My heart began to accelerate. A big buck had just crossed the distant gas line and entered the woods I was facing, his approach very promising. Subconsciously, I reached down and grasped the pump on my 12 gauge, readying myself for a potential shot. Due to property lines and brush between us, I could only wait for him to walk closer – but if he continued his course, it was only a matter of time.
The sun was setting fast on the clear December day, and I knew that – due to the day being the last I could hunt gun season – this was my last good chance of the season. It had been a lean year, with few sizeable bucks showing up anywhere in the surrounding miles. And while the buck I was now watching was not the biggest I had ever seen, he was a shooter considering the tough season.
Excitement began to grow within me as his steady approach in my direction continued. In less than fifty yards, I would have a clear shot, and my buck tag would be filled. But, as is usually the case, things did not unfold as perfectly as I would have hoped.
Suddenly, he veered away from me and began following a young buck’s course into the thick bedding area to my right. Disappointment replaced excitement, as I had seen the unfolding situation so many times before. The bedding area, although, at times, a great asset to my setup, more consistently acted as a magnet to deer that, otherwise, would have ventured into range. And due to private property, I could not change my setup to adjust to the frequent disappointments.
As I sat, contemplating my options, the buck slowed to a stop and began to browse, providing time for me to think through the situation. If he continued his latest trajectory, he would disappear into the concealing brush of the thicket, probably for good. I could become mobile and adjust my position in hopes that he would exit on the other side of the bedding area, but two things prevented that: one, he appeared to be content moving at a snail’s pace; and second, the sun disappearing over the horizon meant that I had only thirty minutes left in the hunt. My last feasible option was to call to him, but the track record of calling in that area was not reassuring. In addition to that, I knew that being smart about how I called was paramount to my success, even more so than usual. In short, none of my options were ideal; but, at that point, I had nothing to lose.
With the buck’s pace remaining slow, I pulled out my grunt call and thought hard about how I would call. While there was a fair amount of brush obstructing his view of my immediate vicinity, I knew that, if he took several more steps, he would be able to easily see that my area was empty of any other buck, potentially unnerving him; and due to the fact that this was the tail end of gun season, anything odd or out of place would definitely spook him. Also, with the rut having recently ended, any call that resembled a rutting buck may strike him as foreign to the time of year. And sounding like an aggressive buck had the potential to drive him away, instead of capitalizing on his curiosity to lure him closer. So, I at last speculated, communication grunts would probably be best.
Lifting the call up to my mouth and turning to the side (in order to sound as if the buck was facing away), I grunted two short communication grunts and waited. The buck stopped. I could not see him well, but I knew (due to his movement ceasing) he was looking my way. I remained motionless. The smaller buck in front of him resumed walking the same course as before. Yet he waited. My anticipation was at the climax. I knew that this was the pivotal point of the entire hunt – and perhaps my entire season.
An eternity passed before the buck continued. As he walked into a patch of dead vegetation, I grunted twice again and waited. I couldn’t see him at all anymore, indicating that he had again stopped. After a minute or so, I put the grunt call down. He knew I was there now, and whatever happened from there on was up to him.
As the minutes crawled by and the woods grew darker, I leaned back against the tree and quietly sighed. I had given it my best effort. He had not followed the smaller buck into the thicket; in fact, I hadn’t seen him go anywhere. I guessed that, by that point, he had walked back the way he had come. Oh, well. There was always next year.
Movement caught my attention, suddenly. A deer was walking toward me, only forty yards away. It didn’t take long for me to realize that it was the big buck that I had called to only minutes before. He hadn’t left – instead, he had sneaked his way into range.
His head swung back and forth, searching for the buck he had heard. By that time, I had the shotgun up to my shoulder, waiting for him to move into an opening only 35 yards from my position. He continued several steps closer, walking straight into the clearing and into my scope. As the crosshairs settled on his chest, I pulled the trigger, dropping him on the ground.
That day was not the first time I have encountered such situations. We probably all have been there – a buck appears in the distance, inciting us to whip out our calls and honk on them. While this isn’t the wrong thing to do, rarely is it handled right.
Most often, calling deer is viewed as this magical thing we can do that brings all the monster bucks running in to our stand. We’ve all seen the videos that are on the internet that seem to promote that idea. But in most cases, calling to bucks provokes little to no reaction out of them. As a result, we become discouraged that our call didn’t work. We place the blame at our own doorstep, either in the form of some shortcoming in ourselves or in our hunting areas. I mean, if the call worked for the guy we saw on YouTube, surely it can work for us, right?
Yes. It can work for us. It just needs treated more carefully.
As was already mentioned, calling is portrayed in a magical light, meaning that when we see a big buck, we can honk on our grunt call, and he will come running over to us. The truth of the matter is this – successfully calling deer requires much more thought and caution.
When I first began calling deer, I called without consideration to the time of year and the current situation. It’s no wonder that I never called in a big buck. Straggler dinkers wandered into my call every once in a blue moon, but the real mature bucks never ventured near me when I would call. I had even experienced big bucks walking directly away from me after I called. Like some hunters do, I placed the blame on my hunting spot, saying things such as, “The buck-to-doe ratio is causing the bucks to be unresponsive to calls” as well as “They’re just not interested around here.” While all that is true in a sense, the problem did not lay entirely in that. A lot of the problem was the way I called.
I would say with confidence that I was habitually a “blind caller.” I didn’t see the difference between a tending grunt and communication grunt, and that resulted in my incorrect calling. While it may not seem like a big deal, it can actually be the make-or-break part of the hunt, as I have found out. It’s similar to someone saying, “Boy, you’ve got to love this hot weather!” in the middle of November. You would look at them funny, trying to figure out if they were serious or not. Why? Because what they said was out of place. The exact same is the case with calling deer.
While I can’t educate you on exactly how to call for every given scenario, I can tell you this – you need to call smartly. Think through the situation before you try calling, and then proceed. If you don’t know how you should call in a certain scenario, consider putting the call away. Your calling might actually be detrimental to your future success. It’s never a bad idea to just sit and observe. You might end up learning quite a bit about how to call for the next favorable situation. I never realized that I was calling wrong until I called right, because that was the moment calling became successful for me. If you’re having problems calling deer, take some time to figure out how you need to alter your calling patterns. I guarantee that, if you learn to call smart, you won’t regret it.