Reality exceeds expectation in Ozarks deer hunt

When deer hunting, there is desire, there is expectation and there is reality.

One hopes for a mature buck with well-formed antlers, but one expects, at best, a young eight-point.

Reality is often a legal buck whose antlers are not suitable to grace a wall, but whose meat will grace many a plate.

In recent years, I mostly hunt in Washington County with Brad Conley of Rogers, a lifelong friend who shares my passion for smallmouth bass fishing and deer hunting. One stand on his property near West Fork has been so productive for me that he named it, “The Hendricks.” I killed an eight-point buck with a muzzleloader on my first hunt there in 2023, and I killed the three deer that earned my second Triple Trophy Award there in 2024. Sept. 6 was a chance for Conley and me to take bucks in velvet during the statewide bucks-only archery season.

“I’m not picky about bucks,” Conley said. “If it’s legal, shoot it if you want it.”

Because Conley’s property is in a chronic wasting disease management zone, any antlered buck is legal. I desired to shoot a mature buck with well-formed antlers, but frankly, I did not expect to see a buck at all. This is a rare instance when reality exceeded expectations.

I got on the stand just in time for kickoff between the Arkansas Razorbacks and the Arkansas State Red Wolves. I brought headphones to listen to the game on my phone. I had the volume turned down as low as possible, but sound doesn’t matter much at The Hendricks. Any deer you see in the open is in crossbow range.

Midway through the third quarter, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I rely heavily on sound when I hunt. I need to hear them coming.

I listened to squirrels feeding on the ground. I listened to an armadillo plowing through the leaves.

Nuthatches flitted among the trees. A bluejay glided from branch to branch. And then came the rhythmic footfalls of a deer ambling through the leaves. It’s a distinctive sound because deer push leaves, but their footfalls also crunch them. It was behind me down a steep hill and about 40 feet lower in elevation. Closer and closer it came until it stopped directly behind me, about 20 feet lower.

As luck would have it, a gentle breeze blew down the hill, and the deer caught my scent. It stalled. It walked back and forth, back and forth, across the bench behind my stand. It finally got out from behind the tree that held the stand to give me a strained glance out the corner of my eye. It looked like a doe. Does are not legal in the velvet hunt, so I relaxed.

The deer continued coursing the breeze across the bench. It didn’t spook or blow, but it was clearly conflicted. It knew that corn and peanut butter awaited above, but it also smelled danger. It retreated a few steps down the hill, but then it came back. Finally its stomach overruled its nose. It crept past my stand so close that its fur almost brushed against my tree.

To my surprise, it was a yearling buck with spike antlers in velvet. That was a first for me, and it was also my earliest opportunity to kill a deer. I put the scope high behind the shoulder and launched a 100-grain Muzzy expanding broadhead from my crossbow.

The bolt vanished, and I watched blood pour from a quickly expanding wound as the buck high-kicked and bounded down the hill. I heard the deer fall and then thrash in the leaves.

That happened about 40 minutes before dark. Though well hit, the buck left a scant blood trail after its initial flight, about a drop every 20 feet punctuated by an occasional splotch. From the sound, I was certain that it turned right when it reached the lower bench. I couldn’t find enough of a blood trail to follow, so I called Conley to help.

Sound can fool you in the woods. The buck actually turned left on the lower bench. It ran only 70 yards, but Conley and I took nearly an hour to find it in the dark with flashlights.

It was a highly amusing hunt. Conley and I laughed like junior high kids at the absurdity of it all.

I tossed the antlers, but that venison is as tender as veal.