Thirty minutes passed before I heard the unmistakable clack of deer antlers hitting one another. It only lasted a second, but I knew it was a little early-season roughhousing between two bucks. As facepaint trickled down and mosquitoes buzzed, I spied the figures of deer moving through the trees and into the edge of the harvested cornfield where I was be lurking from above. There were four of them, and the sound of those antlers cued me to the fact that they were likely all bucks. With four boys in the group, I felt confident that at least one of them would be a shooter.
Predictably, the first one to step plainly into view was a spindly forkhorn. He picked and pulled at a few cornstalks before being prodded along by the next two bucks, which stepped out together. One was an I’ll-be-a-contender-next-year 8-pointer that, with any luck, will rear his antlers again this fall. The next was a fine-looking 10-pointer, albeit a fairly lanky-framed one, still on the young side. On any other day, I would’ve gladly shot him, but I knew there was a fourth deer to appear on the suspect lineup.
The 8-pointer sauntered out, and, fully mature with a potbelly and sagging back, there was no question he ruled the group of rebel rousers. Only the 10-pointer fed near him, and even at that, he was cautious. The big eight sported an impressive crown — right around the Pope & Young mark, with plenty of mass. Through my binoculars I could see his rack was slick and smooth, with a few blood spots here and there. He’d shed his velvet not long ago.
The two smaller bucks fed out into the middle of the field, but the bigger deer seemed reluctant to step that far into the opening — at least with that much daylight left. After a half hour, though, much to my delight, the 10-pointer began ambling my way, hugging the treeline as he walked, and making plenty of noise as he pulled stalks of the standing corn down. The 8-pointer kept tabs on the younger bucks, apparently agitated at their brazenness, but he followed the 10-pointer nearly to the base of my tree. I was waiting in full draw when he took the final step needed. I could hear him crunching on corn kernels as he stood broadside at 8 yards. The release was smooth and fluid; the arrow made a satisfying, hollow thump as it hit his chest. My best bow-buck to date fell within sight and marked the fourth consecutive year that I’d had a shot at a September bachelor buck.
September Specials
Now, I love hunting the rut, and there’s no doubt it’s a great time of year to tag a massive whitetail. But if you live in a state with a September bow season and you’re avoiding hunting it because of the heat and bugs, you’re missing out on perhaps the easiest time of year to arrow a wallhanger.