Suburban Shed Hunting

Sometime between the transition from long johns to cargo shorts lies one of my favorite seasons of the outdoor calendar. Shed season. In South Eastern Pennsylvania, I usually start my pursuit for "brown gold" around Valentines day, and continue up until the trout season opens in early April. It is a great way to stay connected with the outdoors during the winter months, and a sure fire cure for cabin fever. When I researched shed hunting 5 years ago, I was under the impression that if you put in the miles, your tuck bed will overflow with 75"+ antlers. This is what the pictures on the internet showed, along with tips and tactics to ensure your success. What the sites forgot to mention is where the sheds were being found. I don't live in Saskatchewan, I don't have a 1000 acre lease in Kansas, nor do I manage a 325 acre farm in Iowa. Someday, maybe, but not anytime soon. I love to see pictures of shed antlers from all of these places, but If I were to compare my success as a shed hunter to these places, I would never be satisfied. I live in the suburbs, so I have to play by different rules of what is a successful shed hunt, and where to shed hunt. So to help anyone who does not have access to managed whitetail habitat, or vast open county, I'll give you some pointers to help you find some bone in your local neighborhoods.

1. Go where the deer are. Makes sense, right?  This is the most important step to finding a shed. Start with your hunting area. I have 8 acres that butt up against adjacent wood lots. Always ask for permission to check neighboring properties. Even people that are against hunting, do not seem to mind letting me walk their property for shed antlers. Most hunters seem to notice a spot on their daily commute that they can consistently spot deer. See if you can get permission to walk around. I love walking around business campuses and industrial parks that have surrounding wood lots. The deer population there is protected from hunters, so the bucks rarely wander off. You can pattern their bedding areas and feeding areas year after year and consistently find sheds.

2. Follow the trails. Once you found the deer, get on there trails. The more beaten down the better. If you can look after snow, or right after it begins to melt, the trails will be more pronounced. I have found numerous sheds along trails, and a few I have found only after I have walked on them and felt the bone through my boot.

3. Look down. As a hunter, unless I'm on a blood trail, I rarely look down when I'm in the woods. You are not looking for the deer now, so there is little reason to look ahead. I have to remind myself to constantly look down and walk slow. Every 10 to 15 steps I'll stop and look around 360 degrees, and then its back down to the trail.   

4. Check the Pines. Anytime I see an isolated pine tree, or a cluster of them, its a must look. Deer like to bed under them and shelter under them during winter storms. I find a couple antlers every year under evergreens.

5. Creek crossings. The best crossings are the ones where the opposing banks are of different heights. The thought being that as the deer jump to cross, they will jar their head gear loose. Same holds true for fence crossings.

The best advise I can give you is do not get discouraged. Even if you do not find any sheds, I'm sure you will see something that you would not have seen from the couch. I average one shed for every 4 hours I walk. So If I want to find 10 sheds, I know I'll need to walk for 40 hours. All the miles are worth it when you walk up on that shed and pick it up, knowing you are the first human to make contact with it. I'm still looking for my first shed over 75", but I image finding one that big is easy. I mean, it takes a real keen eye to find a spike, or at least that's what I tell myself when I'm shed hunting in the suburbs.            

All But Over...

With each snow flake that tumbles whimsically to the ground, the likelihood that my 2015 deer season has ended is all but certain. Tomorrow, January 23, signifies the official last day of deer season here in South Eastern Pennsylvania. Unfortunately a massive winter storm is set to dump up to two feet of snow overnight and all day Saturday. You combine that with constant sustained winds over 35 mph, and deer movement should be nonexistent. That being said, our local meteorologists have been wrong once or twice, so I may still have one last hunt in me. So as I watched the sunset from my stand this evening, I began to reflect on the season that was.

This is what 4 degrees
looks like

This was a long season. As of this moment I can say I have been chasing whitetails for 8 months straight. From the first week of June setting up the first trail camera till this last week of January it has been a non stop adventure / obsession. I have ran the gamut of emotions, expectations, and weather extremes. For example, the stand I hunted on Monday I hung in August. The humidity was so oppressive that day it was hard to breath. The temperature with the heat index was 105 degrees F. On Monday, with the wind chill factored in it was a balmy 4 degrees F. That's over 100 degrees difference in the same tree, same season.

I feel like I fell short of my preseason goals, but I am proud of how I persevered in the face of adversity. If somebody would have told me in September that I would still be holding my buck tags for two states at season's end, and still be proud of my season, I would have told them they lost their
mind. It just shows how much I have progressed mentally in my fifth year as a hunter. Successful hunts have little to do with harvesting trophy animals, but everything to do with harvesting lasting memories. I spent more time in the woods this year than any other time in my life. I learned so many lessons from nature by just being in nature, that I can not help but be a better hunter for it. I worked on my calling and rattling, when to call, and how to execute a successful rattling sequence. I paid very close attention to the wind and the importance of wind direction. I feel like I read deer sign such as scrapes and rubs, to put me in better positions to harvest animals.

The 9 checking out a doe in mid December

The low point of the season was making a non fatal shot on The 9. It's amazing how many times I encountered him this season and he only presented one shot opportunity. I still replay that shot over in my mind and still can not believe I did not connect. When The 9 reappeared I was relived that he survived the shot and looked well. I saw him briefly last week and he looked very healthy. I am looking forward to searching for his shed antlers in a couple weeks, and than watching him grow a velvet wrapped rack this summer.

That is why there is much more to the hunt than the harvest. If I let the 20 second encounter with The 9, in which I failed to harvest my trophy, define the last 8 months of my life, I would be cheating myself. Don't get me wrong, I would love to have gotten my hands on a mature whitetail's rack, but it was not in the cards. I did harvested a hand full of does, enough to fully stock my freezer. I also learned valuable information to aid my pursuit of whitetails for years to come. Lastly, I made memories, that should last a lifetime.
                 

Prepping for the Final Push

Mired in one of the least productive seasons I can remember, this year's 2 week break for Christmas came at the perfect time. I am usually against any regulation that keeps me out of the woods, but I welcome the closure this year. Between the unseasonable weather, a hectic work schedule, and one regrettable missed opportunity, the whitetails have gotten the best of me. On the bright side, the camaraderie and experiences shared with my hunting buddies are second to none. However, sometimes you need to put an animal in the back of the truck to validate yourself as a hunter.

The first two weeks of December saw a slight up tick in deer activity. The temperatures were still above normal, but by the weekends they cooled down slightly. I think there was a few yearling does that came into estrous late for that "second rut", but nothing that brought in any quality bucks. Honestly, I have not seen a shooter buck since the first week in October. Friends that I hunt with have not seen any respectable bucks since mid October, and out of all of us, only one buck has been harvested this year. That buck, a true stud, was shot during the so called "October lull" on a day in the mid 70's. By the time the season reopens on December 26th, all rutting activity should be finished. I expect the deer to be on a feeding pattern, and with the mild temps, there is still ample soft mass and forage available.

I moved some of my trail camera locations to find out what deer are still around my properties. I set up some corn piles between bedding areas to see if I can get a picture of either G2 or The 9, but neither have shown up yet. I have seen more bucks reverting back to bachelor groups, another sign that the rut is all but over. I did notice a monster rub, fresh as can be, on a tree in someones front yard about 500 yards from my stand so who knows?  

The forecast for Christmas is a record breaking 71 degrees here in Southeastern Pennsylvania. So when I head back into the woods the following Saturday, I may be in a camo T-shirt. The extended forecast does call for more seasonable temperatures for mid to late January. That's a good thing for sure. The whitetail season here runs until January 23. That will leave me with 4 weeks to fill 4 tags, a steep challenge, but possible. There is little left in the way of prep that can salvage this season, so it's time for Lady Luck to make here annual appearance.                   

2015 Southern Illinois Trip

For the last four years, my group of hunting buddies have made an annual pilgrimage to Southern Illinois in pursuit of giant Midwestern whitetails. I have been fortunate enough to be a part of the last three trips. It is something we look forward to all year long, the opportunity to tag a true monster. For months we watch the pros on television knocking down stud after stud in the Land of Lincoln. There is nothing that compares to the feeling that at any moment, the largest buck you have ever seen could emerge from tangled thickets. We plan our trip months in advance to coincide perfectly with the rut, expecting these mature bucks to be moving around seeking out a receptive doe. To our credit, we have picked out some good weeks in the past with multiple hunters tagging out, or at the very least having opportunities. This year our luck had run out. Anyone hunting in the Midwest this first week of November thought the same thing, It's too damn hot!

I started looking at the weather for Ziegler, Illinois about three weeks before our trip. 70's, 80's, even 85 degrees was in the forecast. Last year when we landed in St. Louis it was 33 degrees at lunchtime. This year, 75. I tried to stay positive, the deer still had to move at some point. The first four days were an absolute grind. I hunted hard, sitting all day twice, only to see a few doe, a spike buck, and a small eight pointer. The small eight gave me some hope due to the fact that I rattled him in to 10 yards, showing obvious rutting behavior. The last 2 hours of my fourth day were washed out by a thunderstorm. I was hoping the weather change would jump start some deer movement, but I was the only idiot not seeking shelter that evening.

After that cold front passed things did get better. The day time highs struggled to reach 60, and the morning lows hovered in the mid 30's. The wind also shifted to the north west, but was relatively calm by Illinois standards. I took a chance and hunted in the timber that night, as opposed to the field edges I had been concentrated on. The move did not pay off, as my friend Tom saw 30+ deer working the field, and I had to settle for a beautiful sunset under a canopy of white oak trees. With one day left I decide to go back to the field edge, but slightly into the wood lot. It was the place on the property which had the most sign, 6 active scrapes, which at this point was more than enough for me to warrant an all day sit.

On the way to my stand on the last morning I was full of optimism. I could see by breath for the first time all week, frost covered the field, replacing the fog of previous mornings. I freshened up a few of the scrapes, climbed into my stand, and waited for dawn to creep over the horizon. As day broke, I interrupted the silence with a brisk rattling sequence followed by a few grunts. Within seconds I had two small bucks rush in to investigate. That was the theme for most of the morning. Small buck after small buck, with a few curious does in between. From 8:30 till 4:00 my only visitor was a 3 pointer who checked out the scrapes around noon.

Outfitter Mike Wright
field dressing a doe

Around 4 pm, 2 doe walked down the main trail into bow range. The larger of the two was alert, checking the intersecting trails and adjoining field. I did not want to shoot her, but she had worn out her welcome. The longer she hung around, the better her chances were to pick me out and blow out all the other deer with her. After watching her for 15 minutes, I finally released an arrow. She ran 35 yards and piled up in the thicket. The doe that was with her continued to forage for acorns, unaware of what had taken place. With 30 minutes of shooting light left, I decided to hit my rattling bag one more time. Almost instantly I had a 125" buck march in 40 yards to my right. As the buck continued towards me, he noticed the doe across the trail. I grunted and snort wheezed frantically, but he was much more interested in that doe, than with me. The dance continued till the sun set, the buck never giving me a shot, as he trailed the doe into the brush.

Southern Illinois Sunset

This years trip fell well short of expectations. We only harvested a handful of doe, and nobody had an opportunity at a quality buck. That being said, the camaraderie experienced at deer camp is tough to beat. We caught up with some old friends while making new friends as well. These are the people that I will look forward to seeing for years to come. If you only judge the success of the hunt by its harvest, than I feel you are doing yourself an injustice. You can experience all the unforgettable memories of a hunt without ever releasing an arrow. I am already planning for next years trip to Southern Illinois, but with all this talk of global warming, the second week of November looks better and better.  
               

Coming Up Short

There is a lot of planning and preparation that go into a successful whitetail hunt. Some of this takes place in the months and weeks leading up to the season, while some simpler tasks are left for the night before. I compile a mental checklist of things that have to be done, without exception, before entering the woods. Are my clothes clean? Do I have my lures, grunt tube, and rattling bag? Did I load up my bow, release, and arrows? (Arrows are now on the list since I left my quiver behind on a picnic table once) Also important are in season adjustments that need to be made based on in season observations of deer movement. I once was told that success is the at the intersection of preparation and opportunity. On Saturday my lack of preparation left me a block short of my destination.

When the alarm pierced the silence at 3:15 am, I instinctively hit the snooze button. If I left my house by 5 am I could be in my stand a full hour before first light. Than it hit me, did I put my clothes in the dryer? I shook off my slumber and stumbled into the basement. Of course not. Now I'm unloading a washer full of wet camo in hopes that it will dry in time. As I am waiting for the clothes to dry, I load up my gear with a pessimistic outlook for the day. I was going to be late, very late. After 45 agonizing minutes I threw on my damp camo and raced for the stand. By the time I got situated the dim light of dawn was upon me with the sun rapidly approaching the horizon. Lucky for me, this is not a great morning spot, but still a gaff that could have unknowingly cost me.

My second misstep was a week in the making. In the previous week I noticed the deer were gravitating more towards the perimeter of the property. I do not think they are educated on my location as much as it is the pre-rut and the deer prefer traveling the tree line more than the brush. I had loaded up a new tree stand and some climbing sticks last Sunday, but for one reason or another they spent the last 6 days in my truck bed. So it was no surprise to me that when the deer began to move, they moved directly along the trail I had intended to be sitting over today. 

On a positive note, all was not lost today. I had a new mature buck show his face in daylight for the first time. He is a Big 6 pointer, with one wide sweeping side, and one side that stopped growing out in July. I only have 5 trail cam pictures but I was able to study him for a while at 75 yards. Had I been in the other tree, chances are I would have tagged out on him. I tried a playful rattling and grunting sequence to bring him in, but only a curious 4 pointer answered the call. As I stood up for a better look, I noticed an old adversary to my left. The 9 was back, and looked to be fine. He too wanted to see what the commotion was about. When the young fork came into the clearing, The 9 took one glance at such an over matched opponent and meandered back into the thicket. He had what seemed to be an entrance wound and exit wound on his right side. Since he was quartering towards me when I shot him, the arrow must have deflected off a rib, resulting in a flesh wound with all his vitals untouched. I was happy to see The 9 was alive and well. It just proves how amazingly resilient whitetail deer are. The fork circled my tree for about 15 minutes before he too lost interest and wandered off. 

As the day turned into dusk, a doe busted out of the brush being chased by the same fork. A small 6 pointer popped his head out a minute later, followed by the Big 6 to round out the bunch. By the time the sun had set all 4 deer had spent about 15 minutes running up and down the trail that I had anticipated, which left me 80 yards away counting squirrels. Poor preparation, no success.

Fueled by my most recent failure, and the fact that the rut has arrived in Southeastern Pennsylvania, I stepped up my preparation exponentially. On Sunday morning I practiced shooting for 3 hours. I headed over to the wood lot with Mike and we picked out a great tree to finally hang my new stand. Lastly, I washed and dried all my camo so there will be zero excuses this week. The full moon on Tuesday should usher the first does into estrous. I will be in the woods Friday, Saturday, and possibly Tuesday night. This is setting up to be a great week for bow hunting, and with the preparation completed, all I am looking for is the right opportunity.                             

Black Monday

Ask me when I won my first bass tournament, and I'll give you the month and year. What was my worst tournament? June 28, 2009. I remember my wake up text, the Boston Creme doughnut, the sunrise, the fact that no bass would even look at a green pumpkin senko when 24 hours ago they were lining up around the shoals of Oneida Lake for a chance at that alluring soft bait. You never remember all the fish you caught, but you never forget the one you did not. Hunting is no different. I remember my best hunt because it was with in the last calendar year. The deer that I did not harvest, haunt me in my dreams for years and years. I was hoping this year would bring me good memories, achievements, and accomplishment. It still may, the season is young and the rut is rapidly approaching. One thing the early season has given me is another date I will never forget.

Monday, October 5 2015 was going to be a memorable day. The previous Saturday's hunt was inspiring to say the least. My pattern of my two target bucks, G2 and The 9 was spot on. I felt I could not wait till next Saturday to get back in the woods, so I made arrangements at work so I could leave early to get a rare Monday evening sit in. The temperatures were cooling off and it was the second day of high pressure after a weekend cold front blew through. On top of that, I had a light WNW wind that is perfect for my stand location. The table was set. As I walked to my stand I was filled with anticipation. There was no doubt in my mind I was filling my Pennsylvania Buck tag tonight.

I was not in my stand for 10 minutes when I heard a buck grunt faintly to my right. I noticed a doe appear 15 yards behind me. She was hurried out of the brush looking anxiously over her shoulder. With that, she walked into the open and G2 emerged right behind her. A mere 15 yards stood between  me and my top targeted buck. And a 40' chestnut tree. I watched as he made a scrape at the edge of the brush, gave one more glance in the doe's direction, than bounded out of view. What an encounter. He never presented me with a shot, but he was closer than ever. It wasn't even 4 pm and I had a solid buck sighting. I knew I was going to get an opportunity tonight.  

An hour and a half had passed and I noticed some movement in the brush about 25 yards away. I could see antlers shaking the saplings, coming my way. If this deer continued down this trail, when he entered the clearing he would be down wind of me. I grabbed my bow and readied for a shot. As the buck came closer, I could tell it was The 9. He was very cautious, repeatedly sticking his nose high in the air trying in vain to catch my scent. As he ducked under the last pin oak I came to full draw and focused on my target. There he was, 18 yards away, slightly quartering to. I put my pin behind his left shoulder, exhaled, and released my arrow. Upon impact I recall seeing my lighted nock glowing red behind his shoulder, exactly where I had aimed. The 9 did an about face and raced back into the thicket. I checked my watch, 5:35 pm. I hung my bow confidently on its' hook, beyond satisfied with my shot. I texted some friends to help me track my trophy, and celebrate a successful hunt. I had created a great memory tonight, or so I thought. 

It was close to 7 pm by the time the cavalry arrived. I reenacted the shot for everybody, and we inspected the arrow which had passed completely through, Mike, who has 25 years experience in tracking deer took one look at the arrow and said, " That's a dead deer." As we tracked the first 30 feet, the blood trail was widening. We were all giddy with anticipation, but at the same time I was trying to temper my expectations. Call me a pessimist but I have seen this before. I could not breathe easy until I had my hands firmly around The 9's chocolate rack. By the time we lost the blood trail some 300 yards later, my fears were becoming a reality. We decided we should resume the search in the morning. Tiered eyes and dimming flashlights had did all they could. Hopefully the daylight would lead us to The 9.

After a sleepless night, Mike and I resumed the search. We followed the blood trail from the beginning, nothing. We crisscrossed through the thickets on our hands and knees, nothing. We walked the perimeter of the property, and through neighboring properties, nothing. In all we spent 6 more hours walking in circles trying to forensically retrace The 9's last steps. In the days that followed, I tried to drive around the area looking for any signs, hoping to see turkey vultures in the sky circling the carcass that would give me closure, but nothing. How could a day that started out with so much promise turn into such a nightmare? I had no answers, only questions that may never be answered.

My final assessment? The 9 is dead. Somewhere. When the brush dies down and the woods thin out, I may find him. When I search the property for sheds come February maybe he will turn up. The worst feeling a hunter can have is feeling that he or she wounded an animal. I feel terrible about this, but I do not believe that The 9 is wounded. All indications point to a fatal shot. The arrow, the blood trail, my recollection of the shot itself. I pray some day I will find The 9 and give this story the proper ending it deserves. Until than all I have is questions, and another date that I will never be able to forget.              

Flip Flop Season

With the 2015 archery season reaching its 3rd week and the calendar turning the page to October, there is no doubt that Fall is upon us. This last week we experienced the seasons first low pressure system that brought heavy rain, gusty winds, and overnight temperatures in the 40's. The hot and humid days of summer are becoming a distant memory to most residence of North Eastern United States. Most years I will take a Sunday afternoon and pack up some t-shirts, swim trunks, and other summertime essentials to make room in my dresser for hoodies and flannels. One item I will not be packing up just yet are my flip flops, their season has been extended.

An earlier post explained my situation with two shooter bucks, G2 and The 9. After seeing G2 in the field, I wanted nothing else but to shoot him or my season would be a loss. The last few sits I have had some very good encounters with The 9, and he has changed my outlook on the season. I still think G2 is an older buck with more mass and a larger body. For me he is a no doubt about it shooter. The 9 is a very respectable deer, with sweeping main beams that come within 5 or so inches of each other. The difference to me now is G2 is there on the property, but The 9 is in my head.

My first encounter with The 9 came last Saturday evening. With an hour of shooting light remaining I decided to stand up and stretch one last time before things got serious. When I looked between the fork in the tree, I saw The 9, 25 yards behind me moseying along. My first instinct was, "That's a nice Buck, get ready" so I forgot about G2 and grabbed my bow. I waited for him to take the 3 more steps needed to give me a shot, but he back tracked. I watched him for another 20 minutes, trying to predict his route. I had ranged a spot in between 2 shrubs at 32 yards that would have given me a shot. As the 9 approached the 1st shrub, he paused, and took two steps backwards instead of the required two steps forward. This dance continued till well after sunset. I waited and waited until I was sure he was clear of my stand so I could climb down without spooking him. Once I got out of the woodlot I set down my pack to find my keys and noticed a black cat 6 feet away. Being very superstitions I wanted nothing to do with a black cat and any associated bad luck he may bring me, I quickly adjusted my gear and began to leave so he would not cross my path. That is when I realized the black cat had a thick black stripe down his back, prompting me to sprint 60 yards to my truck.

Encounter #2 was last night. After being in the stand for less than a half hour, I saw a rack emerge 100 yards to my right. It was The 9, working the edge of the thicket without a care in the world. With a strong north east wind in my favor, I was excited that this could be the night I tag out. I had over two and a half hours till dark and my target buck was on the move. The blessing and the curse of the property I hunt is how thick it is. The deer feel very safe in the thickets and can roam freely without detection. Combine that with a stiff 15 MPH wind, and you can not hear them until they are on top of you. As The 9 disappeared into the tangle of pin oaks, I patiently waited. After two hours and advice from a fellow hunter, I reached into my bag and pulled out my bleat can. The idea being The 9 my be curious enough of the bleat to come in and investigate. After the third bleat, I saw him at 25 yards looking dead at me. His view was obstructed, so after a brief stare down that lasted seemingly hours long, he continued unfazed. I grabbed by bow and readied for a shot. He bypassed my 25 yard lane and continued into a clearing. I ranged him at 46 yards, quartering away. The wind continued to whip through the brush and I decided the shot had a better chance of injuring the deer, than being lethal and ethical. The last thing I want to do is drive the deer off of the property with so much time left in the season. As I watched The 9 walk off into the distance, I hung by bow up and sat down. As I put my face in my hands a black walnut came loose 10 feet above me, striking me square on the head, adding unwanted salt to the fresh wounds.          

So now it has become personal with The 9. He has out smarted me on two separate occasions. G2 is not forgotten, but no longer a must. The important thing for me is to remember to always pay attention to the lessons I learn in the woods. Doing so will enable me to harvest a mature animal at some point this season. Like I said, I never packed up my flip flops, so I can go back and forth on which buck I eventually wrap my tag around.