Jourdan and I finally made it back to our old deer hunting haunts in southern Indiana. We joined some of our cousins for dinner, then did a little shooting and some hunting.
Almost forgotten were the beautiful limestone bluffs along this pristine creek bottom. The rolling hills and continuous cover make this beautiful setting ideal deer habitat. I forgot how much this place means to me and may return for a muzzleloader hunt.
Cousin Tim, Mike, and Tim’s son-in-law Rob wanted Rob’s 1-year-old son Brice to shoot Jourdan’s youth model Remington 870, 20-gauge slug gun.
I put a scope on this gun and sighted it in before the deer gun opener. After getting the gun wet, I took it apart and cleaned it. Two days later, I missed a doe at 35 yards. She was standing broadside and let me empty the gun. I missed.
Returning to my backyard gun range, the first shot was almost two feet high. I couldn’t get the gun sighted in. It was all over the target. The only thing that had changed from the first sighting was me taking the gun apart. I disassembled the gun again and learned that the barrel wasn’t seated correctly.
With the gun re-sighted, I was confident the young man would do well with it. He used the seat of an ATV for a rest and was shooting at missed clay pigeons lying on a dirt bank 100 yards away.
Brice’s first shot was a foot low. That concerned me. I took the gun and put the crosshairs on the orange clay on the left. I asked the others to tell me where the slug hit. I squeezed the trigger and the little 20 discharged. “You busted it,” Tim said.
I thought that feat couldn’t be topped, but Mike did the same thing with his 870 and open sights. Once the young man got used to the kick, he began shooting well also. Shortly thereafter, mother and grandmother were on their way to purchase a like gun at Bass Pro Shop in Clarksville.
Rob suggested a creek bottom stand for Jourdan. I sat 300 yards downstream hoping to hear her shoot. At 30 minutes after sunset, I walked up a hill directly above her and called her cell phone.
“Time to go,” I whispered into the phone.
“Where are you?” my daughter asked.
“Look up the hill behind you.”
I waved and she saw me.
Jourdan stood and turned. As she did, a deer blew and ran across the creek.
We visited another cousin and his wife, Dave and Betty, then paid a visit to Randy and Lynette. They live across the creek from where Jourdan was hunting. We learned from them that another hunter had taken a buck on the adjacent property that afternoon. The place the eight-pointer dropped was no more than 200 yards from where Jourdan was sitting.
The guys were looking for a buck Brice shot when we headed for home.
Rick Bramwell’s column publishes Thursdays in The Herald Bulletin sports section. To contact him, e-mail rickbramwell@aol.com.
