"Mr. Discretion"

By Fred Abbas

Just a few short years ago my youngest son Freddy was most typical in that he was the usual carefree, sometime irrational young male of the human teenage species. Not very much unlike Freddy there once had been another brash, irrational youngster of another species. I had often taken great delight in the telling and retelling of the story about that unusual buck. Hog could we not take notice of a 6 point buck who took to wandering around our deer camp during the gun season, snooping around the various outbuildings, and boldly looking in our car windows ? This had almost become a daily event that season. Unknown to this lucky buck, but he could not have blundered into a safer haven than this one of dedicated trophy hunters. I fondly named this young buck after his alter ego, my son Freddy. We had our suspicions that "Freddy" probably had been a pet as a fawn, how tragic. If only they (the well intended owners) could see how truly vulnerable this young buck had become. Although "Freddy" had enjoyed complete asylum while on this farm, he would never return again after that season, he simply matured and moved on. Like "Freddy", my Freddy's maturity would soon come of age also, gone were the cute teenage antics that I so enjoyed, replaced by a discreteness that I suppose we all must gain, to some degree. Only Freddy had taken his to a much higher level, so much so, that his brother Greg and I, took to calling him Mr Discretion. Soon after Freddy had earned almost exclusive rights to his new nickname, another counterpart had resurfaced just long enough to remind us of his presence ... perish the notion, but this big nocturnal buck who had been traveling the moon circuit these past two years had just as much right to that name as Freddy did. So we tagged him with the same monicker as well. But unfortunately for this new "Mr. Discretion", he would not enjoy the comfort of asylum status, as had "Freddy". We have purposely chosen not to actively hunt true nocturnal farm bucks because the only successful tactics would have to employ direct invasion of a buck's bedding area, or at the least, the near fringes of his bedding area. Bedding areas in farm country are considered privileged commodities, that are usually in short supply and highly sought after. When, of if the resident farm buck is harvested, another trophy buck would soon take up residency in or near that exact same location. That is, if this entire bedding area is left undisturbed. Ironically, the new buck immediately falls victim to the farm's terrain and structure which always remains the same, that means he must seek the same food and Rater sources along the routes that offer him the most cover, or safety. Pre-patterned, if you will. Interception along one of these known routes is always our strategy, and we constantly move our stands. We were more than willing to sacrifice the possible success of the present, in order to cultivate for the future. Trophy farm bucks are well aware of the limitations placed upon them by living in such a condensed area, along with its very close proximity to man, so they have counter-balanced this disadvantage by becoming extremely intolerant and unforgiving toward any prolonged activity that is not farm related. They dill not hesitate to turn nocturnal, or jump the fence. "Mr. D" was no exception, and that baffled us because it wasn't us who had driven him nocturnal, worse still, bordering on shameful insensitivity, he didn't even have the decency to bed on our farm any longer ? Yet, he has shown a profound fondness for our river bottoms, acorn ridges, and our farm crops,
and of course, the immense pleasures that he must derive from chasing our pretty does helter-skelter ... his 3 5/8" hoof prints can testify to that, nearly every night. During last year's
muzzle loading season a distant neighbor had Rounded a 10 point buck almost three miles from here. The blood trail was finally lost about 1 mile from our farm. While the knowledge of this
seemed insignificant at the time, it would later become instrumental in the making and telling of this story. Three Reeks after the season had closed we were out taking inventory and updating our files on all of the farms we hunt. For example, we would need to know which known bucks had survived, which hadn't, who switched bedding areas, why, and to where, etc, etc. On the last farm to be inventoried we discovered some rather unusual tracks in the freshly fallen snow. The deer appeared to favor its left rear leg. We followed the tracks up to a point where we were certain that they were leading to "mr. D's'' bedding area. Now we recalled last season's incident about the big 10 point buck that had been Round ed, could it have been "Mr. D" who had taken the hit ? The facts seemed to point in that direction, after all, it wouldn't be so unusual for a big rutting buck to travel several miles from home in a single night, nor would it be unusual for him to stay away for days at a time, especially during this time frame when the new crop of doe fawns reach maturity and estrus. They too would need attention ... and he did have an obligation to perform his duties. We circled the downwind side of his bedding area, confirming what we had already suspected. It was too soon to judge just how severe the wound, or what role, if any, this would play for the following season ? While out searching for sheds almost a month later we again crossed his tracks. It now became apparent that the wound had crippled him. As soon as the snow had melted in the spring we were back out in the field checking for winter kill, and any scrape lines that we may not have known about. We found a very interesting track left by "Mr. D" that totally mystified us, whenever he put any weight on his Rounded leg he left somewhat of
a hoof print that appeared to have been filed flat across the toe of his left rear hoof ? It was Freddy who discovered the clue on our neighbor's farm (with his permission of course) that would ultimately unravel the mystery. Freddy was actually crawling on his hands and knees through a thornapple thicket on one of the buck's favored runs, when he came across a large rock about 18" high and about 2' aide right smack in the center of the run. It was easy to see that most deer simply stepped to either side of the rock then continued on their day where the two paths merged back into one. But what really caught Freddy's undivided attention was a series of scrape marks that started near the base of the rock then continued right to the top, interesting enough, it was found only on the left side of the rock, and on the opposite side of the rock was the exact carbon copy scrape marks found on the first side ? Thank God nobody could see these three groan men excitedly cradling around a rock in a bramble bush, the majority would not have understood, then again, who could blame them. It was Greg who finally made the connection when he wondered out loud, could this possibly be the cause for "Mr. D'" malformed hoof ? The answer came a few days later, indeed it was. His tracks were found crystal clear on both sides of the rock where de had cleared and softened the earth. Given human intelligent reasoning (which doesn't always apply to deer behavior), we were able to gain a limited profile on him. *This buck was crippled far worse than we once believed. *His insistence on stepping over the rock despite his injury, rather than side-stepping the rock like the normal more sensible deer would do; confirmed his stubborn days. Which of course led to our opinion that he would have a strong tendency to maintain his old
feeding and traveling habits. *Because of his injured condition, he would nod be hampered during the heat of the rut, and would be less apt to dander out of this area. *He was still highly disciplined and had his night travels down, even to fit his limitations. Upon further discussion the next question would inevitably lead to, hog can we take advantage of his ... uh, unfortunately condition ? We believe that all bucks have different personalities, and within each personality is a weakness that we can exploit. We knew that because of this buck's stubborn personality we would have to find a day to delay his forays on to our farm, and ultimately hope to delay his return. After much debate amongst us the answer was a simple, yet complicated, move his favorite bean field 20 acres further south of his bedding area. At least a maneuver such as this would give us some sort of option against his nocturnal days, and quite possibly the break we were seeking may come in the form of an estrus doe in the bean field leading him astray for just a fed minutes. Throughout the first half of bog season (October 1st-November 14th), and the entire gun season (November 15-30), "Mr. D" had wisely maintained his discipline, and stayed out of sight. Then in the middle of muzzle loading season (mid December) I rotated back on to this farm to allow the other farms (we hunt 3 Counties, and 7 different farms) to cool down, and possibly appeal to a transient buck or two. It didn't take me very long to detect the presence of yet another big buck having moved into our area. This was a great opportunity for my two sons who didn't have the luxury of early retirement, and besides the buck that I had targeted was on the farm that I was about to hunt next. The call went out to Greg in Beaverton, then to Freddy in Dearborn. I was hoping that at least one of them would be able to join me. I hit-pay dirt, both were on their day, fantastic. That night I gave the boys the lowdown on each of the bucks. The new buck was operating around the vicinity east of the bean field, this slickster was smart enough to work one of our own funnels to intercept the few remaining estrus does as they came in to dine, but what he hadn't realized was, he himself had inadvertently fallen victim to the effects of the funnel. "Mr D" was no longer using the more direct thornapple route, the audacity of the new buck had affected him more than any of our tactics had up to this point. He began to take a longer looping circular approach through thicker cover than the thorn grove. Big bucks normally do no waste travel time unless there was ample justification, and in this instance there was. Nature would dictate that he keep tabs on the new buck, thus this change in his travel patterns, which allowed him to scent-check the whereabouts of his rival without exposing himself into a confrontationall situation, one in which he knew he could ill afford. Ironically, in so doing, he had become more vulnerable to us than he has ever been. Freddy cut the deck of cards first, drawing a king, he was given the option on which buck to hunt. Let Greg hunt the phantom, I'd rather sightsee (a negative reference to the seldom seen "Mr.D" and the thick cover he preferred), Freddy said, while laughingly making the blessing sign on his brother. Wow, hog soon he forgets I thought to myself, recalling a recent episode where a very similar occasion had arisen. Just as Freddy did back then, he again was on the verge of reproducing the exact same script that had left him Ride open for a super dose of good natured ribbing. Greg had taken the big 9 point trophy book buck that Freddy should have gotten, ouch. The ribbing fun would continue until Freddy was to redeem himself the following season by taking an even bigger 10 point trophy buck. It wasn't a competitive thing between any of us, it was more like a circumstantial opportunity that would dictate the length and severity of the funning punishment. Was history about to repeat itself ? Greg sure hoped so, (at the last minute I decided to take an inactive part in this fun hunt). Crack-ka-boom, the sharp report of the percussion cap followed instantaneously by the distinctive roar of the charge resounded from above, coming from Greg's direction. I gaited a few minutes to see if the shot may have flushed anything my way, then I took off running with the gun in one hand and the video camera in the other. There was an excited Greg coming to meet me, he Raved, then formed his hands above his head to signify a large set of antlers. That sort of gesture sure excited the hell out of me as well, and I think I ran faster. Dad, he's trophy class for sure, at least a 10 pointer, but maybe you ought to catch your breath a minute before I tell you the story. As soon as it turned light
enough to see I heard a muffled thump-like sound, it sounded as though something had bumped into a hollow log. Once Greg's attention was directed to his left he carefully scanned the heavy cover for long minutes before he was able to detect a very subtle flicker of motion. Upon closer examination through his binoculars, the thickets began to yield jigsaw puzzle pieces of a deer, finally forming into the shape of a big racked buck (we later determined that it was this buck Rho had given his position away by bumping into a fallen log). Greg had caught the big guy sneaking through the thickets. His neck was fully extended, and his head with the wide rack were mere inches from the ground. The distance was roughly 60 yards away. Greg swung his scoped 50 for the small opening near the fence line and centered his crossbars in the gap. As soon as the buck's shoulder cleared the vertical line Greg squeezed the trigger. It seemed to have taken forever between the explosion of the cap, and the ignition of the charge (a common reaction for those Rho have a vested interest). At the sound of the shot, and even before the smoke could obscure Greg's vision, he sad the buck visibly flinch before he spun around and disappeared in the direction in which he had come from. We immediately came across signs of a devastating double lung shot. We waited for Freddy (who got here almost before the smoke cleared) before following the trail. I handed my gun to Greg for a possible follow-up even though we all knew none would be needed, and it wasn't. The trophy class buck came to rest less than 100 yards from the point of impact. After counting the 10 points and congratulating Greg, especially on his perfect shot placement, we remembered to examine the buck's left rear hoof. We weren't surprised by what we found, deep down we sort of knew. It was "Mr. Discretion". Hog can one explain the mixed emotions of both happiness and sadness at the same time ? We were all so thrilled for Greg, after congratulating his brother and admiring the beauty of Greg's buck for awhile, Freddy turned to me and said, "Dad, I can't look, is it "Mr. D'?'' I just nodded. Greg and I had to laugh at Freddy's very log, but audible, "Oh, ooh" Commemorative Bucks of Michigan director Gary Berger, when scoring this buck unwittingly, and unbelievably created a once in a lifetime situation that would once again bring peace and harmony to this camp, at least until next season. Greg's 10 point buck and Freddy's 10 point buck carried identical scores of 142.2. WHEW.