Public Land Done Right

There’s something romantic about heading to your magical “spot.” Maybe it’s that half-rotten wooden hut where you shot your first deer. It could be the old buddy stand overlooking the greenfield where you and your grandfather spent hours watching the day come to life. Or that ridgetop where you arrowed your best buck. We all have places that we visit either mentally or physically, that make us feel more alive as a hunter. I discovered a place I’ve come to love in the southern part of the Hoosier State that has treated me very well over the years.

I grew up in the small town of Calhoun, Kentucky, where I cut my teeth in the early days of my hunting “career.” Some of the spots mentioned above are still available to visit to this day. But unfortunately, due to loss of permission and the selling of these small properties, most of those old hunting grounds are now relegated to memory lane. I gave up knocking on doors, and the thought of dropping thousands of dollars a year on a subpar lease makes my stomach feel like I’ve eaten some expired gas-station sushi. I’ve accepted my reality and joined the crowds on public land.

My transition to public ground was driven by several realities. First off, more opportunities. It’s an amazing feeling knowing no matter the species or the state I’m hunting, there will be a place for me to hunt. Secondly, I hate being confined to the micro-tracts of private land that I still have access to. They can produce killer hunts, but I enjoy the freedom to bounce around and roam. Finally, the challenge. Don’t get me wrong, as private land offers its own set of difficulties: Money, unpredictable weather, and trespassers to name a few. But the unknown factors of public land can add up quick. Ungodly hunting pressure, sometimes questionable quality of deer herds, lack of true sanctuaries, and either extremely widespread food sources or lack of food in general.

Finding one of those magical spots on public land is rare but not impossible. I just happened to stumble upon one while E-scouting one rainy morning amidst the COVID scare back in 2020 — an area in a National Forest that wasn’t drawing a ton of attention, except for maybe duck hunters. The tract had everything a big buck looks for, especially when the orange-coats start moving in and the pressure increases to an extreme level.

It had food — both early and late. Being a wetland area, there was no shortage of natural browse throughout the slough edges and bottomlands. Cropfields within a reasonable walking distance provided both early and late-season attractants. Not to mention, those ancient swamp and red oaks that are nearly untouchable to logging equipment.

And, it had water. I love areas with a multitude of water sources, and so do whitetails. Creeks, ponds, lakes, rivers, and swamps all provide adequate hydrating sources. But what I believe makes the water features attractive to the deer is due more so to the feeling of security than a place to drink. Heck, a mature whitetail buck may visit a hollowed-out stump 10 times as much as that pond you stumble across that you dream is going to be a goldmine, but almost never is. The point is, I believe mature bucks know that the more water between them and us two-legged monsters, the safer they are.

Finally, I found refuge. This is what really makes this area age like fine wine each season. Surrounded by mainly private land (owned by antihunters) on almost all sides, makes it extremely time-consuming — and a pain in the rear to access. By boat, it takes me 45 minutes of fighting both deep and shallow waters and numerous beaver dams to get there. By foot, almost 90 minutes, if I’m lucky. You will sweat, you will be tired, and you may even spew a curse word or two on the adventure in, but it’s worth it. Essentially, the more pressure applied in the surrounding property, the better the hunt goes. Activity really tends to peak around the third week of November. That’s when my luck would turn.

After coming off my best season in 2021, when I killed two bucks, I knew topping that year would be tough. Unfortunately, on August 7, I got the phone call from my sister that I’d been dreading since I was a young boy. I had lost the man who raised me — my grandfather. He was my best friend, and my hunting partner. I promised myself after his passing that I would push myself to scout and hunt harder than I ever had before. Luckily, a 167-inch velvet giant that I took down in Tennessee while hunting with all my friends would kickstart this incredible year. That was followed by a depressing span of unending work and bad weather through the middle part of November. Then came Thanksgiving Day...

The night before Turkey Day, I asked my wife if a hunt till 9:30 a.m. the next morning was out of the question. Of course, she stressed that we had to be at dinner by noon, but I did receive her blessing. So, at 4 a.m., I loaded up my kayak and set off for the National Forest.

---

Upon arrival, I was quickly disappointed. The previous week, a burst of Canadian air sent down some super-chilly temps. Unfortunately, the 50-degree day prior to this hunt wasn’t enough to completely thaw out the creek that I used to access my area. Sure, I could have fought the thin layer of ice and saved a ton of walking, but it would have made enough ruckus to wake up my wife back at home, 30 miles away. With two hours until grey light, I started the exhausting trek deep into the bottomlands.

Something I feel that has truly made me more successful in recent years, is my attention to access. I cannot stress how important it is to keep yourself hidden from those eyes, ears, and noses when walking in and out of the whitetail woods. The more undetected you can be in their bedroom, the more break-ins you can get away with before they’re on to you. That’s my favorite thing about hunting this spot: I’m able to sneak in and efficiently hunt 270 degrees of wind directions, regardless of whether it’s foot or water access, without leaving a trace of disturbance.

The first hour of the walk is relatively easy, but very time-consuming due to having to loop around the massive swamp. From there it gets a little slower, taking my time diving from ditch to ditch to stay hidden in the flat bottomlands.

My destination was a multi-branched ash tree on the creek side of the most faithful pinch-point I’ve found in 22 years of hunting. I call it “The Island.” Although it’s not really an island, it is one of the drier spots in the area. The deer there are forced to use it to travel back and forth to avoid sticky, belly-deep mud, or swimming the creek.

Using my one-stick method, I was able to climb high enough to feel secure from wandering eyes in the leafless block of timber. At 33 feet, the conditions were perfect. Set up with the sun and main creek to my back, and another slough 45 yards in front of me, my thermals were pulling straight to the warm rays over the body of water that the deer try to avoid. If they were to move, they would provide me with a 35-yard shot. But would they?

By 9:20 a.m., the sun had risen high in the sky, and the only entertainment that morning was a spike buck slipping on the icy creek behind me in his attempt to cross it. In disbelief of the lack of action, I actually started to call it quits when I reached in my backpack for my rappel rope. Then, the undeniable sound of a heavy, four-legged creature stopped me cold. I scanned for the culprit, but I still couldn’t see him. The scraping of dirt and leaves confirmed it was definitely a buck.

But was it a buck worth being late to Thanksgiving dinner? Oh, yes! A few steps past a cluster of oaks would reveal a very respectful public-land buck making his way toward me. I was nervous that he wouldn’t make up his mind in time for me to position myself correctly in my saddle. For a right-handed shooter, the 3-6 o’clock positions are the toughest shots to pull off when hunting in a saddle. But at 30 yards, he veered toward my frontal shooting lane. I arrowed him at seven steps and was relieved to watch him fall over 60 yards from my tree. A flood of emotions hit me as I rejoiced over making a clean, quick kill. Sobbing like a baby, out of instinct I grabbed my phone to call my grandad — even though I knew he wouldn’t answer.

After rappelling down and gathering up my gear, I took up one of the shortest tracking jobs of my life. The buck’s last few steps led him to the sticky mud of those bottoms that I’ve come to love. These deer, the grind, the adventure, and the passion, are what people like me live for. A quick quartering and cape job later, and the buck was on my pack and ready for the much heavier walk out. This spot has produced two great hunts in a short amount of time.

As I started the trek out of the swamp, a few things were heavy on my mind: What this spot may produce next year, and if I’d still be married after being late to Thanksgiving dinner!

The author, a union electrician for 13 years, lives in Western Kentucky with his understanding wife and three children.

Author’s Note: On this hunt, I used a Mathews Triax bow, Victory VAP TKO arrows, SEVR 1.5 broadheads, Latitude Method 2 saddle, EWO Ultimate One Stick, and a Mystery Ranch Pop-Up 28 pack.