Hunting in the snow

Our ragtag hunting crew on opening weekend.

 

By Allan Olson

The annual assault of the orange army into the woods and fields of Minnesota started Saturday, and Nikolai and I, along with my siblings, nephew, uncle and dad, joined the attack once again. This year we had snow on the ground, with more snow falling all day on the hunting opener. We had close to seven inches of snow over the course of the evening prior and day of – a big change from previous years.

The opening morning proved successful for three hunters in our party – but not for me. My oldest brother was the first to fire, and my son the next, each shooting two rounds apiece. Those rounds were followed up a brief time later by another volley – which turned out to be from my dad’s rifle.

Meanwhile, I was sitting in my stand waiting for something other than birds to present itself for a target, but that didn’t happen.

Next came the “Who did what, shot what?” moment.

I found out that Nikolai had his deer down, and that there was a wounded one on the loose and, based on my brother’s description, it sounded like it was a gut shot. I was glad that wasn’t my doing.

I finally joined the party in the field, after Nikolai had field-dressed his deer, under the supervision of his uncle. By that time, my oldest brother had tracked down the wounded deer a few feet into the woods and dispatched it. He then proceeded to get the Ranger to transport the deceased animals to the barn. We found out that dad had one down, too.

As for the deer my brother dispatched, he didn’t think it was his, and soon I was convinced it was Nikolai’s and was going to force him to clean his gut shot deer, despite his protests that it wasn’t his. Then my oldest brother showed up and after a little further discussion and he said it might be his. Quick as a whip, before he could even get started cleaning it, Nikolai had abandoned that task in a flash. We all laughed! My brother asked as he walked up to it, “A front shoulder shot, right?” 

“No,” I said, “a gut shot!” 

He quickly tried backing out of it, but there’s no way we were going to let him get away with it, and he gave up and “dug in.”

In the end, after some backtracking, my dad discovered that based on all descriptions of the event, the deer really did belong to my brother.

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful – I saw a few deer at dark and a couple crossed in front of me on the way home, but I let them be and continued on my way.

On Sunday morning I took care of my year-long dry spell and drilled a five-point buck about 15 minutes after taking my stand, with legal shooting hours barely hitting the books. I had no more than got comfortable in the stand and decided I would try my buck bomb. I gave it a few sprays in the air, and the strong west wind had no problem blowing it around for me. A few minutes later the buck came out of small strip of woods near the field into the opening and stuck its nose up in the air, sniffing that good stuff I had sprayed, and then stood for just a minute. 

I didn’t expect to see anything that quickly, but I wasn’t going to pass on the opportunity. I lined up my sights and pulled the trigger on my new gun. Boom! The deer took off. I didn’t get another shot at it, and I didn’t see it drop, but an hour later I couldn’t resist the urge any longer and I had to go check it out. I had a pretty strong hunch what I would find based on the activity of the birds around the area. I was right – I spotted the dead deer lying in the snow a few moments after I got into the clearing, and went to check and see if indeed it was a buck. That was the only deer I saw all day, so I’m glad I took advantage of it and scored.

I finally made it back to the warm confines of the house at about 10 a.m. and stayed there until it was time to go out for the evening hunt. I made some lunch for the rest of the crew while a few went out for a short afternoon stint. I finally got up the ambition to give it one more try for the day and headed out to the same stand I had been in that morning at about 3 p.m. 

I had just looked at my phone to check the time and put it back in my pocket when a shot rang out. I was hoping it was my nephew who is in his second year of hunting has yet to bag a deer. My dad was hunting with him, and he called to ask if it was Nikolai who shot, so I guess that answered that question. I called Nikolai, and he wouldn’t answer his phone. I soon learned that his phone was in the house for some reason. It was about 10 minutes after 5:00 and the light was fading fast, so my dad walked the field to see if it was him. A short time later my dad called and said it was indeed Nikolai, and the deer – his second little one of the year – was down for the count.

I had told him prior to heading out that he needs to make sure if he shoots another on that it’s bigger – like a doe or buck. He said he tried, but just couldn’t handle the pressure after it stared at him for what seemed like ten minutes. However, he did spare its sibling of similar size.

So on the second day of hunting, Nikolai and I shot the only deer, and we had five of our eight tags for the season filled – the same number as we shot last year. Hopefully we can fill all our tags this season.

Please remember to watch out for the buses that will be carrying our most precious cargo. Also, snap a photo or two to preserve a lifetime of memories. Thanks for reading, and have a great week! Feel free to drop me a line at cltimes1@arvig.net or stop by the office for a visit.