My best was a stand I've shot my 3 best now bucks out of in 3 years. Sits in hardwoods, edge of open timber and thick cover. Up above a ravine and pond which funnels deer past the stand. Great spot during the rut, passed multiple nice bucks there and saw some real dandy's just out of range or in range with no shot.. Unfortunately that stand doesn't produce as well anymore because of landowner activities near it, but it sure was money before. So let's hear about yours?
One Special Place; Two Special Deer (2009)
We all have them. The deer stand that holds a special place in our hearts and minds based on years and in some cases decades of enjoyable use. The stand where fond memories are so numerous that an archer can reflect for hours on events, deer seen, taken and missed, that occurred from the stand. These are high perches where our confidence runs deep even when a long tough hunting season is grinding onward and we are wet, cold, tired, or bored. It is to our special stand that we will gravitate and strive to carve out the next memory. While many hunters are fortunate to have multiple hot-spots, there is always that one extraordinary site that is a notch above the rest. It is the place that we envision first when daydreaming in the sweltering heat and humidity of July about the far off autumn days when colorful October leaves shower to the ground and the cold of November creeps into the woodlot on a biting northerly wind.
My special place has provided over a quarter century of wonderful hunting memories. Our “relationship” predates the births of my children and the deaths of many beloved family members. It is a part of who I am and what I do and a year without the chance to visit this deer stand and hunt the animals that wander by it would just not be a complete year. It is not as important to me as it once was to fill a tag from this area each fall, but it is far more important today than it was in years past that I find myself there trying. If that is an unnatural evolution so be it. All I know is it feels right.
These areas are often distinctive based on their unique natural characteristics and the game that we have taken there. My favorite stand is no different. Nestled on the perimeter of a small farm in the southeastern corner of Indiana, Kline Creek as it is referred to, has it all. In hunting season this small tributary carries only slowly running water, but the meandering creek cuts a stony gouge in the rich Midwestern soil. Located at the base of two sizable hardwood ridges, the creek bottom area serves as a natural funnel for game moving east and west between open fields and north and south though a series of “saddles”. While the southern ridge plummets down directly to the rocky waterway the northern hill levels out before hitting the creek. This flattened area is about thirty yards wide and runs a hundred and fifty yards or so. It is perfect habitat for doe and fawn groups to travel through and the bucks often follow. With deer liable to move here throughout the day it is the kind of stand that one must remain constantly vigilant on. The rubs and scrapes that litter the bottom in November are further evidence of the areas’ attractiveness to the local deer herd.
Even our special places are not perfect though and Kline Creek is no exception. The location of my preferred stand in a gnarly cedar tree that actually hangs over a shallow pool in the creek is strategically placed in many regards, but it’s positioning at the base of those two tall ridges results in winds that tend to swirl unpredictably. It is a rare fall day that the air currents are consistent for an extended period of time. Unable to do anything about this, it is just one of those imperfections that I must deal with and accept. Regardless, taking a stand in that friendly old cedar seldom provides a bowhunter looking for close range opportunities a high level of confidence that any given encounter will not blow up due to a fickle breeze. For each opportunity that works out there are a dozen chances that don’t. That is Kline Creek. That is my special place.
While I have enjoyed many successful deer hunts with Kline Creek at the epicenter, there are two that remain most prominently etched in my memory. The first occurred on a classic early November morning at the end of the pre-rut period. The hoarfrost had long ago been burned off by the warmth of the late morning sunshine that day, leaving the vegetation glistening with moisture, when the distinctive crunching gait of an approaching deer brought my senses to life. As I gazed beyond a well worn scrape off to my left I strained to visually confirm what my ears were telling me and what I wanted to believe. The occasional scuffling in the dry leaves was too consistent to be a nervous squirrel rooting for acorns, but I was still not able to see anything through the briars and multi-flora rose tangles that grew along the flat. With the wind nearly nonexistent I willed the noisemaker to show itself.
Choosing to take a more aggressive tact, slowly I tilted the doe bleat can call that hung on a lanyard from my neck and the prolonged “baaaaaaaaaaaa” that emanated from it was audible in the still woods. I repeated this two more times and followed the last call with a series of abrupt but urgent guttural “urrrrpps” from my grunt tube. This sequence struck a chord with the distant deer as evidenced by his appearance about sixty-five yards away on the flat. Head up, ears cocked, and facing directly towards me the buck first stared from a stationary position, but soon began to cautiously trudge towards my post. Moving from the cover of the thicket onto a deer trail the buck become more visible with each step and it was evident to me that he was a mature animal. His body was muscular and broad bearing a bone white rack. Realistically he was as good a buck as I was likely to see on this property and there was no doubt that I would arrow him if afforded the opportunity to do so.
Fortunately the deer was approaching from my left, a perfect angle for a sitting archer. With sloth-like motion I shifted my body ever so slightly in the stand and began to raise the bow, which rested in across my lap with an arrow already nocked, into a vertical pre-draw position. Believing that other deer were in the area as a result of my calling sequence, the buck continued his march towards me pausing only for a moment off to the side of the muddy scrape twenty-five yards distant. Though he was within range his body position continued to be head-on towards me and I was unable to draw the bow undetected or place a clean shot in the vital zone with him so positioned. As I waited for my quarry to shift or turn he did neither and instead he continued on his route directly towards me. On a course that would put him directly under my stand.
Bowhunting is a close range sport, but the interesting dichotomy is that at times it can become too close range a sport. Game that ends up too close to the hunter presents a problem in that the movement of the draw or any noise will ruin the opportunity. This was the situation I feared was developing as the buck hit the ten yard mark and froze, still facing me and clearly looking for the “deer” he had heard moments ago. Little did he know I waited above and that the “deer” he heard were not real! I seriously began to doubt I was going to get a shot at this magnificent animal, but that was when he made the singular mistake that I was hoping for.
Looking to his right down into the creek, the buck turned ninety degrees and stepped behind a leafy bush that bordered the bank down into Kline Creek. I immediately seized the chance to draw my bow while he was passing behind the screening cover. When the buck materialized next he was eight yards away, fifteen feet below me, standing in a still pool of ice cold water, and totally oblivious to the fact I was at full draw. With the top pin of my bow sight resting directly on his heaving chest, in a flash I released the arrow and the shot was perfect, as it should have been at such close range. The projectile blew unimpeded through the deer clattering on the rocks beyond him. In a final burst of energy the startled animal bolted straight up the very steep far bank for no more than fifty feet and stopped, looked back, and collapsed in a ruckus rolling back down and into a dry spot on the creek bed. It was there he expired, no further from my stand than he had been when I shot him. Another testament to the lethality of a well placed arrow.
This memorable Midwestern trophy was a fine eleven point monarch that pushed the scales to 218 pounds. It was a fitting conclusion to another of many great days in a special place and one of the most enduring memories I have of bowhunting on this Indiana property. It was not to be my last such memory, however, as a couple years later I was doubly blessed with both the chance to once again experience the dawn of a new day on Kline Creek and to go head to head with another fine whitetail.
That moment was in so many ways similar to the taking of the eleven pointer a couple years earlier. In the end that is what makes these special places special, that history seems to repeat itself on a regular basis. There were differences though. On this particular morning the woods were dry and dusty due to an unusually warm spell. Kline had little water flowing in it and by the time noon rolled around the sun was beating down on me as I sat hunched in my portable stand amongst the mottled shadows of the cedar tree. The warmth, in concert with the fact I had already been on stand over six hours, made me drowsy. My mind wandered to hunts past and my attention was only slightly diverted by a quartet of turkey hens scratching up on the northern ridge as they had been doing incessantly for the past two hours. Unlike years past there were fewer scrapes along the bottomland that bordered the creek, possibly a result of slowed rutting activity brought on by the prolonged Indian Summer heat.
While most of my encounters from this stand occur in front of me as a result of deer coming down off the northern hillside or along the flat paralleling the creek, there is the occasional deer that wanders along the southern ridge behind the stand on the other side of Kline Creek. It’s is a tough situation to capitalize on as a bowhunter though as the visibility of the stand (and therefore the occupant of the stand) is problematic from that angle. Deer moving back there often detect me and move quickly off. Those that don’t are frequently working along a small bench on the hillside that is further away than I am comfortable shooting. On this day, however, following an aggressive session of antler rattling and grunting, a large bodied deer appeared on the southern hillside. His posture indicated he was intensely focused on finding the interloper that had dared to come into “his” domain and pursue “his” does.
I froze in place staring at the buck as he began to plod not down the hill towards me, but away from my position. He was on the side-hill bench at forty five yards and getting further away with each step. I had no option but to try to bleat him back and a quick tip of the call elicited no reaction. A second attempt stopped him. A third turned him. The fourth brought him towards me angling down the steep ridge where at thirty yards he intercepted a trail and continued towards the stand. The challenge this presented was that he was on the hill across from me which meant he was basically level with me, or promptly would be. I could not let that happen as there would be no way to draw the bow without altering the wary buck to my position. I had to take a gamble and draw soon, it was a risk, but the odds were only going to get worse as he got closer and the angle of his vision changed. Timing my draw to perfectly coincide with his passing behind a small ash tree I was able to get the arrow back without detection and now the balance of power in this face off had shifted to me. Every couple steps he stopped and at less than twenty yards I could see the glint of the sunlight reflecting off his dark eye and a shimmer of moisture on the nose that he poked inquisitively into the warm fall air. The wind was favorable and there was no reason now not to take the shot. Mentally forcing myself to take an extra few seconds to ensure proper form and sighting; I touched the release trigger lightly and watched the black carbon shaft traverse the distance to the buck in a blur. The hit was solid, as validated by the sound it made as his chest cavity was breached by the razor sharp broadhead. The impact of the arrow as it crashed into and through the far shoulder blade on exit knocked the deer sideways, but he never lost his footing, which was amazing given the steepness of terrain underfoot. The mortally wounded deer whirled around and streaked off, tail tucked tight to his rear and head held low on an outstretched neck.
Years of experience gave me the comfort that this animal would not make it far and I joyously watched him burst that final fifty yards before stopping statue still in an opening down the ridge. There he looked around, but walked no further. In less than a minute he became visibly jello-legged and fell over, his short head-over- hoof decent down the ridge stopped as his rack caught in a small opening between two maple saplings. Kline Creek had delivered again.
Climbing down from my stand I trudged the across the dry creek bed and up the hillside to the entangled buck. As I freed his heavy nine point rack from the maples I realized this was a very heavy deer. Later confirmed at 242 pounds he was the largest bodied whitetail I had ever taken and I was thrilled to have taken him where I did and as cleanly as I had. Once again, and hopefully not for the last time, a special place with a special stand yielded an especially nice whitetail to a blessed bowhunter.
I first started bowhunting in 1990. A buddy had a nice piece of land with permission. We scouted all summer. I built a stand in a corner of a field. It also overlooked a low spot of a fence. The deer had worn a hole from always jumping over the fence at the same spot. I saw some nice deer from there. I also killed my first buck with a bow - a nice little 6 point basket.
Now, my favorite stand is on another buddy's land in Kansas. He owns a lightly hunted 1/4 section (160 acres). The land has a lot of habitat and some amazing deer. This stand is in a dense section of cover along a natural corridor. I just found the stand late last season. I saw deer almost every sit there last year.
Nice thread... I can hardly think straight thinking about this coming fall...
>>>>-------->
My best stand is usually a fresh hunch spot with iffy shooting lanes that keeps me waking the alarm clock every year...
It actually changes for me. 2 years ago, I would have told you my best stand was a certain stand I killed my best bow buck out of in 2010. Always had action there. But the last two years it's really tanked for activity, I believe because of neighboring pressure. . . it's 150 yards from the fenceline
This year I would have said the stand I killed two bucks out of . . . and I tend to think it will continue producing
But I hung several new stands after the season that I'm really excited about hunting this November.
My best stands have taken me years to find, as most of them do not have visible sign in close proximity. But they're great terrain sets for cruising bucks
A trout stream runs behind the stand, and on the left, is a nice quiet 30 acre lake, that is clean and clear and the waterfowl and beavers are great entertainment.
This stand takes 40 minutes to walk into. Its in the Upper Penisula of Michigan,, and the bucks like a big bog area like that,,,,,,,,
I have seen bears and wolves, coyotes, deer, eagles, etc,,,,,,,
I lucked into it, one day, still hunting with the rifle, where I shot a nice fat 6 pointer that was laying in that dry lake......
It truly is a majic spot, given by the hand of God
But many years ago, I wrote an article for Bowhunter Magazine entitled, "The Magic Tree". It was about a tree on a WMA-public ground-from which my hunters and I,over an eight year period, killed 41-deer including three in one day, by three different hunters. It was a gnarly old locust and was struck by lightning some years back. It split down the middle and that was that.
Over the years, I havehad several stands from which a dozen or more deer were killed.
The Wrong Way Stand.
If you are a typical deer hunter you have land marks in the woods. These land marks are so obscure they go undetected by the masses but to your hunting buddies and you they are sacred spots. The Wrong Way stand is such a spot. It dates back to the mid 80’s. One February day I was walking to camp from the other side of the ridge. The snow was deep as I slogged up. I came to a little saddle that was not much different than other saddles. I saw old buck rubs and promised to return. Not being a quick study I came back the next fall and jumped a buck. I told myself I would hunt it some day. I had an old oak I liked to sit under less than 300 yards away so I didn’t give it the attention it deserved. I am not a lucky hunter I am a persistent hunter. In 1986 I had taken maybe 20 deer but Never on opening day. 1986,would change that. In October I placed my rock at the base of a tree. The rock served as a seat and to define “the “spot. I started from the road 1.5 miles away in the star light. By the time the sky turned pink I was in position. At 7:00 I watched a doe come in and bed 150 yards away. For the next two hours I glanced at her from time to time. I looked over to see her and she was gone. I didn’t see her leave. At 9:30 I got a glimpse of another hunter. At 9:45 I heard a shot in the valley below. As the minutes clicked by a buck came in to sight. When a shot presented itself I shot. The buck ran UPHILL. I was soon on the blood trail. The other hunter joined me. We rushed up the steep hill. As luck would have it the buck broke out of the brush and I swung shotgun style and dumped him. To my amazement he regained his feet and ran 50 yards before skidding to a stop. I asked the other hunter if he had hit the deer. He said no and he certainly did not dump it at a full run he proclaimed the buck mine. The mile plus drag was a real pleasure. You ask why the stand is called the Wrong way. Now I will explain. My friend, Mike entered the hunting party a couple years later. I set him up on my lucky stand. Opening day the next two years he saw bucks from the stand but he was always turned the wrong way. Hence the name. I confirmed the name a few years ago when I ruptured a disc in my back. It was impossible to sit without intense pain. Being a deer hunter of weak mind I found I could lay on my belly in relative comfort. I broke out my old space blanket and made my bed before daylight. A partner told me he would check on me at 2:00 PM. When I heard the footfalls behind me I merely motioned him in. When he hesitated at about 20 yards I turned my body around to look in that direction. As I labored into position I was eyeball to eyeball with a buck. He turned and fled. The name is now ingrained. I have now taken several deer from the stand but the name is here to stay. Bob
PS. Since writing this true story I have taken several more deer from the wrong way stand. Although the hunting tool in my hands varies I still feel confident of a great adventure everytime i go to this spot.
Morgan killed her first 3 deer from it now Michele hunts it.
I killed 2 of my best bucks out of it. 177'' & 172'' ten pointers & missed a 200+'' monster out of it last year. I don't know how many 150+'' bucks I've let walk past this stand but i'll bet 2 dozen or more. The monster made it through last season, so hopefully I'll get a crack at him again this year. I have seen him from this stand the last 3 years, always with a hot doe.
Here's one of em. If you look behind the buck, you can see the tree steps to the stand.
I've had a few "good runs" at a stand or two but things are always changing with food, terrain and vegetation changes which then change deer patterns. Part of my limited success is making changes and adjustments where other guys stay In a pattern. Deer love figuring us out:)
Fawns are dropping, won't be long until we can pursue again! C
Then I have a few stands that are remote and hard to access that are still some of my favorites. Good thread, I love this talk.
T-Roy.. Nice!
