One
Mean Whitetail (a buck charge story)
Marty Thompson
Westminster, MD
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Many years ago on the first of
January in 1972, I was bow hunting with a friend who got himself into trouble
with an enraged whitetail. There was about ten inches of snow on the ground
and from my perch high in an oak tree, I could see my buddy George standing
behind another very large oak about a hundred yards away -- waiting for
his deer to happen along.
At about 9:30 a.m., I caught movement off to my side from about thirty
feet up and turned to see a buck wandering along just out of bow range
from my perch and heading along a trail that should lead him right by
my friend. I watched as the seven-pointer passed within fifteen yards
of George. With the buck now angling slightly away from him, George put
an arrow high in his right front shoulder. The buck immediately bolted
away, then abruptly stopped and came back toward George, who was now quite
visible against the white background. Directly behind George was a chain
link fence that enclosed a military installation. The buck had been heading
toward an area where deer had scraped away enough sod beneath the fence
to allow entrance into their bedding area.
As I watched, the buck started charging at him with his head down and
soon had him pinned against the fence. George held his bow out in front
of him in a horizontal position, trying with all he was worth to keep
the buck from goring him and yelling at the top of his lungs for help.
I hurried down from my stand and ran to where the action was taking place.
I could hear the buck wheezing and grunting as George fought him off.
When I got to within twenty feet, I knocked an arrow in my re-curve bow,
and then put another arrow through the buck's heart. He fell to his knees
and died only moments later. "Man, what took ya' so long?" George
blurted out. "Hey, you were doin' alright," I laughed. "I
heard him snortin' and gruntin' when I came up," I told George. "Snortin'
and gruntin'! That wasn't him! That was me!" he said. Ha! Ha!
We had a great laugh and George insisted that I take the head and one-half
the meat, but since he'd been the one in danger and had sustained a lacerated
finger, I declined his offer and insisted that he take the head with its
fifteen-inch spread. I agreed to take half the meat.
Well, eventually big George gained so much weight that he wasn't able
to hunt anymore and I don't even know where he is today. |