This beautiful young buck was shot on Wednesday, November 7th, 2008 at approximately 4:00 p.m. by Scott Blaisdell. This was Scott's first buck ever harvested and it held a respectable 8 points and dressed out at 150 lbs. This harvest was most memorable for Scott as he had just completed a hunting camp in tribute to his father, who had recently passed away. The camp was built by Scott on the land that was willed to him by his father. What follows is Scott's account of the hunt and his memorable season:
It was November, 2007, the first hunting season in the new camp that I had built on my Dad’s old camp lot. My good friend Hart and I had spent a few days hunting and scouting the area during the first week of the season but had not found much sign. Nary a rub or scrape had been seen. The mast crop was scarce this year and the deer had all but cleaned up the apples.
I decided to place a tree stand at the upper edge of a new cutting that had some young raspberries growing in it. I could see for about 150 yards down thru the cut and about 100 yards off into the hardwoods that bordered each side.
On Wednesday, November 7, I was at the camp alone and was headed to my sit before first light. It had rained all of the previous day and with the temperature at 23 degrees, the fallen leaves were covered in a light frost. As I approached the intersection of tote roads at the top of a small hill behind the camp, I noticed a small ground scrape in the road. What I noticed was that there was no frost in the scrape, leading me to believe that it was made early that morning rather than late the night before. I thought about it for a moment and then decided to proceed out to my original sit. I got comfortable in the stand and settled in for a long morning. Nothing much was moving other than a lone hunter pushing through the cut like a soldier on the parade grounds at boot camp. An hour later, a second hunter criss crossed the first ones path. I had originally planned on leaving my stand at 10:30 am to head back to camp for an 11:00 am lunch but decided to stay in hopes that these 2 hunters may push something thru. No luck.
At 11:30, I headed back to camp. As I approached the intersection atop the hill, that fresh scrape once again got my attention. There was an old orchard about 70 yards down the road and I walked over to check it out. Lo and behold, when I got there what did I find but another fresh scrape under an apple tree. At that point, I made up my mind to go back to camp, have a quick sandwich for lunch, and then bring another stand up to the orchard and sit there for the afternoon.
With a fluff-a-nutter in my belly and a Double Buddy stand strapped to my 4-wheeler, I headed back up to the orchard at 12:45. At 1:00 pm it was 60 degrees. I had the stand up on a tree but decided that I didn’t care for the placement. I found another nice maple about 12 feet to the left of the one that I was on. I began the move without disassembling the Double Buddy stand. Not too smart but I got it done. I got into the stand and knew right away that it wasn’t going to work. The seat was pitched too far forward and I kept sliding off. I held my hand on the shooting rail in order to stay in one spot. I figured that I would live with it for the afternoon and move the stand the next day.
After about 15 minutes I decided to see if I could shoot from the leaning stand of Pisa. As I brought the rifle up to my shoulder I started to slide on the seat and I knew I would never be able to shoot from that position. It was time to move again. This was getting old. I found another tree about 15 feet to the right and 8 yards behind the one I was in. I began another move without disassembling the stand. Again, not too smart as this time the assembled stand fell over almost landing on my 4 wheeler and my Remington 30-06. If there were any deer in the area, all of this noise would surely drive them away. By the time I got the stand back up, it was 3:00 pm. I had about 1 ½ hours of legal hunting left.
I sat in the stand watching the swirling winds blow lightly falling leaves around the orchard. The temperature was once again starting to fall. As I looked out over the picturesque scene, I tried to imagine what it was like back in the 1940’s when my Dad would sit hunting over these same apple trees. I thought of the stories of lines of deer snaking their way down off from the ridge to feed for the evening. I thought of how I wished that I had a son to share my Buddy stand with.
At 4:00 o’clock, while sitting there thinking as to what I would write in the camp log when I got back that evening, I noticed movement to my right. There, ever so slowly making its way down the scrape line on the tote road was a deer. Its neck was outstretched in the full sneak position, its nose in the air perhaps taking in the aroma of the Tinks 69 that I had placed in the orchard in front of me. I had an any deer permit but I really did not want to shoot a doe. I had shot a small doe the year before and this year I really wanted a buck. I had never shot a buck. When the deer was about 40 yards away, I noticed some bone on its head. Could this be a big spike? Would I be willing to shoot a spike? 10 yards closer and I noticed more bone. This now looks like a crotch horn. I would surely shoot a 4 pointer.
I raised my Remington 742 to the first shooting lane that I had. The deer was quartering towards me offering me the front left shoulder. I did not want to shatter the scapula and ruin a bunch of meat, so when he stepped into the lane I edged the crosshairs slightly above the shoulder to the base of the neck and gently squeezed the trigger. The deer slowly dropped to its knees and rolled onto its side. I had killed my first buck.
At that point, I knew I did not have room to share my stand with my son as I was sharing it with my Dad. My Dad had succumbed to Parkinson’s and Cancer in the summer of 2006. I knew that my Dad’s spirit was there with me guiding that deer down the scrape line and guiding my bullet to its mark. He would have been proud of my first buck.
Approaching the deer, I thought I saw a 6 point rack but as I picked it up out of the leaves, I counted 8. My first buck was a small 8 point buck weighing 150 pounds. I hauled the deer the short distance back to the camp and hung it from the big beam on the corner of the front porch. This was the first deer to be hung off from the new camp. I wish my good friend Hart could have been there to share the hunt with me, but perhaps it was meant for me to be there alone.
Alone with my Dad.
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