Gibson Tilley

Whitetail season has closed, and so has my tag.

November came and went in a blur. Getting the chance to settle into Deercamp with just one other hunter, my buddy Travis, had me feeling tuned up for a solid Whitetail hunt. The kind of Deercamp that gives you time to think, watch the timber, and let the woods work on you a little.

But plans rarely cooperate. I was still carrying a Moose draw tag that took eleven years to pull, and heading north away from the Moose country had me feeling the weight of the clock. With that tag still riding in my pocket, I knew I needed to be a little less selective on this Whitetail hunt.

And for once, something went the way it was supposed to. On the third day of Deercamp, a buck slipped out of the willows at twenty three yards from my ground blind. He was cruising for does and disappeared as quick as he showed himself. A couple buck grunts from my grunt tube was enough to change his mind. He showed up again at thirty eight yards, in front of my blind.

A short time later I was headed home with my buck in the truck, grateful for the hunt and shifting my focus back to the Moose woods with a bit more time to get it done.