The spike buck was down in "the gully", a kind of go to spot that funnels deer into a shooting gallery when the bucks are on the make. Sometimes they run the gully better than other times. The weather was not great - too windy to be much good for a predetermined ambush spot, so I went to the gully late in the day after freezing my ass off near a scrape made by an eight point camera trapped buck. He never showed for a picture.
The spike buck thought he was being pretty big time. Thrashing a popple sapling and stomping his feet. He was too busy being a tough guy to notice that I was getting closer each time he put his head down. At a distance of about a hundred yards, the shot was possible, if. The brush was too thick to shoot through, so I watched for what seemed like a long time. Ten minutes maybe.
I could see he had antlers and the body was bulky and brown. He would be a good meat deer. If only he would get out of that brush and into a clear spot. He continued to beat the shit out of the popple sapling. The cross hairs of the rifle scope were on his head as he finally walked a few steps up the side of the gully. Hmmmm - only a spike I see.
Pull it. . . . . . . !
The spike buck folded like an exploding prairie dog in a cloud of pink mist.
There is no catch and release with high powered rifles.
Game over.
