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The next day was Saturday, and the rain was still with us. Doug and Mitch hunted Doug's blind together, and Dad, Jim, and Kenny hunted Three Mile again. I returned to the Christmas Tree stand that had been so good to me, and this time I took my video camera along.
I dropped Doug and Mitch off along the highway, and they walked to their stand. They had scarcely gotten there when they spotted a group of deer feeding - all does.


This I learned via radio, just as I parked the truck. I headed out, walking along the road in the rain, camcorder wrapped in a plastic bag inside my coat. As I rounded the first corner, two deer ran across the muddy road in front of me, left to right - they were leaving a low stretch land populated with sycamore trees and heading into some young planted pines. I couldn't tell whether they were bucks or does, but I suspect it was a doe and her young 'un.

I waited and watched; nothing else moved. The morning light was dim already, but the heavy cloud cover and steady rain made it even harder to see anything. I took a step or two, and something - another deer - moved to my left. I quickly scoped the spot where I knew it stood, but could just see its bare outline through the screen of dead-looking leafless brush. It moved again, and I lost it. I waited, I grunted; nothing happened. I took a couple of steps down the road and the deer moved again - this time circling back towards me!

I scoped the deer, but it stayed behind brush as it moved.

I dropped to one knee to steady myself, but again I couldn't identify the deer as a buck, though I believe I saw a rack on it as it turned its head. I scoped, I watched. I wiped raindrops from my scope and watched some more, but still couldn't identify the deer, which was always behind brush of some kind. Finally it stopped where I couldn't see it at all. I eased down into the lower strip of land where the deer was, between the road and the same tall pines that abut the Christmas Tree stand.

I hunkered, I scanned. I squatted in the wet sycamore leaves, in a rapidly-growing puddle of rain water. Finally I spotted the deer, standing in the open staring at me through the crotch of a gnarled old tree. All that registered to my frantic mind was that it was a deer, and in the dim light I wanted the scope's help to identify it as a buck. About the time my hands reacted to my mind's decision to raise the rifle, the deer left the premises for good. I still don't know for sure what it was, but I believe it was a buck. No matter; he had stepped out of my life as quickly as he had entered it.

At the blind, I saw a doe walking towards me on the railroad road, then she cut into the young pines. I thought she would come to the food plot, but she never did. Ivory returned to feed again, and I got some good video of him as he filled his belly and continually eyeballed the blind where I sat. He left once and returned again, then left for good. A bit later, a tiny buck fawn strolled by the blind a scant eight feet from where I sat! He was every bit as nervous as the little buck I'd seen with the doe the day before, but this time he was all alone. I suspect his mother was romantically involved with a buck someplace.

After the morning hunt, Dad and I drove west to visit with my Aunt and Uncle, who had been hunting an area not too far from where we were staying. After that pleasant visit, we headed out to hunt again. This time Dad came with us to Doug's place, since he hadn't seen a thing at Jim's Three Mile Hunt Club. But the rain double-crossed us and stopped falling, and with it had gone our seeing deer.

That evening we had a bit of excitement, since both Jim and Doug are firefighters and were called away during supper to deal with a blaze nearby.

We hunted Sunday morning, but again nothing was seen from our stands. We took our leave at mid-day, bidding fond farewells to our new friends. We had had a successful hunt in all ways, especially when it came right down to the nitty-gritty - hanging out and enjoying one another's company between hunts. I'm grateful to the Helms for quartering us and being excellent hosts in every sense of the word, and to the Stileses, their daughter's family, who also made us feel at home and helped make our hunt as enjoyable as it could possibly be.

This had been a bonus hunt for us, because the deer season had already ended where we usually hunt. It turned out to be more of a bonus than we counted on, because we gained some great friends and a great experience along the way. The phrase I'd thought of to describe the trip was certainly appropriate: Never better, and rarely as good.

May all your hunts be as enjoyable as this one was for us.

- Russ Chastain