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Field & Stream Magazine
The Legend of Cowhorn // by Dave Hurteau After dinner I overheard the guides talking. They were worked up about something. Apparently, one of them had seen Cowhorn. “Who’s Cowhorn?” I asked. “Dude, Cowhorn is a legend.” Since they’d first seen Cowhorn, years ago, the buck had only ever grown a spike on his left side—a heavy, sweeping dagger, like the horn of a cow. His right side, meanwhile, was so enormous that any hunter who saw him, no matter how discriminating, let fly. Cowhorn, the guides said, was the most shot-at buck in the camp’s history. During the previous fall alone, when the 6-year-old deer was already declining, hunters took no less than 11 cracks at him—all with scoped rifles, a couple under 50 yards. Not one shot parted a hair. “That buck can’t be killed,” one of guides said flatly. Suddenly, I really wanted to hunt this deer. The guides warned me that he’d gone way downhill since last year—wouldn’t score much now. That didn’t matter. I wanted Cowhorn. *** The wind pushed curtains of light snow across the Nebraska prairie outside the window of my box blind. It was 300 yards to where the wood’s edge dropped to the riverbottom. Through the binocular, I spotted a horse’s body with a deer’s head. The buck was bedded 20 yards into the timber. I could see the white sheet covering his back, and could just make out a dusting of flakes capping his forehead and fringing his ears and antlers. Then I saw the long, curved horn. It was a makeable shot, but I waited. Eventually, Cowhorn stood up and vanished behind a wall of brush. Ahead of him, a doe stepped out and fed into the meadow. It was the peak of the rut. “Get ready,” said my guide, Caleb, sitting to my left. Suddenly the storm picked up. Then, through the screen of parachuting flakes, in the footsteps of the doe before him, the buck stepped onto the prairie. “That’s him. That’s Cowhorn,” Caleb whispered. The guides had been right the night before; now that the buck was standing in the open, I could see through the scope that his rack wasn’t very impressive. But its configuration was unmistakable. “Two hundred and seventy-five,” said Caleb. “Whenever you’re ready.” I knew I’d made a good shot. “You hammered him!” yelled Caleb, who’d been watching through his binocs and saw the deer mule-kick before crashing, tail tucked, back into the woods. He lowered the optics and snapped his head at me, incredulous. “You just killed Cowhorn! I never thought it could happen!” There was no blood where the buck had been standing, but that didn’t worry us. We got on the scuffed tracks and followed them a short ways over the prairie, to the edge of the timber. That’s where I glanced up—and stopped dead. Down on the riverbank, not 40 yards away, stood Cowhorn. There was no doubt about it. The late sun had turned the river’s surface into a glittering pane. Perfectly silhouetted against it was the buck’s clean, tall-tined right side—and that crazy, heavy hook on the left. Only the rack looked bigger now. Before I could make a shot, Cowhorn was gone. He might as well have sprouted wings and flown away. At the bank there wasn’t even a hint that the buck had been hit. No blood. No missteps in his tracks. Caleb and I walked back up to the prairie, back to the beginning, to make sure we hadn’t missed anything. Weaving through a patch of low pines, we practically stumbled on the dead buck. His right side, sticking up above the snow, had four clean points; the left was jammed under a blowdown. I grabbed the rack, Caleb lifted the log, and 1 inch at a time, we unsheathed a long, curved dagger. We stood there, perplexed. Nothing made sense. But then we took a closer look. The rack was too small, and the long, sleek body wasn’t that of a grizzled survivor. “Oh my God,” said Caleb. “You killed Cowhorn Jr.” *** Caleb felt bad that he'd let me shoot the wrong buck and kept apologizing. But I was happy—even a little unexpectedly so. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We’ve got a hell of a story to tell back at camp.” Once he knew he was off the hook, he relaxed and couldn’t help expressing what he really felt. Which was O.K., because I was feeling it, too. “Dude,” he said. “Cowhorn lives!” + Read more stories from deer camp: fieldandstre.am/DeerCamp
Thought you might enjoy this pic. Catching trout in Tennessee Grandaddy and Granddaughter
Thought you might enjoy this pic. Catching trout in Tennessee Grandaddy and Granddaughter
How to Make Scent-Killing Wipes // By T. Edward Nickens Even if you shower in no-scent soap right before your hunt, the little bit you sweat going to your stand will turn into a powerful stench to deer. That's why smart hunters compulsively use commercial scent killers. The problem is that their cost can make you apply them sparingly, which is like putting deodorant on only one armpit. Here's a simple homemade scent killer. Hydrogen peroxide kills the bacteria and fungi that turn sweat into a deer-busting funk, and baking soda deodorizes whatever sneaks by. Step 1 SHOP Assemble the ingredients: • 2 cups (16 ounces) 3% hydrogen peroxide • 2 cups (16 ounces) distilled water • ½ cup baking soda • 1 ounce unscented shampoo (available at drug or health-food stores) Step 2 MIX Gently combine all the ingredients in a large bowl until the baking soda dissolves. Pour this mixture into a 1-gallon lidded container, such as a milk jug. Let it sit for three days with the lid on loosely to allow gases to escape. Step 3 BOTTLE Fill a plastic bottle that has a trigger sprayer with the scent killer. It must be clean, so buy a new one from a hardware store or online (usplastics.com). Step 4 WIPE To make scent-killing wipes, place plain brown multifold paper towels—the kind that come in stacks, not on a roll—in a small plastic tub with an airtight lid. Cover them with scent killer and let it soak in. Pour out excess liquid and replace the lid. Now you can wipe down boots, bows, and stands, and even use a towel or two to neutralize the sweat you produce shinnying up that perfect white oak.
Got this big boy thanksgiving morning 12 point 194 lbs scoring 182 6/8 true monster from south east connecticut
Got this big boy thanksgiving morning 12 point 194 lbs scoring 182 6/8 true monster from south east connecticut
Jason Bradley Britt tagged out on Thanksgiving evening hunt.
With firearms seasons opening across much of the region, rutting bucks could be falling with greater frequency in the days ahead. This report came in from Len Kahle at Hunting Western Massachusetts (https://www.facebook.com/huntingwesternmass/) “Last week I'd say the rut was pretty heavy into chasing phase. This week is gun season in MA, hopefully the orange army can catch some of that action, before the dreaded lockdown. On an optimistic note, the rut does seem a little stretched out this year. Looks like we may finally get some snow this week, and you can definitely find the bucks out freshening their scrapes after a storm. Also, expect the bigger bucks to be cruising the tops of ridge lines, scent-checking for does above scrape lines and travel corridors. Here’s a pic of a solid buck out cruising during shooting hours. It definitely pays to be in the stand every minute you can right now.” —Scott Bestul, whitetails editor #RutReporters2016
The mule deer rut is going full bore in western South Dakota, according to Levi Busse. Busse just took this great 5X5 the other day while hunting with Mill Iron Outfitters’ Reese Clarkson(605-580-8827)on a spot-and-stalk bowhunt. “It was pretty incredible,” Busse said. “There were just tons of deer, and the bucks were after the does so hard it was actually tough to find a bedded deer. I think I was on eight stalks the first day, but I just couldn’t get a shot.” But it didn’t take Busse long to connect the second day.”We spotted my buck early on the second morning,” he says. “He was rounding up a small group of does, just kind of chasing them all over the place, and there were a couple other bucks as well. They didn’t even notice us as we slipped in for a shot.” Levi connected with his first arrow, then watched the buck slide into a draw. He snuck in and put another arrow in the bedded buck to claim his first buck with a bow. “It’s just perfect country for spot-and-stalk bowhunting,” Busse says. “There’s a ton of deer, and while the country looks open at first glance, there are all kinds of ravines and draws that let you slip within bow range. It was a great hunt!” —Scott Bestul, whitetails editor #RutReporters2016
Tex on the left owned by Logan Lucas and Duke owned by Dylan Baker
Tex on the left owned by Logan Lucas and Duke owned by Dylan Baker
Tex owned by Logan Lucas!! This morning from Santee SC.
Tex owned by Logan Lucas!! This morning from Santee SC.
