Be a Student of the Whitetail Game

It wasn't until the final morning of my eight-day Kansas hunt in November, a hunt I had spent nine years anticipating, that I fully grasped what had transpired over the previous days. I had dreamed of this hunt every year since I started bowhunting and couldn’t have felt more torn in my feelings. At one end of the spectrum, I had just experienced the best whitetail bowhunting action of my life. At the other end, it appeared I would be going home empty-handed from arguably one of the best whitetail states in the country. How was I supposed to go home and explain to my peers I hadn’t even drawn my bow in the Sunflower State?

This had been a three-generation hunt with my dad, Jason Wells, and my grandfather, Curt Wells. Every day was filled with action as the whitetail rut was on, but I was determined to be somewhat fussy because of all the good bucks we’d seen on our Browning cell cameras all summer.

I passed on several nice bucks and felt good about it. Then, halfway through the hunt, my dad arrowed a well-earned, mature buck and then turned his attention to filling his doe tag. The next day, my grandfather missed a good buck. Before I could blink, our November hunt was over and we were on the way home with only my dad’s buck in the truck.

I learned many valuable lessons during that hunt, but I knew I had to learn more and be ready to act on those lessons, because my grandfather and I decided to return to Kansas for a late-season hunt in December.

Going into the second hunt, I knew I had to maintain a more positive attitude. In the world of bowhunting, there is a limited number of variables you can control: how you prepare, putting yourself in the best situations for success, maintaining mental toughness, etc. What most people focus too much on are the uncontrollables, such as weather, moon phase, and deer movement in general, all of which seemed to be against me during our November hunt. I wasn’t going to let those factors affect my enjoyment for the sequel. I was going to have fun, like I do any other time I’m hunting with my grandfather, and I couldn’t have been more excited.

We knew the late-season hunt would be predominantly over food sources, and that more than likely we’d be hunting mostly evenings, with early morning access being next to impossible without detection. Upon arrival, we had a bit of preparation for the week ahead, but lurking in the back of our minds was the possibility that our hunt may be cut short due to a massive winter storm forecasted to hit our route home.

The first morning of our hunt was spent tucking a blind into some brush on a field edge, adjacent to a Browning cell camera we had been watching for months. We were hoping one of the handful of bucks captured by the camera would prove his existence to us.

Once the sun started to touch the tips of the trees on its way down, a beautifully large, symmetrical ten-point buck seemingly appeared from underground. He cautiously made his way through the field, keeping a cushion between us. I knew it would be challenging to hunt out of a blind the same day, even with ample efforts to disguise the blind, as deer are typically nervous about anything new. But Father Time was not on our side.

Although that buck never came into bow range that night, just seeing a deer of that caliber was enough to feed my whitetail addiction, and it was amazing to witness. Going into the second day, we came up with a plan for hunting that buck in the same field, weather permitting. I would sit in a well-placed blind inserted in the cedars where the buck had paraded by the night before, and my grandfather would sit where I had been, in case the buck, or a different one, appeared at the main field entrance. That night we barely saw any deer, which was quite disappointing, considering how confident we had been in our plan. At the end of the day, mature whitetails never come easy.

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On our fourth day, the wintry weather forecast had begun to creep up on us, basically guaranteeing that our six-day hunt would be reduced to five. The pressure began to mount. We also came to the realization we could not afford to focus our efforts on one inconsistent buck, however big, since we were running out of time. We both chose different scenery that evening. I switched to a completely different property, while my grandfather went to one of his November stands where there was some action being recorded by one of our cameras. As much as I wanted a Kansas buck for myself, I was rooting for my grandfather as well.

About halfway through my evening sit, I was happy to receive a text that my grandfather had arrowed his own deer. I could not get out of my blind fast enough that night to go help with the recovery and congratulate him on another well-deserved animal. After all, he is the reason I have had the opportunity to do anything archery related in my life, and I owe him endlessly.

After a short recovery, photos, and a victory meal at the local restaurant, I went to bed that night feeling a sense of motivation, as our three-generation Kansas deer hunt was now reliant on my completing the trifecta.

The following morning brought a complete transformation in weather. Our semi-mild December hunt had turned cold with a bitter wind. And the forecast in the northern Great Plains threatened to block our path home. It could be our last day to hunt.

At breakfast, we discussed our predicament, and that is when our gracious outfitter and long-time friend, Miles Willhite, offered to let me hunt one of his personal parcels of land. I’m still not quite sure what was in his coffee that morning that prompted him to let me hunt there, but I am forever grateful and appreciative of it.

That morning, the consensus was that the action should theoretically be the best yet, with the major cold front arriving overnight. Still, I knew I could not be too cautious with time winding down. I decided to get into the blind earlier than usual that day, believing that a buck could be on his feet all day searching for food. I knew I wouldn’t kill one from my motel bed.

Almost immediately after getting settled, deer began to enter the field, starting with a few does and yearlings. I had hunted the same property in November, so I had somewhat of an idea of where a buck may enter the field and had been keeping my eyes peeled. I had my heart set on a buck that had slipped away from me on the final evening of my November rut hunt. He was a heavy beamed, dominant buck with a few extracurricular tines and he’d evaded my double-decoy ambush when his doe decided something wasn’t quite right with the fake deer. The buck danced his way just out of range that night as the final minutes slipped by, concluding that hunt. When that buck walked out of my life, it stuck with me.

Fast-forward to December 19, as I used my binoculars to look out into the far corner of the field. A buck emerged, curious to see what the commotion was all about in front of my blind. Unlike the November hunt, when this buck was only thinking about does, he was now intrigued as to why multiple does were gathered in front of my blind, feeding.

By this time, there was close to two-dozen deer in front of me, making it extremely difficult to verify if the buck closing the distance across the field was the one I thought he was. Regardless, I had been mentally preparing for a shot since the moment I sat down, going through all the motions like it was any other hunt. I had ranged a few landmarks in front of the blind, knowing my movement would have to be limited and that any shot opportunity could be brief.

After confirming it was indeed the buck I was after, the waiting game began for him to feed his way into range. I had to be sure not to spook the herd, and ultimately alert the buck. It seemed like ages for the buck to cover several hundred yards, but light wasn’t fading yet, so I knew I had ample time to settle down and be patient.

Once the deer had cracked my comfortable range, I was now gambling as to how close I would allow him to get, or even whether I should wait for a different buck. That second thought lasted all of two seconds. This buck had been through a tough rutting season — breaking off multiple tines on his rack and sporting a noticeably thinner body — but he was still the same mature, heavy-beamed buck.

Once I saw a good shot opportunity, I ranged the buck one final time while assuring there were no other deer behind him that could suffer collateral damage. As I drew my bow, I had to remind myself of all the preparation, help, and guidance that had got me to this point — not just on this hunt, but in my hunting career in general. While I settled my pin on the deer, I took one last breath, erased my thoughts, and released my arrow.

The buck, jittery after a long season of hunting pressure, heard my bow go off and dropped, resulting in a higher-than-anticipated shot. To my surprise, the buck barely made it 20 yards before tipping over and expiring, all in a matter of seconds.

It was arguably my fastest archery kill (except for a black bear in Saskatchewan). A wave of emotions rushed over me. I didn’t even know what to say to the Bowhunter TV camera that was rolling behind me. I’ve hunted on camera multiple times and haven’t been speechless before this. I had just harvested my first Kansas whitetail, completed the three-generation trifecta we had hoped for, and did it just in time.

After gathering my thoughts for the camera, I sent off the magical text and waited for what seemed only minutes before the recovery party, consisting of my grandfather and Miles, to show up. They couldn’t possibly have been more excited than I was, but it was close. We posed the buck for a bunch of photos, loaded him up, and then went to have another victory meal. We could all rest easy that night knowing our mission was complete. And it was a good thing, too, because we had a blizzard to drive through on the way home.

I will always cherish every minute spent in the outdoors, for no one moment is like any other, and there will always be a lesson to be learned. This trip did not stray from that theme, and it served to remind me that I will always be a student in the world of bowhunting. No matter how big or small you set your bowhunting goals, you will always learn more ways to handle situations — even those you believe you have already mastered. The drive to gain never-ending knowledge is what keeps all of us eager to learn and experience more. The one piece of advice, one that I have instilled into my own bowhunting routine, that I would pass along, would be to ask yourself every time you leave the woods, What did I learn today?

The author is the grandson of this magazine’s Editor. He lives in Fargo, North Dakota, is a former bow technician, and is in his senior year at NDSU. This is his first feature for the magazine.

Author’s Notes

My equipment on this hunt included a Hoyt RX-4 Ultra bow, Easton 4mm arrows, Rage Trypan broadheads, and Browning clothing in the company’s Ovix camo pattern. My grandfather used a Hoyt VTM bow, Easton Sonic 6.0 arrows, Rage Trypan broadheads, and Browning clothing in Ovix camo.

I also want to mention my appreciation for our friend, Miles Willhite. Our family has hunted with Miles many times for deer and turkeys. You can contact Miles at willhitemiles@gmail.com or (316) 648-3601.