I went up on Friday afternoon, alone, as no one else was available. Guys, you have to schedule your calendars better. Closing Weekend is always lively! You missed the North Flat Monster!
I went up alone, as I said. It was a very warm day, uncomfortably warm, but the promise was cooler weather ahead with the possibility of rain on Sunday, so there was hope. I was a bit late, so I had a Foster's Freeze hamburger, fries, and chocolate malt in Milpitas, so I could get right out into the field.
I hunted the top on Friday evening without going to the cabin. Parked below the cement pipe, walked the road to the gate and then to the rock, then as light was failing, back to the car. Got there at can't see. This was the first time I had hunted the top ever, and it was great to watch the shadows climb Mts Day and Black, and simultaneously watch the sun set over the coastal range. What Dad used to call "the light is getting critical" is when the sun sets over the coast range. Didn't see a stinking thing, despite a nice breeze over the ridgeline. The rut should be starting, I thought, so cruising bucks should be seen. Bill took a shot at a buck here two weekends before. But this evening, not so.
Went down to the cabin, lit a fire and made coffee. Not much happening, went to bed at 9. Hot evening, almost had to sleep on top of the sleeping bag.
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Got up at 5:30, still warm. There being no one to palaver with, or ask, "Where you going?", I skipped going into the cabin, just got dressed and headed out into the field. Stars were still out in full force, so I knew I would get to Sandy's Tree in plenty of time. Saw one owl on grasshopper, flew off from the tree at the fork in the road going up to Prune Ridge. Just a black shadow against the slightly less black sky; no sound. The morning was warm, even crossing the lowest point of South Flat, just before the gong, did not have much of a cool draft, as usual. Got to the tree, still quite dark. There was some hooting of owls down in the bowl, saw one sitting on the very top of a dead oak, which normally has acorn woodpeckers during the day. The tree sits off towards the upper part of Matteoni. The owl would give a hoot, and then someone down the fishing trail would hoot back. This went on for about five minutes, a hoot and a replying hoot. However, as the light started to develop, he flew off and the hooting stopped. Lesson: if you want to see owls, get out in the dark with the stars still shining. Two seen, and one more heard, is a lot of owls in one morning.
As the light allowed me to see, I scanned with the binocs for naught. Until it was fairly bright, then out comes a buck from over the hill between my lookout and Prune Ridge Swale. He walks over the ridge and then just beds down on the hillside. I can put one inch forks on him. So my pulse is quickening, even though he is not a shooter. Bucks are in the vacinity! He was sitting so that he was looking toward Matteoni, and I could study his antlers with ease.
But alas, none more showed. No other deer of any kind, in fact. I just watched him for 35 minutes. I had been standing so far, since this allows me to swivel from lower Matteoni through the Prune Ridge shoulder to my left, all the way to the Poverty Ridge crest as I turn around to my left. I got a bit tired of standing, so lowered myself down to a sitting position. Half-way there, he must have turned his head because he caught my movement. He stared at me, but I was only halfway down to the sitting position, and after a moment, decided not to torture my self with holding the half position. I was not going to shoot him, so if he ran, no worry. I sat down. He decided I was for real, and after thinking a bit more, got up, then walked, then trotted over the hill. After sun up, the weather changed, rather suddenly. I noted a slight breeze and the temperature, which until then had been obnoxiously warm, became cooler. Nothing more that morning as far as deer or owls, so after full light and a bit more, I started over to check out Bill's orchid and the hummingbirds. I had noticed the previous weekend that there are about 20 of the little buzzing rockets chasing each other and showing off, with 100 foot vertical climbs followed by a dive bomber display before pulling out at the last moment, all over the coyote brush in the bowl of South Flat. Very entertaining, so I wanted to check it out.
I was still on the rise of Hummingbird when I glassed some movement at the copse of coffee berry& poison oak, just this side of the top of the road. That is, on the downhill side of the road but up the road from Pyramid Rock. First I saw a doe, then just a glimpse of a fork chasing her, then they disappeared behind the brush. I moved quickly forward to a position behind a blue oak, both for a screen and a rest. I glassed the brush for several minutes with nothing to see, then a doe ran out to the right, staying above the road. Not too long after, another doe wandered out, followed by the buck. Not a shooter, his forks were about 5 inches. He stayed about 10 feet on her tail, moving fairly quickly across the hillside toward the trees above Prune Ridge Swale I got some camera shots, but they are fuzzy, they were moving so quickly. The rut was certainly on, which foretold that the Final Weekend might be productive, the way it so often is. Read on!
I hiked up from South Flat, in the way that they had gone. Peered into Prune Ridge Swale, nothing. Back to the cabin.
Breakfast was 3/4 of a pound of bacon (who the hell authorized the grocer to start selling "pound"s of bacon that are only 12 oz?), three eggs fried up with half of an onion in bacon grease, English muffins, coffee, and OJ. Delicious. After a bit of rest, got out the saw and brought in two loads of wood. Cleaned up the pine log that someone had so graciously cut from the top of my North Flat hideaway, at my request. What I did NOT request was that they left it right in the middle of my blind, preventing me from using it. I cleaned that up and continued to gather wood and brought it in. Bill normally won't let me stack the oak, as he does not think I have enough discrimination to separate the crooked stuff from the straight, so I wanted to get my licks in while he was away. Stacked it nicely, I did. Kept the fire going all weekend, just at a low ebb, mostly with the crooked stuff. Just enough to keep a nice aroma in the air and not have to start anew when I wanted to cook. A bit below the cabin, near where the green wood gets stacked, I tied a bit of muffin to a cut branch, balanced so that when the jay landed to get it, it would tilt and throw him off. Just something to keep me amused while the rest of you were gone. Weather stayed cooler.
Started the fire for dinner at 3:30. Now don't any of you go complaining that this was too early. First, you weren't there, so I could start it anytime I wanted. Second, with the rut on, you can't get out there too early. (As my tale will prove, so keep reading...The title of this email it The Monster, after all...)
Just put on a few 1 1/2 in thick branches, so I would get coals quickly and could get out in the field. I first put on the potatoes to fry, then the pork chops with the flames still soaring, for a great crisp flavor. I fried a few corn tortillas, to boot, and chowed down. It was not yet 5 when I geared up and went out.
I crept out quietly and slowly, since on a previous weekend I had gone out and found a nice fork feeding at the pond in the company of three does, quite early. As I got past Lillian's Peninsula and onto the far side, I moved past the old tubs, where I could see through the oaks and out to the pond. Scanned the far rim of the Flat, nothing, moved quietly forward to where I could see the pond. What I saw almost made me drop my load: a huge monster, all horns and proud chest and regal bearing of a really big buck, antlers all over the place, heading toward the Arroyo from the far side of the pond. I did not stop to count the tall spires of his antlers, even as I noted how high they were and how vertical. He was a Shooter moving fast and that was for sure. Even measly me, who has not taken a shot in 12 years even though I see plenty of legal ones each year, usually one each weekend, was going to take this one. This was a Shooter. Just like Bill, who said he did not pause to count points before shooting his big one on Ronnie's Swale on a Wednesday last season, I said, "Screw the number of points, this guy is a Shooter!" and thought of how to get into position. From where I was, there was no shot through the branches. Too likely to hit a twig or something, and it would have to be a standing Texas heart shot. I moved quickly back along my path, to go out the opening into the flat itself. While you cannot normally do this without revealing yourself, this buck was headed away and moving quickly, so I doubted he would hear or see me. As I hustled to the opening, I pulled my shooting sticks out of my left pants thigh pocket. I was sure that the grass would interfere with a prone position, and the a sitting position at that distance was going to be less steady than with shooting sticks. My gun was on my shoulder, so I could use two hands and they went together instantly. I did not pause at all, but had them ready by the time (about 15 seconds) I got to the opening. Flicked them out, put the rifle on them, and looked out.
Nothing.
And nothing and nothing. Never saw him again.
I could not believe my eyes. I scanned and scanned and scanned. It had literally taken only a few seconds. I must have traveled only 50 feet, and quickly, too. He had to be there. But he wasn't. Never saw him again.
My only guess is that he was traveling the country, hot in the rut and scanning for the scent of an estrous doe. Trying to cover as much territory as he could. When I got my glimpse of him, he was on the far side of the pond, possibly halfway from the pond to the cover at the upper edge of Oak Park. Moving quickly, he must has gotten into cover by the time I got to the opening. Only one thing is for sure: he was gone.
At this point, my heart pounding away and my breathing fast, I hoped that maybe he had pursued a doe into the cover and she might dart back out, trying to evade him. No such luck. Never saw him again.
How big was he? We will never know for sure. He was heading away, so they always look taller and bigger. But he was big. I did not pause to count antler points, as I knew right away he was a shooter and did not waste time gawking. But I believe in those few seconds that he was a 4x4. I am sure he was more than a three-pointer. He had good mass. Good, not excessive. He was also not impressively wide, but the bases were flat and then shot skyward a long ways. He was very tall. I remember the long gleaming shine on the prongs as they went straight up. Wonderful conformation, my favorite. The body size was large, none of this petite stuff of a doe or a tweaker buck. He was big, he was in charge, and he was out for women. He just had a regal bearing that said he was going to get his way. But never say him again.
What can I say about the rest of the weekend? A letdown. I waited there for about 10 minutes, hoping he would circle back, but no dice. I went then to my blind, but saw nothing at all.
The next morning I went to Prune Ridge Hook, hoping he might come out on Ronnie's Swale, but again no dice. Nothing at all, in fact. And then the 2011 Deer Season was over for me.
Bill came in around 1:30 pm, we talked by the fire, then I headed out to clean up and not cause a mess for the missus.
But I can still see those antlers! And since Bill did not get him, maybe you can next season. Block off your calendar, boys! And no more grief about North Flat!