DreamCatcher

BlackPowder Whitetail season opened here in northern lower Michigan on the 8th. My brother-in-law (Jeff) and I loaded our gear into the 4x4 van and headed out the night before to a place where we hoped to score a deer or two. This was a meat hunt. The season was winding down and we both still held a tag and he also had a doe permit so we expected to bring something home. The weather was bitter cold and windy but the deep snows would help in locating deer. Because of the cold I opted to carry the .50 caliber over my shoulder instead of taking the bow. That was a hard decision to make.

I had seen a few does as I still-hunted and walked between spots but no horns. As evening neared I snuck over the lip of a narrow valley and was surprised to see 3 young bucks feeding together. I raised the gun and took aim on a forkhorn and touched the trigger. The smoke cleared fast in the wind and I saw him run off and fall in the deep snow. One of the other bucks ran but one kept feeding. I snuck back out far enough above the lip and circled around and came into the ravine above the remaining buck. The goal was to slow push that one to Jeff who was located further down this ravine. For awhile it looked like it might work but the buck had other plans and exited the ravine just out of range for Jeff to get a shot.

When I went back to get my downed buck it suddenly jumped up and ran off. There was deep red blood in his bed but I feared it was a paunch hit and I knew I should let him go for several hours. Jeff said he heard another snow storm was coming so we better work together to get him now. Big mistake. We jumped it again in the jackpines with no second shot fired. And then again. At that time I insisted we just let him be awhile. In the fading light we marked our location and walked a couple miles back to the van so we could move it to a closer two track that we had discovered while hunting.

Upon resuming our search we found he had run back into the ravine and doubled back towards the river. It was about a mile to the river so we hoped he would die before he got that far. The three bloody beds on the bank and tracks leading into the river were not a welcome site. It was now midnight and new weather reports and the stars confirmed clear skies so we relocated the van to the other side of the river and tried to get some sleep. It was a cold clear night and we were glad we decided to camp in the van. A candle managed to keep it above freezing through the night but my sleeping bag was too thin for comfort.

The morning was bitter cold again but the sky remained clear. I told Jeff he might as well hunt the morning while I searched for clues. As I made my way down into the river bottom I saw a nice 8 point chasing a doe around. Eventually she stood for him and I witnessed the breeding process. That is a site you don't see every day. When it was over they both just stood there for a while. He was only 70 yards out and I aimed at him several times. How I wanted to pull the trigger but I had already shot a buck, even if the river may have claimed him.

I walked the bank until I found the place across from his last beds. Then I began to search for any place he might have crossed. Every set of tracks coming from the river was followed until I was sure it wasn't him. After a mile or so I began to give up hope for recovery. Now filled with doubts, I made my way back upstream again looking anywhere he might be among the dead falls and underbrush.

It was early afternoon as we met back at the van. I told Jeff we would have to go back to the other side because he never made it across. I was depressed during the long drive to the bridge and around to where we had been last night. Jeff too felt it was a lost cause but we agreed to give it all we had. After all, recovery is the most important part of the hunt.

As we approached the river a Bald Eagle tried to make a meal of some ducks. It was quite a site to see the big bird chasing the ducks as they flew with all they had for the open skies. He came up empty handed this time and I wondered if I would too. Our ongoing search for the buck began upstream from his bloody beds on the bank and continued downstream for a half mile. We jumped a few does along the bank and watched the run away. Suddenly Jeff called me over to look at something he found on the bank. It was watery blood as if a bleeding deer had come out of the river and shook off. I couldn't believe my buck had actually made it this far. We are talking getting shot by a .50 caliber here. Several deer tracks crossed this spot and it we would have to follow them all until it could be determined which one was mine. Seems Jeff picked the winner because a few minutes later he yelled out that he found the buck. Seems he walked upstream a ways and then went back into the water. This time the river had taken him but was giving him back.The forkhorns final resting place was against a log jam about 20 feet out in the water just downstream from his last tracks.