Going to the Dogs - Public Land Old-School Deer Camp

An old-fashioned deer camp experience.

* Originally published in Traditional Bowhunter Magazine - "Almost Gone to the Dogs" April May 2024

Every fall I look forward to taking out my canvas wall tent and wood stove combination to hunt for whitetails on public land in the western Allegheny mountains of Maryland.  Last year I hunted and camped alone after several local friends had other obligations.  This year, I extended the invitation to others hoping for a larger old fashioned deer camp experience.  When all was said and done, our camp involved longbow shooters from Alabama, North Carolina, New Jersey and Maryland.  This was going to be interesting, but I had no idea what excitement lay ahead.

 

I arrived first and pulled into a large, secluded pull-through primitive campsite equipped only with a stone fire ring and a wooden picnic table situated to the side of a quiet winding gravel forest road.  I began to set up as light rain was beginning to fall but I I would soon have the woodstove roaring.  Finishing up the niceties of a simple camp, my guests began to filter in. I whipped up a quick dinner of noodle soup and venison strap steaks seared on the cast iron.  The crackling wall tent wood stove and pelting of rain against the fly combined to send travel weary hunters to bed early. 

Interior of my palatial wall tent.

The next day’s hunts were relatively uneventful until on Wednesday morning a partner and I hunted down the road from camp around a big clear-cut ending at a steep ravine.   Splitting up, I still hunted a foggy misty morning in the direction of camp and after a few hours started to get fatigued.  I was sloppy and cracked a twig noticing movement from the deep ravine ahead. Up the far hill and approaching the ridge was the biggest buck I’ve ever seen on this hit hard public area.  I watched him briefly pause to look back agitatedly before stiffly exiting the area.  I made a mental note to try back there later in the week, knowing I would likely never see him again.

 

Hoping for some Hill luck, Steve Turay and Steve Spencer pose with the "Howard Road" sign. 

The author needs to work on that high elbow draw :-)

Dan Breen takes aim.

The best part about deer camp is the "down time" as we have numerous shooting challenges.  Here Mike Mongelli is the big winner of the first annual "Weiner Shoot". 

Thursday morning arrived and we all changed things up and drove 45-minutes away from camp to hunt a nearby wildlife management area that had differing terrain.  Arriving just at twilight, we dropped off two archers lower on the slope and three of us spread out up high along the ridge. I anchored the farthest position.  Finding a seat on a deadfall overlooking a downhill trail and an open bench to the front, I eventually spotted three does about 70 yards away feeding casually.  Watching them mill about for about an hour, they were not getting any closer.  I finally convinced myself to try a stalk or I would never get a shot.  The ground was covered in crunchy freshly fallen leaves covering loose flat slate rocks on a steep hillside.  I wasn’t optimistic but gave it a try.

 

It took me about an hour to get up to the thickly brushed area they were working into. I never saw more than one deer at any given time, so I expected to be busted at any moment. They all fed off into this thicket and I lost sight of all.  Creeping up close, I thought they must have already fed out the other side or ran off without me knowing.  Then, I glanced to my right and a doe was feeding with head down only 20 yards away.  There was an opening in the brush surrounding the vitals. Maybe a 10-inch hole at most to shoot through, but I felt I could make that shot. I loosed, and immediately regretted it as the arrow deflected and I heard the thump of the arrow hitting a log beyond.

 

All deer burst to the far end of the thicket and out of sight. Bummed, I got myself together and went to collect my arrow, sure of a miss.  I gawked in horror as I spotted my arrow barely in the log and covered in stomachy digestive slime.  It was a sure sign of a terrible gut shot!

 

Scanning far uphill with my binos, I see three deer just under the crest of the ridge making their escape. The last deer had a bright red blood spot near the back leg. I watched as 2 deer finally trotted over the ridge out of sight. The third never joined.  I backed out quietly and returned in the direction of the truck. We all decided it was best to leave and come back in the evening.  That evening, sneaking up into the blow-down area where I saw her last, I glanced left and laying dead behind a root ball was my deer.  I was relieved beyond description.  She was still warm and not stiff so I was glad I didn’t push her.

That night I was euphoric at being able to pull off that stalk as I worked cutting up the meat and getting it on ice between congratulations. The deer wasn’t huge but having success with a camp full of hunters was beyond expectations and a totally new experience for me.  I trimmed up the ribs and skewered them on the fire-iron to roast above the open coals and share with my friends. That young doe was good eating.  Seared straps, ribs, and a good snort of bourbon had everyone in camp feeling fine.  Having filled my doe tag, I was left to hunt antlered deer for the rest of the trip.  I figured I would return to the area I saw the big buck days before but honestly wasn’t very hopeful.  Regardless, if I didn’t see another animal the rest of the week it would still be a legendary hunt.  I was the host on this one, and I hoped the others could get into some action too.  After a long day, I was looking forward to my cot and stumbled wearily toward the hiss of the Coleman lantern. 

 

Dan, Steve S. and Mike discuss equipment choices.

Steve Turay relaxing at camp enlightens Dan as Steve Spencer looks on.

The tender little doe provided excellent ribs roasted on the fire a-la Fred Bear.

The next morning, I was up early and prepared coffee and egg sandwiches for the group as they set off on their hunts.  Leaving camp well after sunup, I walked down to the drainage where I kicked out the large buck two days before.  Setting up a little farther South at a place where another valley entered, I nestled into the Waldrop packseat leaning up against a large tree on one side of the steep hill.  The steep opposing hillside was still in bow range, and I was opposite a deadfall that caused a choke point there.  The wind was a little variable but blowing steady uphill away from the far slope.  It was a particularly chilly morning, and I was enjoying watching the sun march slowly down the opposing slope and steadily melt the frost when the silence was shattered.  A deer came crashing over the steep ridge to my front at full speed. I expected to see a buck chasing a doe, but quickly realized the front animal was a large antlered buck.  The animal that appeared chasing him at full speed was a coyote!

 

The scene before the action began. Morning sun just creeping down the hill. 

I watched them both streaking across the opposing slope, they made a U-turn and mad dash back midway down the slope still full speed.  After they passed even with me again, another coyote appeared over the crest and joined in the chase.  The buck soon had enough of the sprinting and stopped turning to face his attackers.  He turned the tables and chased one yote about 50 yards, then rearing around went after the other.  I was in shock at witnessing the spectacle of this amazing wildlife battle unfold before me.   

 

Snapping myself out of my stupor I thought briefly about pulling my phone and videoing the scene.  Then I told myself this may be my one chance to get close enough for a shot!  I made up my mind to go for it and take a chance.  Standing and quietly folding my packseat with attached back quiver, I slung it over my shoulders and moved at a trot across the ravine.  Climbing steeply into the sunlight, I slowed when approaching where I had last seen the animals.  Glancing at the floss at my limb tip I realized the wind was blowing slightly uphill from the morning thermals.  I was thinking the wind must have given me away, and I strained to hear and see anything for several long minutes.  Finally, I saw a white tail flash above the brush and my throat tightened.  Stalking toward him at a crouch in the largely open clearcut, I was able to move about 10 yards closer when he turned and faced my direction.  I froze at half crouch and watched as he moved side to side facing his dispersed attackers, unseen due to the high grass and immature trees.  He was now in bow range and quartering slightly toward as I marveled at a massive animal highlighted with sun glinting off his rippling angry coat.  He took a skip forward and cut loose with a bellowing snort as I watched bursts of snot spray from each nostril backlit by the low angled sun.  I found myself a bit uneasy as he was royally pissed!

 

The buck continued to square off in different directions putting me frozen at half draw several times.  Through all of this I never did see the yotes and they could not see me.  Only the chest of the buck was visible. One of them tuned the buck around at 25 yards and broadside.  His shoulder shuddered in anger as I picked out a tuft of fur behind it to focus on.  I don’t remember anything of the draw and shot after that moment.  The arrow impacted somewhere back from my aim point.  He immediately whirled around and started in a frenzied run directly towards me!  I noticed his wide rack and his demeanor that instantly changed from anger to wide eyed PANIC.  I stepped back reaching for a follow-on arrow as he leapt passed me in air at barely three feet.  I noticed my arrow dangling with the appearance of poor penetration low in the back quarter of the animal.  As I reached anchor again, he was speeding away about 30-40 yards.  My arrow was enroute when he changed course slightly downhill and the shaft sailed by harmlessly several feet uphill.  He passed over a rise and out of sight into the ravine continuing to bowl over dead fall and branches.  Seemingly traveling far after last sight by the sounds, all fell silent.  I was left shaking in the quiet sunshine.  My mind struggled with what to do next.  It seemed like a gut shot and common advice would have been to pull out and wait many hours.  I could find no easy sign near where he ran by, there was no obvious trail of exit, and the rocky terrain was not easy to see prints.  If I let him lay with the yotes already on his scent, they would likely find him quickly if he was down.  He was obviously exhausted and may have been already injured or weak.  I resolved to gamble and go hard for him.  I quickly pulled back to camp, retrieved my better binoculars, and stripped off a few layers of clothes.  The terrain was mostly open and good glass would be beneficial.  Most of the other guys were a few hours away, so I left camp on my own to beat the yotes and hoping for the best.

 

Dropping back into that ravine, I quietly started creeping along and glassing the opposing hillside. I gambled he continued to run downhill to the drainage and hadn’t circled up again.  Working along both hillsides alternately glassing the opposing side, I scrutinized the ground in turn. Taking my time and being methodical, I peered way ahead though the thick river bottom brush.  I was about 150 yards away from the shot now and getting worried.  Things were really getting dense as I neared where I had bumped him a few days prior.  It was increasingly difficult to be quiet and I was worried he was pushed well ahead of me and moving away.  I was second guessing my decision to wait for help and surround the area.

 

Then everything changed as I spotted a small splash of orange jutting out from behind a downed trunk.  My eyes followed the fletching down and I realized my buck was there upside down and wedged beneath branches.  I was overcome with a wave of gratitude and relief.  My goodness, I had done it!  I went after the biggest buck I had ever seen here on this public mountain area and ended up with my hands around the buck’s antlers in a way I would have never anticipated.

 The arrow impact wasn’t as bad as I had thought.  It entered in front of the last rib and traversed the liver and one lung ending up centering a rib on the far side about 5 ribs up.  While he was running and crashing through brush the arrow backed out and chopped around the insides until it exited out of the same side as the impact.  The ace head had sliced open organs as he ran including the stomach.  That made it all look like a gut shot but was actually through the cage.   It appeared he died very quickly after running out of sight.

The steep hillside before a heavy drag.

Hanging the brute in camp with the aid of Dan Breen's jeep winch!

Starting the skinning back at camp, we probed a shallow puncture wound in the deer’s chest.  It was a few inches wide and several inches deep with infection, but the rest of the shoulder was fine.  The yotes must have smelled the rut induced injury, knew he was an older buck, and decided to run him down.  Skinning down the neck we noticed a traumatic injury that had healed up long ago.  The throat muscles were missing in about a 4-inch circle and the esophagus was missing a 1-inch chunk but was now covered in a thin membrane.  How he even survived such an injury was amazing! There was also a large patch of shortened / stunted fur on the back of the shoulders.  To me, it looked like something had jumped on the shoulders and ripped at the throat at some point.  Later, a local deer biologist told me the age of the buck was 6.5 years old (by tooth wear) and that injury was likely caused by a bobcat when he was a fawn.

Patch of stunted air visible on the shoulder.

Remarkable healed over missing patch of throat muscle and 1 inch section of windpipe gone visible upon skinning.

Festering puncture wound from the rut that the dogs probably scented. 

This buck was an old warrior, and I probably saved him from a long and painful death at the hands of the dogs.  He will now hold a place of honor in my home and memories.  A fitting end to a true survivor.  Sharing this hunt of a lifetime from an old-fashioned bowhunting camp with a group full of like-minded friends was quite the blessing. 

Some of the group that stayed for the final photo:

The author and his longtime friend and fellow veteran Brent Graybill celebrate around the campfire capping off an amazing experience and life-long memory. 

 Equipment note:  On this hunt Greg did not use any commercial camouflage, shot a 52-pound, 68 inch, Northern Mist American longbow and used a leather back quiver made by Nate Steen.