If
you think my friend Don Christensen hung up his rifle after helping Ralph shoot
the “Blind Man’s Buck,” think again. Hunting on his property in Spooner, Wisconsin
Here’s
the story in Don’s own words:
It had been a slow four days of hunting. My daughter
Beth and I had only seen two small does and a pair of spikes. I wanted to hunt
on Nov 21, the day before Thanksgiving, and figured something would show up because
Beth decided to take the evening off to start Thanksgiving prep. Seems there is
always a day or two during season when she has something else to do, and that's
always when I have opportunities.
I had been sitting for an hour in a blind 100 yards
behind my house when our cat—a jet-black female named Bob (because of her short
ears)—felt she needed to come out in the woods and hang out by my stand. I have
no idea why she does this. I've never even petted her, but she inevitably shows
up and scratches at the door of the shooting house. I wasn't in my elevated
shooting house this time so she jumped right up on the windowsill. I whispered
a few obscenities to her and she, being a cat, jumped onto my rifle rest and
burrowed down in the blanket on my lap and went to sleep. I figured things
would get pretty intense if I surprised her with a shot during the evening, but
being quadriplegic, there wasn't much I could do.
Bob performs double duty as lapwarmer and good-luck
charm.
Not long after that, a buck stepped onto the food
plot about 100 yards from me. My rifle rest would only turn about half the
necessary distance to get my sights on the deer, so I needed to turn the chair
quite a ways. By the time I realized that, he was only about 80 yards away,
standing in the oats.
I turned and my wheelchair made a loud click. He
froze broadside, looking in my direction, but I had turned just far enough
where I could do the finer aiming adjustments with the joystick on my rest.
Thankfully he stood still for the couple of seconds that took. A little squeeze
on my bite trigger and BOOM went my .243.
The shot seemed to have no effect on the buck and he
trotted off to the right out of view. You know, that cat never even moved until
I started shaking after the shot as the adrenaline left my system. Reminds me,
I've got to bring her out some turkey from dinner. Don't get me wrong and
assume I like that cat but she did stay quiet when I needed her to.
I knew the shot felt perfect, so the buck wouldn't
go far. I gave my son Riley a call and he came out to recover the deer. I
couldn't figure out what was going on because there was no blood, no hair,
absolutely no sign of a hit. My whole family, my caregiver, and the neighbor
searched the area but there was absolutely no sign of any kind. We decided to
let him be till morning, then start really working the woods. The morning
search didn't go any better, so I was totally confused. Riley set up a target
back in the woods and I took a shot to check the scope. Perfect shot… I knew I
did not miss.
One more look by Riley did the trick. The 8-point
buck had trotted about 80 yards before piling up on the backside of our pond.
Never a drop of blood…it was a complete pass through right behind the shoulder
and the Hornaday BTSP never expanded!
Anyway, he's in the cooler and now it's up to Beth
to tip over the big one. We'll be out again this afternoon!
