Headed into halftime
Trending
Into the southern breezes my lab and I set out, the final hours of the first half of upland hunting before us just ahead of the noon start of North Dakota's 16-and-a-half-day firearms deer season. Though tag numbers are down, and gun hunters likely wouldn't be out in the full, orange-clad force from past seasons on the first afternoon; in years like this where I don't draw a tag, I generally grant deference to my brothers and sisters in arms even if I can't join them, and wrap up my uplanding ahead of what is easily recognized as an unofficial state holiday.
While I still planned to spend some time on stand with my trusty compound bow in hand, draping a layer of orange over my usual camo, my normal November ritual is to keep my pheasant hunting to those weekday mornings during deer gun seasons so as to not disrupt the opportunities of those looking to fill their tag on the public lands I often hunt. From what I observed as the two-minute warning of sorts ticked away, that opportunity still remains for those lucky enough to get the opportunity.
My dog was hot on the winding trail of a running rooster along the edges of a cattail slough we have frequented this season. The habitat was large with ample food around it to hold birds, and a couple hidden pockets we put the extra effort in to access on each walk, has paid off with consistent flushes on every trip. As he worked the wind and switched back along the unseen scent trail, our crackling and crunching of dry autumn reeds and swamp grass caused a commotion 50 yards ahead of us.
There, a massive whitetail buck stood up, his four-by-four antlers towering high above his ears. He gave me one glance as the doe he was tending rose behind him, and the pair sprinted for the golden sanctuary of uncut corn on the adjacent property. They didn't get far before a big-bodied, basket-racked buck joined them in the great escape, and I sat there dumbfounded. The two bucks were more than I had seen all year in my adventures, and certainly more than I had encountered on stand in my limited bowhunting in early fall. With their sprint into the haven of the tall, unharvested crop, my adrenaline surged, and an anticipation for time on stand -- even only with an archery tag and the usual longer shot at filling it -- grew.
My lab and I finished the circle around the slough, hit our favorite corner pocket, and closed out the front half of our upland season with more than two dozen pheasants flushed, a couple shots at rising birds, and one rooster in the bag. We returned to the truck with 25 minutes to spare for the drive to town and were back within the confines of city limits just before the start of the half-day deer gun opener. With the thoughts of the bounding bucks, I fished my blaze orange vest and stocking cap from the depths of my hunting closet, added them to my bowhunting camo in the washer with a cap of scent-free detergent, and ran a few more practice arrows through my bow in the ravine near our house.
While the upland season has reached an unofficial halftime of sorts for me, it was more than evident the rut was on providing a rush all its own. Bucks tending does, rubs on every small bush, scrapes along the field edge treeline, and all the other signs were there that despite one season going on a soft pause, so to speak, the allure of another one was calling hard.
As I wound my way down the gravel road to my bowhunting spot where the small creek meets the shallow river, a sentry stood tall along the edge of the ditch. In that wary, but not too nervous fashion, the mule deer doe kept tabs on me as I slowed my truck to a crawl, then stopped, then stuck my camera lens out of the window to take her picture and those of her nearby twin fawns. Even if I didn't get a shot at her antlered kin later in the evening, she was a fitting welcome to a new part of the hunting season, and plenty more exciting experiences in what is sure to be an excellent halftime show ... in our outdoors.