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Lightning strikes twice for Kushla's wild boys
For the entire last month of the 2006-2007 season fellow Wild Boys Keith Robinson and Chris White and I had been tracking and trying to pattern an old buck in Whatley, Ala. where we were hunting to no avail. We had followed his scrape lines for weeks and still never got the first glance of him. We knew he had to be nocturnal but we had no idea how to flush him out of his hiding place. The fact that we were cousins only intensified the competitiveness and to make matter worse there was only one week of season left. So we knew we needed to step our game up. It was July of 2006 when Dewadrick Baldwin, Keith Robinson, Chris White and I had made the decision to make ourselves a real outdoors team uniting not only where we are from, Kushla, Ala., but also the fact that we really are wild and will do anything for the love of the outdoors. As luck would have it, it rained for two straight days. I knew this would force the old buck out of hiding, he'd have to freshen up his scrapes in order to maintain his dominance, and that would be our chance. At first light we decided to actively track the old buck instead of just going to our same old stands hoping to get a shot on him. We started by scouting the fresh dirt for signs of new activity. Strangely enough we found none so we decided to separate and scout a little further. Keith continued along the scrape line, Chris walked the hillside and I took the creek bottom. After walking only a few yards I saw a fresh track in the sand. I called out to the others and we agreed it had to be the old buck's tracks. What didn't make sense is why it was in the creek bottom and not on the hilltop since all the scrapes were up high. After scratching my head a bit it hit me… the buck was traveling along the stream, going up hill only to make scrapes then coming back down. I asked Chris to climb to the top of the hill and wait until we brought the four wheelers around. Once I got there I noticed that hunting from a tree was not an option, I would not be able to see well. So that meant I would have to hunt this big boy from the ground. This was fine with me. Hunting from the ground has always been a specialty of mine. I've taken many good deer from the ground when everyone else preferred to be in a tree… the Wild Boy in me likes to get up close and personal with the prey. Anyway I cleared a nice spot and left it alone until the next morning. I barely slept at all that night. I played the kill over and over in my mind. When morning finally came I headed to the spot I had cleared the day before and settled in for what I thought would be a very long wait. To my surprise I was wrong, in what seemed like a matter of minutes he popped up out of no where. He was about 30 yards to my left walking along the hillside. It almost reminded you of one of those huge mountain sheep you see walking on steep ledges. It actually took a couple of minutes to register what I was seeing. Immediately, the adrenaline kicked in. My heart began to pound and every one of my senses went on full alert. The deer was smart but I, so I thought, was smarter. I eased my gun up and waited for him to get closer. Then the unthinkable happened. He saw me. All I had was a head shot, that was out of the question. I could not mess up my trophy. Then I did the dumbest thing, I tried forcing the shot. I tried to place a low shot in the chest. Needless to say I missed, the deer jumped and I watched the buck of my dreams disappear in a matter of minutes. I was sick; I could not believe that I did something so stupid. I knew better than to force a shot. I was always told to never count the kill until it was on the ground, but I, in a matter of minutes had it not only dead but mounted on my wall. The long ride back to camp, in which I beat myself up time and time again, was nothing compared to what I faced when I got back. The guys gave me all kinds of grief. When they got finished chewing me out, I felt like a 12 yr old on my first hunt instead of the "master" hunter I considered myself to be. Anyway, I packed up my gear and headed back home to lick my wounds. I stayed home for a couple of days feeling sorry for myself before I decided to stop wasting the last week and give it another shot. The next morning I was back on the road heading to the camp with one thing on my mind, making that big buck mine. I realized the chances of me getting another shot on him were one in a million but I had to at least try. That afternoon I went back to the stand and sat until dark, no buck. I did however see several big does. This was a good sign because it was the peak of the rut. So that meant chances were that he would return, I mean what dominate buck can resist a doe in heat. At least that's what I was telling myself. After returning to camp and talking to the guys, I came up with a new, if maybe a little crazy, idea. I would set up the next morning 50 yards from where I originally was. Then if after and hour if I did not see anything I would move over another 50 yards. I figured if I kept this up it would confuse the buck and he would never know for sure where I was or should I say he would not be able to pattern me. If he made me, he would just tip around me as he had many times before and I would never get a shot. I knew I had taken every precaution, I used scent bombs for cover my scent and used dominant buck scent everywhere to throw him off so this had to work. The next morning, I set out to put my plan in motion. I started 50 yards from my original stand. An hour later I moved closer to the creek bottom and sat under a cedar tree, and then I moved across the creek bottom under a hard wood tree. At this point I was beginning to question my strategy. Then suddenly I heard something running in my direction. I did not know what it was but I could tell it was big. I had used dominate buck scent everywhere so it could be just about anything coming through the woods. Then I saw him coming straight towards me. I knew I would get only one shot; I placed the sight in the middle of the old buck's chest and waited. When he was 40 yards away he spotted me. But it was too late, I pulled the trigger, he reared up like a horse took two steps and dropped. I was ecstatic. I don't think I have ever been so happy to see a buck fall. Not only was it an amazing trophy but this Wild Boy redeemed himself. All you hunters out there know a man's reputation is an important thing. The true icing on the cake was when I took him to my taxidermist; I found out that he was around eight-years-old. It is rare to harvest a buck that old. I was blessed enough to get not one but two chances to harvest him. So now when a hunter says lightening never strike the same place twice…I just smile and say "don't be so sure about that".
Note: Robinson's family hails from Clarke County, with his grandparents Emeron Robinson and Mary Robinson both being from the Walker Springs area. Additionally he has many more other relatives in the county.
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