at the farmhouse, Ruby concurred.

The morning brought heavy cloud cover, and just at daylight rain fell hard for 30 minutes. So much for following a blood trail. Of course the rain bothered me, but I still felt good about the shot, and I really thought we'd find the buck within 100 yards of my coat on the trail.

I was wrong. He didn't make it that far. Five yards past my coat we found the Rocky Mountain tipped arrow, and then I heard Ruby scream, "There he is, David!" He'd traveled only 70 yards.

We stood in awe of this great animal. His rack was only 20 inches wide, but it was very heavy and the bases were gnarled and covered with bark from tree rubbing. He'd later green-score 170 inches and net 160 0/8 inches, and his live weight was 276 pounds. Fortunately, we were able to drive a truck to within 200 yards. As we headed down the road through this great Iowa farm country, I realized that God had blessed me with a truly great animal. Indeed, my time had come.

HUNT NOTES

A license in Iowa costs $160, and you must apply by May. Drawing odds vary by area, but generally they're fairly high. I hunted with Ruby Custer's Strut 'n' Rut Guided Hunts. Ruby takes only a limited number of bowhunters for her 3,000-acre area. Guided hunts in Iowa can be expensive, but, as you can see from my experience, they can be worth the price.

Some farmers will give freelance hunters permission to hunt. Iowa also has a fair number of state wildlife management areas open to the public, and hunting can be good on many of these areas. The peak of the rut occurs during the second and third weeks of November. Rattling and calling work well at this time.

The weather can be downright frigid. Warm clothes and boots are musts, and I also used disposable hand warmers on several very cold days. During the peak of the rut it pays to stay out most of the day, because you may see bucks at any time. The bow season runs from October 1 to December 4, then again from December 21 to January 10.

I flew to Omaha, and Ruby picked me up there for the 80-mile drive to Soldier, Iowa. Ruby only takes two or three hunters per week, so you basically hunt in areas with little or no hunting pressure.

COPYRIGHT 1999 PRIMEDIA Special Interest Publications
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