How Wide?????

Burgess, MS> Years ago when Dad was hunting the Peddler Field Phantom, his stand sat on a ridge overlooking the scrapes of the giant deer. He took several nice bucks off of this stand including the Phantom.
One frosty morning as the bright rays of the sun lit up the forest, Dad saw movement way across the hollow on the side of the adjacent ridge. A nice buck was easing along about 300 yards away. Hershel got a good rest and put his scope on the deer. It was so far through the woods that it was an impossible shot but the deer turned slightly away from him into a wide open spot. He put the crosshairs in the center of the bucks' back and squeezed the trigger. BLAM!
The buck instantly fell in it's tracks. Dad sat there amazed that he had even hit the deer much less killed it. What a great shot!
When he got to the deer and checked it, he could not find a bullet hole in the deers back. Searching he finally found the hole exactly between the antlers and in the back of his head. The force of the bullet had cracked the skull so that the antlers
were loose. I had killed a nice little deer that morning and we kidded each other about the size of the horns as we posed for a picture. At the last second, Dad spread the horns as wide as they would go and the picture was taken. In the pic it looks really big, but it was a good joke for a long time.

Praying Up a Buck

When we were still kids, we hunted near the small town of Abbeville in North Mississippi. As we reached our early teenage years, the deer herd had expanded and our hunting areas started to change. 20 miles toward home, my Dad had found the sign of a big buck along the Yocona River just south of Oxford. This area was pretty remote and undisturbed. This was a perfect place to hunt if you could just find the time. He built a stand, then started hunting near our camp and forgot about it. He forgot about it until he really needed it.
The season had wound down to the very last day and just about everyone had taken a deer. Everyone that is, except my brother Paul. Paul was moping around the camp crying and weeping that he had not taken a deer and the season was over. Dad talked to him and tried to reassure him that it didn’t matter, when the thought of the stand he had built popped into his mind. He told Paul that they would hunt that afternoon. They would stop on the way home and he could hunt on the River Stand and to not give up.
Later that afternoon they walked deep into the swamp and got Paul situated. Dad, then told Paul he would make a couple of big loops and hopefully a deer would move his way. He trudged off and started a big slow circle. Walking, watching and waiting, he found a big log, and sat down to wait a little while.
He thought about Paul and how much he wanted him to get a deer and whispered "Lord, please help that boy get a deer" He was answered by a loud gunshot "BLAM!", then "BLAM" again. He hurried to Paul and yelled "Did you get him?" "Yes sir"
"He's on the other side of the river!" The big buck had leaped into the river and just made it to the far side as it died. A big, big 9-point that took a trip wading the river to get out. A magnificent trophy prayed up for Paul.
As you can tell, another reason he is spoiled rotten.

Bloody Horns Begins

Paul had gone to the first Crossover Stand and settled in that morning. He had not killed a deer in the Hole Area for a whole day and needed a change. He selected this stand basically at random. You need to know that big deer are attracted to him which causes hell for the rest of us.
It wasn’t long till two does came out to feed but seemed nervous. They looked up and darted around the field as a 5-point came out of the logging road that fed into the field and started chasing the does. A second later a big 8-point eased into the field from the road and stated moving down the edge of the field. Paul shot! The deer made it to the edge of the woods, fell, tried to get up and Paul shot the buck again. The buck laid still and Paul sat back in the stand. It was still too early to get down and go get his son, so he decided to just sit on the stand and see if anything else would happen, It did not take long.
Seconds later, three more bucks came out the end of the same logging road. They were a spike, a 3-point and a 4-point. Paul could not believe his gunshots had not scared them away. The deer moved down and circled the dead deer lying in the edge of the woods. Suddenly a giant 8-point appeared. This bruiser has massive heavy antlers, one brow tine was extremely long and the other broken. An easily recognizable monster that headed toward the dead deer as the rest of the bucks moved away. The big buck stood, smelled and circled the dead buck. Then it charged into it’s side and flipped the deer up and over.
It jumped back and warily circled it and then hit it from the rear. Circling again he charged the antlers of the dead buck and started pushing and goring the deer all over the hillside. After almost an hour of watching, circling and attacking the dead eight point the big buck moved into the field with the 3-point and started feeding on the rye grass.
At thirty yards, Paul studied the massive buck through his binoculars. The giant bucks head and antlers were covered and dripping with blood. He stayed there for what seemed forever, then took off chasing the does when they showed up again. Paul quickly got down, ran across the field, grabbed his battered buck by the horns, dragged it across the field, finally got his 4-wheeler and Michael, loaded the deer and headed to camp.
Thank God, he at least shaved his scraggly beard afterward.
UPDATE- hhmmmmmmmm...... Maybe Paul has met that buck before.

James' Overwhelming Buck

Needless to say there is a lesson in this story.
I have not written much about my brother James and stories involving him hunting with us, but now that his daughter, Victoria , is in school here; now is a good time.
My brother James was excited that morning when we got up to go hunting, we all were. The temperature had turned very cold, the ground was frozen and best of all the air was totally still. Not a breath of wind, and absolutely perfect for deer hunting. We scrambled into our hunting clothes after coffee and a light breakfast. We did not have much in the way of clothes then, so you put on as much as you could. We all looked like stuffed red snowmen that morning. James struggled and finally was able to put on everything that he had. I watched them leave then headed to my stand.
Dad took them to Thacker Mountain, out west of Oxford. We had some great stands there like the Double-Deer Stand just perfect for a morning like this when the big bucks were sure to hit their scrapes and chase does. Dad was still chasing the Peddler Field Phantom.
They had a new stand that he put James on that morning and the area around it was covered in big buck sign. Dad helped Jamie up the cotton picker spindle spikes in his bulky clothes and got him settled in. James got ready as daylight started to break.
Nothing appeared that morning except that the cold worked it’s way in to him until he sat there thinking he was going to freeze to death before anyone came to get him. Another cold, freezing, wasted day and no deer. Funny how things rapidly change between one heartbeat and the next while deer-hunting.
A sound, running feet, breaking limbs, and the gigantic buck leaped out of the brush into the narrow lane that James was in. There it stood right in front of him. James had never seen or been this close to a buck in his whole life that looked like this massive thing.
James instantly came alive and turned to get in position to shoot.
James tried to raise his gun to his shoulder to shoot off-hand but suddenly realized he had so many clothes on that he could not get the rifle up to his shoulder. He tried again, but he was too bulky and his frozen body would not respond correctly. He got the gun across his chest but then found the scope not adjusted to his eye at that distance. He kept trying to figure a way to fire as his body screamed "shoot, shoot, shoot", but the deer suddenly decided that Fargo might be a better place to be hanging around and with one mighty bound, the huge buck was gone! James was one unhappy and frustrated little boy for a long time.
The lesson: if there had been a gun rest in the stand, he would still be celebrating.
Here is a pic of a really nice deer he took at about that age.

The Hissy Fit

Hunting in my family has always been a very competitive event. Of course, I have always had to be the adult one in the family. It has taken many forms but Paul has always been the master of the hissy fit. These take many forms but in hunting it is always something to behold. The first hunting hissy fit, I was ever around happened like this……
We were hunting out of Abbeville then and Dad had taken a nice buck off a power line stand and was finished for the season. The limit was one buck a season back then.
Paul was about 14 and hadn’t killed crap and the season was winding down. In a Dad’s eyes, desperate times call for desperate measures. My father had built a stand on the edge of the bottom, tucked away so he could hunt it when the time was right and no one had hunted it that year. He decided to give Paul the chance to shoot the deer he had been saving. That afternoon he grabbed the sulking boy, threw his rifle on his shoulder and headed for the woods. They located the stand, got Paul all fixed up and told him that he was going to go back toward the road and sit on the ground till dark and wait for Paul to shoot. He left and soon found a place to sit on the edge of a deep ravine. He laid his gun against the tree. You always want a gun with you in the woods but deer hunting was not on his mind. An hour later things had gotten quiet in the woods and he thought he heard footsteps. They were getting closer and closer but he could not locate them. Finally, looking straight down about 15 feet he realized the deer was in the bottom of the draw, right under him. It was a nice young buck, but in bad shape. His front shoulder was almost completely blown off and the deer was looking at dying a long painful death.
Dad pulled his rifle up and shot.
At dark he went to get Paul. He asked “Did you Shoot?” Dad said yeah and he needed some help to get the deer out of the woods. Paul asked him what he meant as he turned bright red.
Dad explained what happened as they headed to the deer. Paul was working on building up his anger by mumbling as they got to the deep bank and finally saw the deer. Paul went ballistic! Screaming and yelling and shouting and refusing to help.
My father eased off into the deep gulley and realized Paul was still on top of the bank. He told him to get down there and help him. Paul coolly replied “You shot him, You drag him” and took off through the woods toward the truck leaving my father standing there yelling for him to get back there.
Much screaming and hollering and threats to use a switch on him while Dad dragged the deer and Paul swearing Dad was a no-good outlaw, greedy and had shot Pauls’ deer on purpose as he left Dad in the woods. Later, the deer was in the truck as Paul finally regained his composure from the frustration of a long season. I would of loved to have seen the screaming fit put on in the woods that day.

Big Red

I was too young to hunt, but even I had heard the rumors and stories about the giant buck known as Big Red. Paul and I were at the age where the thought of a gigantic buck roaming the woods kept us awake at night hoping to be the one to bring the monstrous buck into our camp and be famous forever.
Trent was old enough to hunt and had traveled about a mile down the road from our camp to a stand where Big Red was known to travel. Trent didn’t say it to us, but the same dreams and hopes ran through his mind too.
We heard the shot that morning and thought that it could have been from Trents’ location but time dragged on and he did not come in. Finally, Dad loaded Paul and I up in his old Ford truck and we went to get him at noon.
When we finally worked our way through the woods to his stand, Trent refused to leave the stand, told us to leave and started crying. The story came out then.
The gigantic buck had worked it’s way up the trail in front of the little boy and had stopped less than 30 yards away in the open, right in front of him. Big Red, was immense and still red colored though it was winter, just like the stories and with a huge rack. Did buck fever get Trent, or was it just that there was no gun rest in our stands in those days?
Whichever, the bullet blew up dirt under the deer and took off. (He said) Dad tried to console him, but he would not get out of the stand. After awhile we tried to follow the deers’ trail through the woods and found a huge track where it crossed the road. We left Trent at about 11 or twelve years old in the woods crying and swearing to never come down out of the tree, and headed home. He has never forgotten the event and has been a fanatic about getting a big deer ever since.

The Double-Deer Stand

Everyone that hunts yearns to find it. Every deer hunter has dreamed about it. They all search with hope of finding and having the perfect deer stand. Once upon a time we had that, and the name of this great spot was the Double-Deer Stand.
Growing up, we all learned to scrape hunt and spent all our time scouting for fresh scrapes and building stands to hunt them. This spot always had a half-dozen scrapes scattered around a little clearing in the woods and must have been a major funnel area too. Every year our family took 1-3 bucks off of this stand for at least 12 years. When you hunted it, your odds on killing a deer drastically improved. I do not know exactly how many bucks were taken off of this stand but it was a lot.
The name of the stand came from two reasons. The first is that Paul and his wife, Wanda hunted the stand one morning and they both got a buck. The main reason is that once Paul hunted this stand and shot a nice buck that ran after he shot it. As he was climbing down, he heard a noise and the buck stepped back into the clearing. He leaned against the tree, shot the deer again and got down. There were two almost identical bucks lying within 10 yards of each other. We lost that land, before we moved to our present location, but the memory remains. We still search for another stand like that and I think we will find it one day.

Don't Run Her Back

We were hunting the Island then. It was a long piece of land between the old Tallahatchie River run and the new channel that had been cut to straighten the river that fed into Sardis Lake. It was very wild and at that time had been unhunted for years. It was a bowhunters paradise.
The land was flat with giant trees everywhere, it was also covered with small creeks, beaver ponds and old sloughs. To get anywhere, you had to spend a lot of time crossing beaver dams.
My Dad had built a couple of stands way up the bottom and we worked our way deep into the heart of the island before daylight. He stopped and put me on a stand and told me it was a great crossing. He also said he would pick me up around 9AM. I got in the stand and got ready. At daybreak, I understood why it was a great crossing.
The stand was on a narrow spit of land between two large sloughs. It was about 30 yards wide and about 100 yards long. My stand was right in the middle. I spent the morning alert and ready but saw no deer.
At a little after 9, I could hear faint sounds of footsteps that I knew was my father. Suddenly, I heard a crash and the sounds of a deer running right at me. I stood up as the doe came to a screeching halt right in front of me and looked back. I quickly leveled my bow and shot. WHOOOSH! The arrow went right under the deer! It turned and headed back toward my Dad. Dad yelled at the deer and here it came back! It stopped not 20 yards away from me. WHOOOSH! I shot under the damn thing again! The deer headed back to Dad. More yelling and crashing, and here the deer came again. It stopped right under me. WHOOOSH! I shot over it! The crazy deer headed back to Dad again. He was hooping and hollering (and laughing) now and the deer came back for a last try. It paused on the edge of the water. WHOOOSH! That arrow is still in the lake somewhere. The deer decided to try Dads’ direction one more time. I heard Dad say “She stopped out here, I’m going to try and work around and push her to you again” Not thinking, I made the mistake of saying “No, Don’t run her back, I’m out of arrows!” I have had to pay for that remark for 30 years.

The Blackwater Beast

Harmontown, MS> Growing up, my father taught us everything we needed to know about hunting and the woods. As we got older, it was exciting to use this knowledge to actually go in the woods, locate a big buck, build a stand and hunt that particular animal.
Locally over the years, I have scouted and hunted all over about a 5 county area. I have taken several nice bucks and learned a tremendous amount about the forest in my area. This story is about the first big buck that I really found and hunted. He was named The Blackwater Beast.
My father, Hershel Howell, had taken a large buck called The Peddler Field Phantom, a year or so earlier and we became obsessed with naming and taking a monster buck.
This is the only deer that I took that the name actually stuck.
I had become obsessed with scouting and figuring a place to hunt on the north side of Sardis Lake near Harmontown. This is where a lot of our family had come from and as kids we had spent a lot of time there hunting for arrowheads in the lake bottom. There were no deer there at that time. The deer herd grew and I found myself building a stand on a long narrow ridge over a red hot scrape surrounded by large rubs. Near the edge of this ridge was a stream named Blackwater Creek. The Blackwater Beast became real.
I was sixteen with a vivid imagination.
The stand was built and I eagerly waited to hunt there during Thanksgiving. I felt I needed at least three days to get the deer. I was correct.
The first two days I was surrounded by trucks flying up and down the roads, people talking and dogs running. I knew that no big buck in his right mind would go to the scrapes with that kind of racket going on.
The third day was cool, crisp and still. The dog hunters had moved on to a new area and the woods were silent. At 7 o’clock that morning I heard the big deer raking his horns on a branch below me. I got my rifle ready and soon the big 10-point came trotting up the trail. The big deer got in the scrape and stood on his back legs raking his horns and face along an overhanging branch. I started to shoot him in the center of the chest but figured no one would believe me. As soon as his feet hit the ground and he turned sideways I pulled the trigger. Dark horns, a mature big buck and the first 10-point anyone had ever taken in our family. I was on top of the world and it was very hard for my brothers to live with me that year.

Owling My Deer

My First Deer With A Bow
At an early age, we were taught that when my father came off his stand and it was time for us to move out of the woods, he would call like an owl. I have heard him call hundreds of times and you can not tell the difference between him and a real owl. I have watched while he called owls in to us. The purpose was to not disturb the woods and we could all slip out without any undue noise. Years ago, when we hunted up at Abbeville, we had located an area where a dark colored and very smart big buck lived. We called him the Shadow. We never got him but had some great times hunting this area. This is about the time I got my first deer with a bow.
A sand ditch wound down the hollow and ended at a forgotten pond. My stand was on the edge of this and the deer sign was plentiful. It was hot and dry and I knew deer were watering here in the day. My brother Paul had held up at a stand about halfway down the long ditch and was hunting the edge of a cane thicket. Dad had moved several hollows north of us to a spot he had found. We hunted with recurve bows then and had been practicing half the summer. I knew if I could get a deer in range I had a very good chance.
The October afternoon was hot and very still when right at dark, two deer came out across the pond, waded in and drank, then slowly moved around and down the edge toward me. I managed to ease to my feet and got in shooting position as the two does ambled toward me. I put all my concentration on the spot on the deer I wanted to hit. I pulled back and made the 15 yard shot. The deer exploded, turned and took off. A few minutes later I found the arrow up the trail lying half in the water. there was no blood on it but I knew it was a good shot. It was now dark and I heard an owl hoot way up the hollow. Dry mouthed and excited I tried to owl back, it probably sounded like a wounded crow. A few seconds later my brother, Paul, owled. I owled again, my Dad owled, then Paul owled. What the heck was going on? I needed to track that deer before it was pitch dark. I owled, Paul owled, Dad owled. Two real owls joined in and you would have thought it was an owl convention! Damn! Finally I could hear Paul and Dad together owling. I owled back and finally they got to me. Paul had got a deer at the same time as me! Ten minutes later we located my deer and late that evening we had them both loaded and headed back to camp. A wonderful memory of a great hunt for all of us. Paul and Rex

The Worst Mistake

Still Sick, MS> I have made a tremendous amount of mistakes hunting whitetail deer. I have missed the damn things at 20 yards and I have let them slip up on me and get away. I have wounded a few over the years that just left me sick to my stomach. What I want to do is relate the worst mistake and the two biggest lessons I have learned while hunting.
I was about 15 and Dad had found me a great place to hunt in an area called Buzzard Roost, just on the south side of Sardis Lake. We went in, scouted it and located the sign of a really big buck. He built a stand and I was all set.
In those days we were learning about scrape hunting and did that for years and years, with great success. My treestand was surrounded by huge fresh scrapes and rubs. All I needed was the buck.
The day was warm and I had seen no deer that morning and relaxed in the stand. At 12 noon I heard the baying of a small dog that kept getting closer and closer. A few minutes later I saw a deer flash by about 100 yards below my stand. I got ready. The dog came closer and closer and finally a small beagle came walking along following the scent.
It was a slow speed chase! I watched the dog wander off down the hill and started thinking about what I would do if I was that old buck. I would circle the edge of that thicket and come out right in front of my stand is what I would do.
The giant buck circled the edge of the thicket and came slipping out right in front of me.
I raised my rifle up and offhand, looked at the massive thing through my scope and checked out his antlers. I counted them. I could see 11 and I was sure there were more.
When he stops I am going to shoot.
The buck stopped about 20 yards away. He stopped exactly behind a tree. All I could see was one horn sticking out. Oh S**T.
Down below, the little beagle finally found the trail again and gave a loud Yelp. The wall hanger buck broke, and ran right under my stand at about 500 miles per hour. I threw my barrel down and shot. I am sure 20 feet behind it. The trophy buck was gone. I learned 2 lessons that day.
1. When you see that you are going to shoot, never look at the horns again. Concentrate on getting your gun in position, and shoot as soon as you get a clear shot. You can look at the horns again later.
2. In treestands or on the ground always have a gun rest. You can buy one or build one.
I don’t care who you are, if you do not have a gun rest, sooner or later you are going to screw up. A caveat to this is to check the trigger pull on your rifle, as a kid I missed several deer offhand because the trigger pull was tremendous. When I got older I went to a gunsmith, who adjusted it in about 5 minutes.
I get sick every time I think about that massive deer and my foolish actions that day.

A Meeting With The Shadow

Abbeville, MS> Several years ago, when we still hunted near Abbeville, we found a great place to hunt east of the railroad in a very hard to reach area.
My father, Hershel, went into this area and built 4 stands in this hidden spot along a narrow sand ditch that wound under the Railroad tracks and down to a small pond.
Going in, we drove a mile along old rutted roads we had cleared, hiked a few hundred yards to the railroad, went up that about 100 yards, then slid down the bank to the creek.
This turned out to be a fabulous bow hunting spot, and it wasn’t long till we realized that a gigantic and cunning buck lived there.
Everyone that hunted there had a chance to see the gigantic buck at least once, but he was so smart and clever that the dark colored and tremendous 10-point, could almost sense you and could disappear like a shadow. So his name was born and we told tales and hunted him for years with no success.
This little story is about my meeting with The Shadow.
The end of the sand ditch emptied into a small pond that I liked to hunt. My stand was in a tree that leaned out over the water and deer watered there almost everyday.
It was about 8:00 on a bright, sunny and still day when I heard the deer hit the ditch about 40 yards behind me. It got quiet for a long time as I eased around and got ready to shoot.
We used recurve bows back then and spent a large part of each summer shooting at targets. I felt confident in my ability to shoot a deer. I wasn’t ready for what happened next.
The nice 8-point eased into the opening at 25 yards. The trail would move the deer to about 20 yards. Perfect as I prepared to shoot.
Another buck popped out, a nice 6-point. I glanced at it and just before I pulled back my bow, a small buck and a really big 8-point stepped out behind the other two. I had more bucks under me than I had ever seen in my whole life. I pulled back the arrow.
Whoooshhh! The arrow went right under the first 8-point.
The deer jumped around and then all froze. Grabbing another arrow I aimed at the closest deer in the group..
Whoooshhh! The arrow cut right in front of the 6-point.
Deer started to jump around again as I grabbed my last hunting arrow. The first 8-point had seen enough and broke for heavy cover, The other three were milling around and the 6 point sniffed my arrow. It took off, followed by the small buck. The big 8-point started past me picking up steam as it moved up the trail.
Whoooshhh! The arrow sailed right over it’s back. The deer were all gone. It grew quiet as they disappeared and I felt terrible. A herd of bucks and I had run out of arrows. I got down and walked over to look for my arrows. I searched for a few minutes and located an arrow. Before I could pull it out of the grass, a strange feeling hit me and I looked up.
Not twenty feet away in the middle of the trail, watching me, stood the biggest buck I had ever imagined. During all the action this buck had stood statue still just inside the thick trees and had waited to see the danger. I straightened as I caught the bucks eyes.
The huge, heavy horned buck did not run, he turned and stepped back into the ditch and disappeared like a wisp of smoke. He did not make a sound, not a leaf or limb cracked, no white flag bounded away, he disappeared like a Shadow.

Marks First Buck

RipVanwinkle, MS> Mark Stewart had hunted with us since we were in college. (1978)It has been a real education into the outdoor life (for him). He started out as a no-nothing Memphis hunter (as we call them). He knew nothing about hunting, but He really enjoyed the camaraderie of the camp and somehow kept our friendship alive through many ups and downs. He did this because there is not a bad or vindictive bone in his body. He (as I learned) is one of those rare true friends, one that will stick with you through thick or thin. He became a member when we were at Abbeville and later when we made the move to Natchez. He had never killed a deer in all the years we were together, (God knows I tried) but things changed rapidly once we got to the Christmas Place. He took a giant step and learned more about scouting for sign, finding stand areas, and staying with it until he finally took a couple of does. That really got him going. That day he hunted the #1 field. A cool and crisp afternoon had made the field fill up with deer and just at dark a nice 8-pointer stepped out in front of him. A big rack! His heart went crazy but he managed to get the crosshairs on him. BOOM! The deer crashed and Mark had the weight of the world off his shoulders.
Rex was hunting a good place on the edge of the creek and overlooking the cotton field. He relaxed and watched several deer grazing when a distant gunshot made him hope that Mark had finally got his deer.
Just at the last of daylight, he saw a big buck rapidly approaching. It hit the creek, crossed and moved to the edge of the field. It was just around a little bend in the tree line. Rex got his rifle up. He scanned the edge with his scope waiting for the monster to step out. The sound of a gunning engine caught his attention. The deer all disappeared as rapid honks of the horn was followed with a Bronco sliding around the edge of the field. Mark came barreling out into the middle of the field.
He slammed on the brakes, hit the horn and shouted “I got him!” Rex got down, the big buck forgotten, he found a wild eyed and happy Mark, hugged him and shook his hand. They gazed at each other with their friendship magically renewed and strengthened. A slap on the back and it was time to go get him. It had been a long hunt. (1995)

The Tiny Twelve Point

Hamburg, MS> Several years ago, Hershel Howell (noted slave driver, Thunderhoof seeker, workaholic and retired gentleman farmer) studied the land at Natchez for a good place to hunt.
His legs hurt and moving stands at 70 years old was not as fun as it once was. He asked his oldest son to help him. Trent replied "No, you need to hunt one of those box stands" He asked his next child. Paul said "No, I'm too busy blasting deer, maybe next year" Hershel would have asked Rex but he already had him working in a salt mine somewhere. He got his four wheeler, tied a stand to the rear and took off! The west side of the property was little hunted and he found a scrape on the ridge, spent half the day worrying his stand into position and went back to camp to rest. His sons tried to talk him out of hunting there the next day, saying he had left too much scent in the woods. He promptly told them to all go to hell and leave him alone. He got on the stand. It wasn't long till he saw the horns emerge from the woods and got ready. The horns were nice but the deer looked small. He deliberated and before he was ready, the gun went off!
BLAM! The deer took off too!. I will give Paul credit, he can track a deer and spent the rest of the day tracking it until he and dad met up on the side of a ridge after losing the blood trail.
They started talking, when Paul saw the buck start easing up the other side of the ridge just over dads left shoulder. "Shoot" he yelled as the deer changed gears. Dad whirled, aimed and at the last second shot the running deer. A great shot under the circumstances, and the last real use we have had for Paul in ten years.

Jack of Clubs

Poker, MS> The point stand was hot! Red hot! The only problem was that every weekend the wind was from the south or east. Everyone knew that if the wind changed, someone would get a deer there. That night we sat talking and telling stories, with everyone telling how they were going to be on the point stand the next morning. Finally, Paul (the Unwise) said “ By damn, we’ll just draw cards and settle this right now!” We all gathered around as a new deck of cards was spread over the table. Everyone eased a hand out and pulled a card back. A two, a four, a nine, and the next was the Jack of Clubs. Rex smiled and said “I’ll have that big buck by 8:00 AM”
The morning was perfect and the wind was finally from the north. The deer moved through the chest high grass toward him until five does were right under him. He held his breath as they eased past him and disappeared . 15 minutes later he spotted a coyote, easing toward him at 150 yards. The deer were gone and it looked like the hunt was over. Oh hell, BOOM! The coyote scampered as dirt flew up around him. Good-bye and good riddance he thought to himself. Ten minutes later a flash of antlers to his left. He eased his scope up and watched as the big buck moved directly toward him. At 40 yards it stopped and he took dead aim. BLAM!!!
The 8 point buck dropped in it’s tracks. He glanced at his watch. 8:00 AM. He smiled at the luck of the draw and under comments on the deer harvest sheet he wrote Jack of Clubs.

How to Grunt a Deer

Honkdeer, MS> Paul Howell, notorious game hog, shyster lawyer and blood thirsty outlaw never meets a buck that doesn't grunt nowadays. For 40 years he hunted and never heard one. Now, as a member of the famous Christmas Place Deer Language School he hears them everytime he wanders into the damn woods. It was time to test his newest deer killing device. He was just south of the Crossover Road and sat in his climber waiting on a big buck. The morning was still and he could hear a deer 200 yards away if there was one. He heard nothing. The morning dragged, but his bloodlust was up, and as we know he's greedy, so he reached in his pocket and pulled out his new A-1 Ace Super Duper Grunt Call (with a double reed and a compass in the stock). He held it feeling foolish and looked down the hole in the end. “Oh, hell” he thought “ might as well give it a try”.
He tried to remember the instructions as he made a gentle blow through it. “QUACK!
He looked around. Distantly, he immediately heard a big buck answer! GRUUUNT!
The deer was obviously confused as to why a mallard would be in a pine thicket!
Maybe he was imagining things? He decided to give it another try “QUACCKKK!!!
Nothing, No sound until a low “GRUUUNT” nearer to him. Obviously an insane duck deer was getting closer. Paul got ready. Nothing. He waited and waited. One more try. His best try produced a rusty “QUACKUUUNT” The crazy deer sprang out of the woods heading straight for him looking for the duck. BOOM! The 7 Mag. Roared and the deer dropped in its’ tracks. The big nine point for some reason tasted like chicken or maybe roast duck.
Trent is still furiously looking through the rule book about shooting a deer while impersonating a duck with no success. Now you know how to grunt up a big old buck. (Tip: Blind Fool Luck)

Tragedy In the Pines

Night Gallery, MS> Picture Paul Howell, well liked and respected crooked attorney, and avid deerhunter makes an exciting trip for a needed hunting weekend at the famous Christmas Place. He happily arrives, but soon finds himself hunting in a strange place we call The Twilight Zone.
Mr. Howell places himself in a well concealed tree stand along a heavily used deer trail in a large pine flat. Big buck sign is abundant and he settles in to wait. It is cold but he is wearing gloves. He relaxes.
Later, the large buck appears, slipping noiselessly through the pines. Paul is caught off-guard and throws his rifle to his shoulder. Something is wrong! The safety won’t move. His glove has hooked on the safety and it won’t budge! The big buck is silently drifting out of range. He rips his hand free! Trying to rise for a shot, Paul holds the rifle up with one hand. BOOM! The rifle goes off! Things seem to be spinning out of control.
He curses under his breath, pulls the rifle to himself to bolt it, catches his hand on the safety strap and CLICK! SPRANG! SWISHHHH! He accidentally hits the magazine release! All his bullets spray straight out and fall to the ground. Paul holds an empty weapon as he hears footsteps coming back toward him. Frantically he searches his pockets for another bullet! The large buck walks right under him! Bullet! Bullet! My kingdom for a damn bullet! The big buck is gone.
He glances down, a young spike is sniffing his bullets, it raises a leg. Paul Howell rubs his eyes. He has learned a lesson about hunting in the shadowy realm we call The Twilight Zone.

The Stupid Stand

Rex could recognize a funnel point when he saw it.
No need to mention it to his so-called expert brothers. Halfway down the long ridge leading to the Double White Oak Area, lots of trails but no big buck sign. It was also where everyone had to walk to get to the so-called good spots. Other members laughed when Rex wanted to hunt there.He finally shamed them into givng him some help and moved a ladder stand to the spot.
(since they had hogged all the good spots anyway)
Paul (the expert) said “This is the stupidest spot I have ever seen to put a deer stand. Once again his fate was sealed. Thanksgiving morning, BOOM!
Rex connected and the large 200lb. nine point was put on the pole. That is how the so-called stupid place to hunt has turned out to be one of our most consistent stands and became from that day forward the Stupid Stand.

Two Shots At Dawn

Brotherly Love, MS> Trent Howell sat in his stand surveying the hillside just after daylight. It was still. Not a leaf moved, it was a perfect morning to take a big old buck. Just then a tremendous BOOM! from a gunshot rattled the stillness from the direction of where Paul was hunting. “Oh, Crap” he thought to himself. “That damn Paul has killed a giant buck!”
Paul Howell bolted his rifle and looked down at the scene. The morning stillness was broken
and he felt bad about the shot, but that’s the way it was. He sat in his stand and listened as the forest quieted around him, when the loud CRACKKK! of a large bore rifle roared down through the woods from the direction of Trents’ stand.
“Holy Crap” he thought to himself. “That S.O.B. has killed another big buck”
They met at the camp for lunch. No deer? Neither had brought in a deer. What happened? They had each shot a coyote and scared each other to death. Ahhh, sibling rivalry at it’s finest!

Trents' Birthday Buck

OldAge, MS> He had suffered a long hard season and Trent wasn’t getting any younger. Everyone in camp had blasted at least one nice buck except for Trent. The damn laughing and jeering when he went out to his stand was more than he could take. He returned over and over empty handed. To top it off his fiftieth (50) birthday was approaching like a whirlwind.He dropped into the grump mode (which wasn’t much of a stretch). Plans for a big party (nix)presents and a nice dinner out (nix) a hot time and a little oh-la-la (nix) (nix) (nix). The season was coming down to the last weekend and he planned to hunt everyday until he got his deer, birthday or no birthday! He hunted hard that weekend but no deer for the grumpy aging shyster. The last day of the season and his birthday was upon him January 22. His wife Shelley (martyr) agreed to go with him to camp as he made his last gasp effort to kill a deer.
Trent had moved down to the edge of the cottonfield because Mark had seen a big buck crossing it a few weeks ago. He hoped that the deer would filter out of the hills that afternoon and the buck would reappear. The day grew long and only a few deer had shown. The sun was setting and only a few minutes remained before it would be too dark to shoot.
The feeling of a lost season churned in his stomach. Way across the field a giant set of antlers moved his way. He moved his field glasses up and checked “Whoa, Nellie!” The big deer ambled toward him but the angle might be too far. Trent took a rest and in the fading last minute of light laid the crosshairs on the buck at 200 yards. BLAM! the rifle roared and the huge buck collapsed. The huge deer was taken in the last second of the last minute of daylight on the last day of the gun season. It was dark when he found the deer. He went back to camp with a whole new attitude. He met his wife at the door with a strange gleam in his eye. What a birthday to remember!