TRIP 2:
Close Encounters
On my second trip, my father and I traveled to Wolfe Island in early October. My father wanted to experience the phenomenal waterfowl hunting while I resumed my quest for a bow buck on this deer-rich island. Duncan MacDonald is the head guide. Without question, he's one of the finest funnel finders and stand setters that I've ever encountered.

My first evening hunt was from a stand located in a narrow band of woods with a bay behind me. Overgrown fencerows surrounding an uncut field were in front of me. Eight deer passed by that stand. One 6-pointer stood at the foot of my ladder stand and rubbed his pre-orbital glands on apple branches. During that hunt I sat in a number of well-placed stands and saw numerous bucks.

One tree stand was in a 2-acre patch of mature hardwoods and cedar trees surrounded by a soybean field on two sides. Dense bullwhips and an inland canal made up the other two sides. The stand was set 20 yards off the soybean field near a corner of converging terrain. I rattled at 6:50 a.m. Five minutes later movement caught my attention just below the sunrise/shadow line on the sloping field. It was an 8-pointer coming in full bore. He circled to my left to get the wind to his advantage as he looked down into the woods. He was a dandy buck, but not the caliber deer that I knew dwelled on this island.

On the last evening of the five-day hunt, I returned to that stand. Duncan felt it was worth another sit because of a wide, heavy-beamed 10-pointer he had seen in the area. At last light, I heard movement behind me. I turned to see the haunches of a large deer moving under the autumn leaf canopy. The next leafy opening revealed the very antlers Duncan had described. As the big Wolfe Island buck stepped into a clear shooting lane at 16 yards, I picked a spot on his shoulder and squeezed the release. Instead of the welcome hollow "tuuump" sound of a double-lung shot, there was a "zzzzz-whack" like I had slapped him with a whiffle ball bat. I had blown a fletching. What were the chances? Duncan called a few weeks later to ease my frustration because he had seen the healthy 10-pointer on three occasions running with the 8-pointer that I rattled in.

TRIP 3:
Thrills & Chills
It was the end of October and the bucks were beginning to make their presence known. The wind was right for hunting from a ground blind Duncan had in mind. When bowhunting, I air wash my outer garments and spray them down with Hunter's Specialties Scent-A-Way Human Scent Neutralizer and I bathe with an HS Scent-A-Way Shower Kit that includes soap, shampoo, moisturizer, deodorant and lip balm.

On this morning hunt, the "scent free" theory would be put to the test. Tucked in amongst horizontal logs and limbs against a huge double-trunk basswood tree, I made certain my Mathews Switchback could be drawn without obstruction. As I sat in full camo, a doe approached another nearby basswood tree that was an amazing signpost tree with buck rubs from many years of territorial marking. The doe proceeded up to the tree not 15 feet away and began smelling the new rubs. She moved over to a fence line and stared out into the field.

Peering through the tree trunks, I saw a stout, gnarly 7-point buck approach the doe. She jumped the fence and he followed her into the field. Later, four does and two yearlings walked between the signpost tree and my scent-free camouflaged figure pressed into the crotch of the basswood. What a thrilling morning of close encounters!

A swamp with a long, narrow ridge through its middle possessed several new scrapes and rubs. At the end of the ridge I harnessed into a tree stand at 3:30 in the afternoon in the pouring rain. To top it off, the horizontal rain was assisted by a 25- to 30-mph wind. Fortunately the protective envelope of my Gortex rain suit kept my carcass warm and dry. I had the hood cinched so tight only the end of my nose showed. But the weather forecast was true, and at 5:15 the clouds lifted, the rain stopped and the wind let up. Immediately, all the small birds and squirrels came to life after a day and a half of the oppressive storm.

At 5:45 I spotted a deer out of the corner of my eye slipping up a fence line 50 yards to my left. The antlers were evident and the body was big. The buck stopped at a fence corner and inspected a stand of corn across the cut field. Chills ran through my body as the buck's head turned side to side. High, 10- to 12-inch tines on a heavy beamed white rack were breathtaking. The incredible buck raised up and cleared the fence with his massive frame and majestically trotted to the corn. A whitetail scene that I will never forget!

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