A month ago I posted about my first doe with a flintlock. The hunt continued for a mature buck. Unfortunately, the chest cold I had been enduring got much worse and I had to abandon the rest of the first gun season. I had to move on to the late Minnesota Muzzleloader season which brings us to the story of Ol’ Moe.
2013 12 by mdheaser
The Minnesota late muzzleloader season started off pretty nice on Nov 30 with high temps in the mid 30’s”¦.well, that lasted a couple a days! Then the bitter cold moved in with high temps in the low single digits accompanied by stiff WNW winds driving wind chills into the -15 to -20 degree range daily. Sitting three hours in that and I felt like I’d been beaten with a baseball bat. Even my eyes would sting for a couple hours afterwards. Overall, a tough, tough hunt”¦.but, you can’t get ”˜em sitting in the house!
While I was seeing about 10 to 15 deer and numerous 1 ½ to 3 ½ yr old bucks per sit, there were a couple of sits that were especially memorable. If you will indulge me while I recount them”¦.
Three days into the season I was sitting on the ground in my turkey chair in the mixed rain and heavy wet snow (the last day it was in the 30’s). I was sitting behind some old pallets that the former lease holders had used for a makeshift blind, but my back was wide open to a plowed field. Suddenly, I can see that a “chase” has broken out in the woods to my left. I could see brown bodies running around and could hear a buck grunting like crazy. Oh boy!!! Chasing”¦.grunting”¦HAS to be a BIG buck”¦right? The doe made a break for the plowed field and I just knew that the pursuing BIG buck would be right behind her when she broke through the brush. I quickly swung my Flinter to my extreme left just as she barreled through the brush at the edge and darted out into the plowing. Come-on big boy”¦I know you’re coming. And then he broke out in full chase”¦..well”¦a little ½ rack morphodite spike buck that was in a teenage hormone rage! GEEZ, no wonder she was running away! He trots down the field toward me and stops 15 yards away watching the doe who is now just walking away up the plowed field. Finally I got sick of him standing there and softly said “Bang”¦.you’re dead.” He looks at me, an orange blob with no cover, then goes back to watching the doe. What “love” does to the boys! :youcrazy: Finally he went back after the doe and left me to my wet vigil. I found my cows knee four feet away. I don’t even remember taking it off”¦.or apparently ripping it off and tossing it in the excitement!
After a week of seeing lots of deer, but no mature bucks I decided one afternoon to change my game plan and throw all the rules out. There is a large, wide ridge on our property that is a major bedding ground”¦.if the mature bucks wouldn’t come to me, I was going to take the party to them! Well, as I approached the ridge from the plowed field I was still a good 40 or 50 yards out when I could already see deer getting up and moving further back to get out of my way. Undeterred I continued a sneak about ½ way down the ridgeline, then found a nice big log to set up against as cover. My plan counted on the deer I had spooked circling back in once they felt the intruder was gone. About an hour later, the action started. Just a small doe at first, then they started streaming in. By sunset I had approximately 30 deer within 100 yards of me. Some had walked by me at 25 yards without so much as a glance. They were gorging themselves on remaining acorns from the large stand of white oaks. With just a ½ hour of legal shooting light left, I spied not one, but two mature bucks about 150 yards away coming in. One trail would take them 75 yards away, the other a mere 25. The lead buck kept coming and took the 75 yard trail, and the back buck, which had the larger rack, suddenly stopped and just stood back watching”¦.nothing in particular, but he was “aware” something was amiss. That sixth sense a mature buck has. The lead buck was a good one with a heavy 10 point rack, so I leveled my Jaeger on him. Oh no”¦.front sight”¦front sight. Even though there was 15 minutes of legal shooting left, the woods were dark enough I was having trouble finding my front sight, especially on a moving deer. He’d stop momentarily and I’d just get settled on him, then he’d start walking again. In the end, with all the little pole timber between us, I decided not to try to force a shot. It just wasn’t worth a wounded buck. I was happy that my unorthodox plan to take the game to them had actually worked! I had at least finally seen mature bucks. Of course one cannot pull that trick out of the bag too often.
Going into the second week of the season, I had promised my Hawken that it would have it’s turn, so switched from my Flinter. Monday, Dec 9 was COLD! I drove to our lease and changed in the house. The thermometer outside read -6 degrees”¦.that’s right”¦minus 6. With a stiff WNW wind, the wind chill was around -20 to -25 degrees. At least we now had a few inches of fresh snow on the ground, so the walk in to stand should be more quiet and hopefully the extended cold would have a mature buck moving in daylight hours.
I climbed into an old ladder stand the former leasees had left behind. It’s next to one of our brassica food plots in our bottoms. As the cold wind whipped down the valley at 15 to 20 mph, I questioned what deer in its right mind would come out. About 3:15 PM I saw the first deer coming in from a long ways off. The snow made the brown deer stick out on the hillside like a sore thumb. Soon the small spike buck was standing in the brush at the edge scanning the open. He was obviously nervous, but his hunger overcame his fear and he ventured into the field. A bit later, he was joined by a nervous doe. Every little sound would make them snap to attention. Then there was a noise from way up the steep hill to my right. A deer was coming down the hill. Not being able to see what was making the racket, the two ran from the field to the security of the nearby brush. After a bit, I could see a large deer coming down the hill. He was on a trail that skirted the back edge of the food plot. I put my 10 x 50 Leupolds on him and immediately recognized him as “fat boy””¦or “old moe” as some on the lease called him. But it was clear the rigors of the rut had him trimmed up a bit as his bulging summer gut that made him look like he was pregnant with triplets was gone. But the thick, though somewhat smallish rack for a buck of his age, was unmistakable and his body was still large and muscular. He started to cut through the very back of the plot and decided to munch a bit. I had the gun up, but not really on him yet as I fully expected him to feed for a while. But that was apparently not what was on his mind and I could tell he was getting ready to resume his trek. The Hawken came up quickly and rested against a tree trunk as I sighted a little high on his shoulder to compensate for the 89 yard distance. As soon as the sight settled in the right place, the Hawken roared to life and 90 grains of triple seven propelled the 425 grain Hornady GP to it’s mark. The buck buckled some on impact then crashed ahead 30 yards uphill and fell! The cold that had seeped into all my bones from the sit suddenly disappeared. I watched him through my binoculars, but it was clear he wasn’t getting back up again.
Every time I approach a downed deer a flood of emotions wells up. A sense of achievement”¦passing literally dozens of good opportunities at immature bucks this year hoping for one good chance at a mature buck. Braving all the nasty elements Mother Nature threw at me. But I also feel some sadness for the animal who gives it’s life. I always say a little prayer thanking the animal for it’s sacrifice and pledging to utilize him well.
By the time I got back to the truck with Moe at 5:30 the air temperature was -12. Didn’t even need my coat.
Ol’ Moe dressed out at 203 pounds and his antler bases measure 7 ½ inches in circumference. His inside spread is 16” with 20” main beams. He has a “chunky” eight point rack with some blading and webbing”¦.exactly what he had last year. He was probably never going to be a really big-racked buck. His genetics put energy into body mass rather than antlers. He was a smart old boy. Both years we’ve had the lease he was seen for only the first few days of bow season (I had him at 40 yards on opening day and passed), then he would go nocturnal. I feel quite privileged to have had the opportunity to match wits with him and finally take him. I thank God it was done quickly”¦he never knew what hit him. He was owed at least that much.
The Hornady GP bullet performed flawlessly. It entered his left side behind the leg crease literally ripping the top 1/3 of the heart completely off. The mushroomed projectile ended up just under the hide on the opposing side.
Below is the bullet, which weighed 425 grains as you see it”¦.Perfectly mushroomed and 100% weight retention! An unfired version is there for comparison. Can’t ask for any more from a bullet.
DSCN0397 by mdheaser
I have put holes through hearts before with broadheads and bullets, but never have I seen one literally ripped in two pieces.
DSCN0388 by mdheaser
Ol Moe’s rack from the back. They always seem to look biggest when viewed this way.
Old Moe 1 120913 by mdheaser
Ol Moe where he fell.
Old Moe 2 120913 by mdheaser, on Flickr
Ol Moe and my 54 Pedersoli Hawken (and some smiling old guy!)
DSCN0392A by mdheaser
Thanks for coming along on my hunts!
2013 12 by mdheaser
The Minnesota late muzzleloader season started off pretty nice on Nov 30 with high temps in the mid 30’s”¦.well, that lasted a couple a days! Then the bitter cold moved in with high temps in the low single digits accompanied by stiff WNW winds driving wind chills into the -15 to -20 degree range daily. Sitting three hours in that and I felt like I’d been beaten with a baseball bat. Even my eyes would sting for a couple hours afterwards. Overall, a tough, tough hunt”¦.but, you can’t get ”˜em sitting in the house!
While I was seeing about 10 to 15 deer and numerous 1 ½ to 3 ½ yr old bucks per sit, there were a couple of sits that were especially memorable. If you will indulge me while I recount them”¦.
Three days into the season I was sitting on the ground in my turkey chair in the mixed rain and heavy wet snow (the last day it was in the 30’s). I was sitting behind some old pallets that the former lease holders had used for a makeshift blind, but my back was wide open to a plowed field. Suddenly, I can see that a “chase” has broken out in the woods to my left. I could see brown bodies running around and could hear a buck grunting like crazy. Oh boy!!! Chasing”¦.grunting”¦HAS to be a BIG buck”¦right? The doe made a break for the plowed field and I just knew that the pursuing BIG buck would be right behind her when she broke through the brush. I quickly swung my Flinter to my extreme left just as she barreled through the brush at the edge and darted out into the plowing. Come-on big boy”¦I know you’re coming. And then he broke out in full chase”¦..well”¦a little ½ rack morphodite spike buck that was in a teenage hormone rage! GEEZ, no wonder she was running away! He trots down the field toward me and stops 15 yards away watching the doe who is now just walking away up the plowed field. Finally I got sick of him standing there and softly said “Bang”¦.you’re dead.” He looks at me, an orange blob with no cover, then goes back to watching the doe. What “love” does to the boys! :youcrazy: Finally he went back after the doe and left me to my wet vigil. I found my cows knee four feet away. I don’t even remember taking it off”¦.or apparently ripping it off and tossing it in the excitement!
After a week of seeing lots of deer, but no mature bucks I decided one afternoon to change my game plan and throw all the rules out. There is a large, wide ridge on our property that is a major bedding ground”¦.if the mature bucks wouldn’t come to me, I was going to take the party to them! Well, as I approached the ridge from the plowed field I was still a good 40 or 50 yards out when I could already see deer getting up and moving further back to get out of my way. Undeterred I continued a sneak about ½ way down the ridgeline, then found a nice big log to set up against as cover. My plan counted on the deer I had spooked circling back in once they felt the intruder was gone. About an hour later, the action started. Just a small doe at first, then they started streaming in. By sunset I had approximately 30 deer within 100 yards of me. Some had walked by me at 25 yards without so much as a glance. They were gorging themselves on remaining acorns from the large stand of white oaks. With just a ½ hour of legal shooting light left, I spied not one, but two mature bucks about 150 yards away coming in. One trail would take them 75 yards away, the other a mere 25. The lead buck kept coming and took the 75 yard trail, and the back buck, which had the larger rack, suddenly stopped and just stood back watching”¦.nothing in particular, but he was “aware” something was amiss. That sixth sense a mature buck has. The lead buck was a good one with a heavy 10 point rack, so I leveled my Jaeger on him. Oh no”¦.front sight”¦front sight. Even though there was 15 minutes of legal shooting left, the woods were dark enough I was having trouble finding my front sight, especially on a moving deer. He’d stop momentarily and I’d just get settled on him, then he’d start walking again. In the end, with all the little pole timber between us, I decided not to try to force a shot. It just wasn’t worth a wounded buck. I was happy that my unorthodox plan to take the game to them had actually worked! I had at least finally seen mature bucks. Of course one cannot pull that trick out of the bag too often.
Going into the second week of the season, I had promised my Hawken that it would have it’s turn, so switched from my Flinter. Monday, Dec 9 was COLD! I drove to our lease and changed in the house. The thermometer outside read -6 degrees”¦.that’s right”¦minus 6. With a stiff WNW wind, the wind chill was around -20 to -25 degrees. At least we now had a few inches of fresh snow on the ground, so the walk in to stand should be more quiet and hopefully the extended cold would have a mature buck moving in daylight hours.
I climbed into an old ladder stand the former leasees had left behind. It’s next to one of our brassica food plots in our bottoms. As the cold wind whipped down the valley at 15 to 20 mph, I questioned what deer in its right mind would come out. About 3:15 PM I saw the first deer coming in from a long ways off. The snow made the brown deer stick out on the hillside like a sore thumb. Soon the small spike buck was standing in the brush at the edge scanning the open. He was obviously nervous, but his hunger overcame his fear and he ventured into the field. A bit later, he was joined by a nervous doe. Every little sound would make them snap to attention. Then there was a noise from way up the steep hill to my right. A deer was coming down the hill. Not being able to see what was making the racket, the two ran from the field to the security of the nearby brush. After a bit, I could see a large deer coming down the hill. He was on a trail that skirted the back edge of the food plot. I put my 10 x 50 Leupolds on him and immediately recognized him as “fat boy””¦or “old moe” as some on the lease called him. But it was clear the rigors of the rut had him trimmed up a bit as his bulging summer gut that made him look like he was pregnant with triplets was gone. But the thick, though somewhat smallish rack for a buck of his age, was unmistakable and his body was still large and muscular. He started to cut through the very back of the plot and decided to munch a bit. I had the gun up, but not really on him yet as I fully expected him to feed for a while. But that was apparently not what was on his mind and I could tell he was getting ready to resume his trek. The Hawken came up quickly and rested against a tree trunk as I sighted a little high on his shoulder to compensate for the 89 yard distance. As soon as the sight settled in the right place, the Hawken roared to life and 90 grains of triple seven propelled the 425 grain Hornady GP to it’s mark. The buck buckled some on impact then crashed ahead 30 yards uphill and fell! The cold that had seeped into all my bones from the sit suddenly disappeared. I watched him through my binoculars, but it was clear he wasn’t getting back up again.
Every time I approach a downed deer a flood of emotions wells up. A sense of achievement”¦passing literally dozens of good opportunities at immature bucks this year hoping for one good chance at a mature buck. Braving all the nasty elements Mother Nature threw at me. But I also feel some sadness for the animal who gives it’s life. I always say a little prayer thanking the animal for it’s sacrifice and pledging to utilize him well.
By the time I got back to the truck with Moe at 5:30 the air temperature was -12. Didn’t even need my coat.
Ol’ Moe dressed out at 203 pounds and his antler bases measure 7 ½ inches in circumference. His inside spread is 16” with 20” main beams. He has a “chunky” eight point rack with some blading and webbing”¦.exactly what he had last year. He was probably never going to be a really big-racked buck. His genetics put energy into body mass rather than antlers. He was a smart old boy. Both years we’ve had the lease he was seen for only the first few days of bow season (I had him at 40 yards on opening day and passed), then he would go nocturnal. I feel quite privileged to have had the opportunity to match wits with him and finally take him. I thank God it was done quickly”¦he never knew what hit him. He was owed at least that much.
The Hornady GP bullet performed flawlessly. It entered his left side behind the leg crease literally ripping the top 1/3 of the heart completely off. The mushroomed projectile ended up just under the hide on the opposing side.
Below is the bullet, which weighed 425 grains as you see it”¦.Perfectly mushroomed and 100% weight retention! An unfired version is there for comparison. Can’t ask for any more from a bullet.
DSCN0397 by mdheaser
I have put holes through hearts before with broadheads and bullets, but never have I seen one literally ripped in two pieces.
DSCN0388 by mdheaser
Ol Moe’s rack from the back. They always seem to look biggest when viewed this way.
Old Moe 1 120913 by mdheaser
Ol Moe where he fell.
Old Moe 2 120913 by mdheaser, on Flickr
Ol Moe and my 54 Pedersoli Hawken (and some smiling old guy!)
DSCN0392A by mdheaser
Thanks for coming along on my hunts!
