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A November Kansas Buck
The predawn morning found me pulling into a friend’s driveway about 20 miles northeast of Topeka Kansas. I stepped out of the truck and opened the bag that held my hunting clothes. There in the starry skied darkness I removed my jeans and put on my green wool pants. The dark green woolrich sweater over my wool shirt was a welcome layer as the crisp November air was damp from two days of heavy rain. I sat on the tailgate of the old Chevy and removed my tennis shoes and replaced them with my lined midcalf rubber boots. The lucky light brown stocking cap fueled my confidence. I was probably an hour and a half ahead of the arrival of the day. I removed the Osage orange flatbow from its heavy wool sleeve and slid the Flemish twist string up the limb until it fell deep into the string knocks. I had just completed this bow and the bright yellow of the fresh heart wood concerned me so I reached down and scooped up some wet earth and smeared it on the back of the limbs. I moved as quietly as I could down the fence line and across the hay field that was bordered by ash, sycamore and white oak trees. I kept my eyes searching the trail ahead for the log that told me to turn North forty yards to the base of the tree that held the old stand that just last week I had found. I made my way through the darkness and to the base of the tree. I looked up to see the stand that was actually an old barrel top that someone had welded a hinge to and attached to this majestic white oak using a chain. The chain had long since been swallowed up by the growth of the tree. I placed the bow tight on my shoulder and climbed the broken limbs and stepped slowly on the stand. The stand was just as I had left it when I had discovered it last week. I removed the small back quiver and hung it on the limb slightly above and to my left. Silence slowly returned around me as my breathing calmed and my heart slowed to a resting rate. The temperature was 37 degrees on this November 17th. A slight breeze whispered from the north at 5 mph. A coyote called a long way off warning his companions of the coming light. As the light slowly won the battle with the darkness, the field in front of me revealed shapes I recognized and a light fog drifted across the cut hay. I made a couple calls on my grunt tube and tickled the antlers I had left hanging here last week. My concentration was deep and every sound around me seemed to be amplified. A rabbit made his way to the edge of the field to enjoy the last of the seasons green grass.
I turned my head to look behind me and across the creek 10 yards away. The banks of the creek had been cut away on both sides rendering it impossible for a deer to cross at this point. The water was quietly flowing past and I was glad the water level had reseeded from its flood stage just 24 hours ago. My concentration began to wane as the sun warmed my back. I found myself thinking about what chores awaited me at the house. I reminded myself to focus and decided to give a rattle with the antlers. I tickled the tines and waited. After carefully looking all around me I clashed the two antlers together and used the antlers to act out the fight playing in my head, then gave a couple calls on the grunt tube. Trading the antlers for the bow I knocked an arrow and waited for the buck to arrive.
Ten minutes, twenty minutes, thirty minutes and I was again loosing concentration. I began to admire the bow that I held in my hands. I began to think about the enjoyment and struggle I had in making this bow. I recalled carefully removing the wood that held what was a replica of an ancient weapon. I thought about the arrow and the time taken to coax it to the straightness it now was. I ran my fingers through the goose feathers that assisted its companion to fly straight to the target. I was the weak link in this effort; these tools could only perform to my ability.
Suddenly a hissing sound shocked me back to reality. I looked up to see a buck 40 yards in front of me kicking up large amounts of mud and grass as he paws the ground with his front legs. His hooves hissing and whistled through the wet grass. Adrenaline rushed through me as I watched, fighting to remind myself that this was not a video, this was real. The buck turned and started to walk from right to left which would eventually lead him away from me. I reached for the antlers with my left hand and once again tickled the tines, He turned his head and began to walk down a trail that would deliver him 15 yards from my location, the buck was walking stiff legged and had his ears pinned back against his neck. He passed behind a large sycamore and I came to full draw as he stepped beyond the tree I released the wood shaft and watched as it silently left the bow and sunk deep in the bucks chest. In an explosion of leaves and mud he spun and ran twenty yards and turned to face whatever had surprised him. I watched as this monarch slowly stumbled in a circle and fell to the ground facing me again.
I sat in shock at what had just happened. I leaned against the tree and thanked God for this moment. I climbed down from the tree and admired this beautiful animal at a distance. A flood of emotions play out as I took in the finality of the last few moments. What an opportunity I had been granted.
The antlers measured 135”. A solid symmetrical 8 point. I later gave the bow to my older brother and fed my family through most of the Kansas winter with that deer
He turned out to be 1 of 5 bucks that I took with my selfbow that year, but easily the most memorable.
By Larry Houghton
