On the way to the Creek Stand, I noticed that all three scrapes had been worked during the night. One looked like a rotor tiller had been used to till up the scrape.  Maybe this was my day to get a “good” deer.  After settling in my chair and pulling on my face mask camo, my gloves, and buttoning up my coat, I began the wait.  Since I was in a comfortable chair and warm as toast, I got comfortable and soon dozed off. I woke up with a start and looked to my left, and what I saw was an eight-pointer looking over his back at me about 50 yards out.  Now I was not in any position to make any shot as I was turned entirely to the right with my 7mm pointing 180 degrees away from the deer.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I tried to reposition myself so that I could take the shot; but before I could, the eight-pointer just walked into the woods.  It wasn’t 20 seconds, and a big doe walked out into the lane and then walked back into the woods. After this showing, I was now fully positioned for a shot, and I began the wait once more. Ten minutes went by, and the doe popped out again and started heading down the lane towards the deer stand. She stopped and looked at me, stooped to pick up an acorn, took a few more steps, picked up another acorn, took another look at me and headed off into the woods.  “Gone for the day,” I thought.

 Hoping that this was going to be my day, the eight-pointer showed himself once again about 150 yards from the stand.  He started towards me with his head down and stopped - the wind is now blowing from me to him.  Once again, he headed towards me with his head down and stopped.  That doe must have been hot, and that’s why he was heading towards the stand and hadn’t winded me.” I thought.  A couple more steps and about 130 yards out and he stopped and looked intently into the woods just where that doe disappeared earlier.  Finally, a neck shot and I squeezed the trigger on my 7mm, and I had the first deer of the season. He hit the ground with a thud - - no mistake, he was down and out.


 It’s just another morning on the Creek Stand.

Dumb Luck

You probably haven’t put your foot in your mouth or do stupid things, but I have and not only did I talk about it but then went and did it again.  I have done many crazy things and put my foot in my mouth so many times that I have acquired a taste for the shoe leather.  

It all started on The Benteen Place in mid-Georgia, a small patch of two hundred acres that has been in my wife’s family since 1858.  My son, a couple of his friends, and I were going to do the evening hunt.

During the drive over every one of us told of something that they had managed to survive the ridicule that came from doing such stupid things.  Once we got to The Benteen Place, I continued with a story my hunting all day a few years ago without loading a shell into the chamber of my beat up 7mm.  I discovered that I hadn’t loaded my gun when I was back at the truck before placing it back into the gun case.  What a surprise, I never loaded a round in the chamber.  The deer were lucky that day.

We all went to the deer stands that we had chosen and settled in for the evening hunt.  I decided to hunt a stand that had produced a “really nice” eight-point for me that morning - - I had high hopes that another would show himself to me during the evening hunt.  

The weather was beautiful with a slight breeze into my face – so was the sun.  The “Creek Stand” as it is known is a morning stand because in the afternoon the sun is right in one’s face; and if a deer comes into view from the right, it’s almost impossible to see if the sun is low on the horizon.  This was precisely the case when I saw a “nice deer” gobbling up acorns.  All I could make out was his head which sported a full eight-point rack.  The sun beamed into my scope, and I lost the deer in the bright sun.  I heard him moving off to the left through the thick underbrush and began to wonder if that was the last I would see of him.

Hoping that he would come into the shooting lane directly in front of me, I positioned myself and waited and waited.  Nothing!  Then there he was at the end of the 85-yard shooting lane looking at me.  I put my cross-hairs on his thick neck and slowly squeezed the trigger.  CLICK…  I had done it again - -  nothing in the chamber the buck didn’t see or hear me jacking the 7mm into the chamber.  Once again, I put the cross-hairs on his neck and squeezed the trigger.  The 150 grain Hornady 7mm found its mark, and I had the second eight-point of the day on the ground.

Later that evening one of my son’s friends asked to see my rifle – the beat-up Remington 7mm that had taken caribou, moose, bear and at last count 31 bucks.  While he was admiring the beat-up rifle, he located the latch that held the bolt in place and removed the bolt and put it into his pocket.  He and my son told me very emphatically that “my hunting trip over.” or it had to be a ten-point or better…  

“Dumb luck” did it again… with another eigh-pointer on the Creek Stand.

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The Creek Stand