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Last month I posted a story about a "buck fever" doe from 2007. Here's the rest of the story.
The Action Ears muffled the shot and allowed me to concentrate on the impact of the bullet. It was as if the deer was connected to the trigger. The trigger broke and the deer dropped. There was no problem checking the range where I shot it since it DDRT (dropped dead right there). Out came the Leica 1200: 222 yards
I carefully studied the surrounding terrain where it fell: "There is a single big fir among oaks and madrones below a rock cliff. Got it," I told myself. The excitement did not stop there. I started down the very steep slope at the head of The Main Gorge toward the nearly vertical area of what became known as "Doe Tag Ridge" where the deer fell.
I was making some very good time going down the hill to recover the deer, but even though I am an old man I was like so many modern teenagers….totally out of control. "Please, Lord!" I more or less calmly ask as the ground under the deer trail collapsed beneath my feet. I always ask for help when I think there is a problem, whether small or large. Quickly I gained speed. When climbers start to fall, they yell, "Falling" so their buddies can get ready. I am not a climber so was not climbing. I was just falling. "Please, Lord," I exclaimed. This falling was really not falling, but sliding. This sliding was becoming a concern. "Please, Lord!" I earnestly cried out again. This falling thing was going on long enough for me to actually have time to think. I decided I better try to get my hands out or something. I was cradling the .223 Savage to protect it and the scope from damage. Thinking if I bounced just right, I could be impaled on the small diameter barrel so I tossed it away to my left as I was on my back. Yea, I had time to think. How does one sliding down a hill in the woods miss all the tress? Fortunately I did. Then I stopped.
Amazement is the best thing to describe the feeling when I opened my eyes and looked around. I was on a small level. The rifle was right there beside me lying against a tree, but on the opposite side from where I thought I tossed it. Was this real? Yep! My Action Ears came rolling down the hill. I grabbed them as they came by. They were broken. Perhaps they saved my head from injury. Only the Lord knows. In fact, the only pain I had was the arthritis in my left shoulder immediately flared up.
"Thank you, Lord, for no injuries," I quietly said.
Meanwhile back to the deer hunt: Upon inspection of the entrance hole, I noticed the bullet hit barely to the right of the top of sternum. (I remembered it was slightly quartering toward me.) I thought I would recover the bullet. Not so. It exited low in the chest after breaking a couple ribs in front of the diaphragm on the left side before it exited. The lungs were devastated. Instead of having to drag it to the road I just shoved it off the trail. It went half way to the pickup. Did I tell you, this place is steep?
The Action Ears muffled the shot and allowed me to concentrate on the impact of the bullet. It was as if the deer was connected to the trigger. The trigger broke and the deer dropped. There was no problem checking the range where I shot it since it DDRT (dropped dead right there). Out came the Leica 1200: 222 yards
I carefully studied the surrounding terrain where it fell: "There is a single big fir among oaks and madrones below a rock cliff. Got it," I told myself. The excitement did not stop there. I started down the very steep slope at the head of The Main Gorge toward the nearly vertical area of what became known as "Doe Tag Ridge" where the deer fell.
I was making some very good time going down the hill to recover the deer, but even though I am an old man I was like so many modern teenagers….totally out of control. "Please, Lord!" I more or less calmly ask as the ground under the deer trail collapsed beneath my feet. I always ask for help when I think there is a problem, whether small or large. Quickly I gained speed. When climbers start to fall, they yell, "Falling" so their buddies can get ready. I am not a climber so was not climbing. I was just falling. "Please, Lord," I exclaimed. This falling was really not falling, but sliding. This sliding was becoming a concern. "Please, Lord!" I earnestly cried out again. This falling thing was going on long enough for me to actually have time to think. I decided I better try to get my hands out or something. I was cradling the .223 Savage to protect it and the scope from damage. Thinking if I bounced just right, I could be impaled on the small diameter barrel so I tossed it away to my left as I was on my back. Yea, I had time to think. How does one sliding down a hill in the woods miss all the tress? Fortunately I did. Then I stopped.
Amazement is the best thing to describe the feeling when I opened my eyes and looked around. I was on a small level. The rifle was right there beside me lying against a tree, but on the opposite side from where I thought I tossed it. Was this real? Yep! My Action Ears came rolling down the hill. I grabbed them as they came by. They were broken. Perhaps they saved my head from injury. Only the Lord knows. In fact, the only pain I had was the arthritis in my left shoulder immediately flared up.
"Thank you, Lord, for no injuries," I quietly said.
Meanwhile back to the deer hunt: Upon inspection of the entrance hole, I noticed the bullet hit barely to the right of the top of sternum. (I remembered it was slightly quartering toward me.) I thought I would recover the bullet. Not so. It exited low in the chest after breaking a couple ribs in front of the diaphragm on the left side before it exited. The lungs were devastated. Instead of having to drag it to the road I just shoved it off the trail. It went half way to the pickup. Did I tell you, this place is steep?
