Mayhem in Nebraska

All 2.5 of the Alaskan Luber’s made the trek back to Nebraska for what seems to be our annual family reunion, Deer Season…and its a week filled with much anticipation.

This year the deer numbers and percentage of good bucks we saw was about the best anyone had ever seen. We started calling it the “Year of the Clones,” due to all of the nice 4x4 bucks we had all over the place. It seemed like we saw more bucks of this class than anything else. And that includes the little basket racks or forky young bucks that Uncle Wayne refers to as midgets.

For the first time ever, I opted to sit in the blind all day long on opening day. All told that first day I saw over twenty different bucks within shooting distance. But with Liz there only for the morning and evening times; and either passing on shots, couldn’t stop a buck in pursuit of a hot doe, or missed opportunities. We didn’t pull the trigger those first two days.

Monday morning we had a great opportunity for Liz to get a shot on what was an exceptional whitetail. Somehow she missed the 260yrd shot and we’re blaming it on the baby in the belly kicking her just as she was to pull the trigger. I guess the baby got buck fever! That’s not an excuse she’ll be able to use much longer…

Later that evening a nice buck came out along the far tree line working a trail away from us. It was a quick decision and I opted to shoot instead of Liz. At 309yrds, while he was walking, I made a great shot and dropped him on the spot. It was a bitter sweet success. I’d have much rather had Liz take the first buck for us, but now and then it’s the circumstances that dictate.

We had at least one other opportunity during the next couple days, but couldn’t close the deal on a good buck. Finally on a clear and cold Thursday morning, as the darkness faded into grey, there was a good one chasing a doe out in the bean field. Liz commented, “look at them running back and forth.” It was as if Liz’s whispered voice was a call to come in, for right then, they made a bee line directly for us and stopped at the fence 100yrds out. A brief second later, the rifle report cracked across the dawn calm and Liz’s tag was filled. He wasn’t a great deer for the size of his antlers, but was easily one of the oldest deer we harvested that year. His curved roman nose spoke more of a trophy than the size of his antlers.

All told we put 18 bucks and two doe in our freezers this year and many more memories in the mind to smile and dream on till next year. Liz and I have so much fun back there, we’re now wondering how in the world we’re going to be able to get baby in the blind with us next year. Might just have to hit up Grandma for some quality babysitting that first day or two!

And finally a quote from my cousin in response to headlines from the Newspaper midweek, “I guess you can’t clean your deer out in a carwash. Someone tried that in Lincoln.”


Looking forward to the mayhem next year!

Our Heritage - Part of the Annual Fall BS

It all starts Friday night of course – the night before opening day…basically with the lack of sleep it’s all one day anyways.

With Jill not around, Tony was up all night sucking down Mountain Dew after Mountain Dew. If any of us had accidentally gone into the room, it would have been a pity and a poor sight to see him hunkered down in the corner making slurping noises. There just enough light coming into the room from the grill in the floor to illuminate him double fisting Dews and dripping yellow goodness out both corners of his mouth.

Eric couldn’t sleep Friday night because Clark was mumbling in his sleep all night, “Welcome to Cabelas, may I take your order…and would you like to purchase the Butt Out Two Pack, it’s on sale.”

Tony and Eric met in the middle of the hallway over a dozen times throughout the night to try and knock each other out, hoping they’d get some sleep that way…it didn’t work.

Brent rolls into the yard at 1am, he just finished working and tries takes a nap in the leaves with Freckles before getting back into his truck at 4am to go quickly fix 4 miles of fence before he goes to sit at 5:30am.

Hoyt County Hunters enjoyed the mysterious case of Wild Turkey that shows up on their porches every year. No one knows where it comes from but each year it’s there. Grown men start believing Santa is real, and really likes Deer Season. We all wondered why Glenn always shows up so late Friday night, but that was a lot of Whiskey to drop off – no wonder he has such a big truck.

Tony wakes the crew and we all gather at the table to sign our deer tags. What a great tradition. The inferior cousins of the Woodruff side drink hot cocoa instead of coffee to warm up as we all stand around in our long johns. Yes, we are all perfect descendants of Grandpa Luber.

Everyone finishes getting dressed and we all head out to the gate. This time instead of climbing over the gate, Tony was nice enough to open it for Scott so he could push Liz through as she sat in the wheel barrow. It’s the redneck Prego Ride. Everyone had a couple sandwiches, pops, with jerky and candy bars stuffed in their pockets. We were all planning to sit it out all day for the first time this year.

Light was just beginning to brighten the sky when the Holt County hunters woke from their drunken slumber, cursed the whiskey gods, and decided to drive their pickups all the way down to the bottom of the hills. Glenn chuckles to himself behind his plywood blind at the headlights bouncing over the pastures and all the deer running across to the Boyd County side of the river.

Eric had climbed up into his tripod stand, but missed his gal, who was back sleeping on the couch. He didn’t last 30 min after shooting light and stumbled back to the house to have some snuggles and cuddling time. Sheesh, he’s gotten sissified.

Jer got hunkered down by the cedar tree and at first light unloaded his gun at a giant muley buck that had limped over to stand broadside, 100yrds out in the hay field. He’d forgotten any spare bullets other than what was in his gun and ran to the house with the buck still standing in the same spot. Once at the house, Aunt Donna had some sausages frying and Jer commenced to eat them all with no thought that other more serious hunters, who were sitting out on the cold hillsides, might want one or two with their pancakes later. He completely forgot about the big muley, thinking only of the sausages that kept filling the plate in front of him.

Luckily on this morning Scott had brought his baseball glove with him, and never missed a moment of glassing for trophy bucks with his binoculars in the right hand and scooping the baby being born in the left hand. Man, he’s good, all those years at shortstop paid off. Liz was really glad to see his excitement at the birth of their baby in the blind…but don’t tell her that my Wuber cheer after shooting my gun was not a celebration act like a bunch of Afganys after a daily American Flag burning. There was no wasting bullets and shooting into the sky. I had taken advantage of the babies first cry which caused a giant buck to step out from behind the tree line and expose himself to the newest Wuber…this little girl has some serious big buck vibes. She already has better big buck hunting skills than any of Clark’s boys. Suddenly Tony snaps out of it, lifting his head from hanging on his chest, and realizes he just had a strange dream. He’s glad he got that extra sleep in before daylight though.

Liz couldn’t sit it out all day and made her way up the hill about 10am. Finding an old unicycle in the dump pile, she propped that up under her prego belly and wandered over Fence Post Hill, traveling in style. She couldn’t see Jer around anywhere, “wasn’t he supposed to be sitting around here,” she thinks. Just then a giant muley buck with a strange limp hobbles from around the cedar tree on the fence line. Even though Scott still has the 30-06 down in the blind, she had foresight enough to grab Dad’s 30-30 and at 57 yards puts the buck down with one perfect shot. Looks like an even bigger muley buck is going to be shoulder mounted in the Alaska Luber’s home. Eric, Clark, and Jer both make mental notes again as to how this pretty gal from the North Country could ever shoot like that. They are perplexed and scratch their heads.

Tony suddenly spots a giant buck making its way towards the shooting lanes he’s cleared towards the river. Even though he’s been hunting for years, the trembling sets in. After two quick snorts on a Mtn Dew kept just for this moment, he gets the giant whitetail in his sights and jerks the trigger and so begins his shooting session. 14 rounds later and 3 big bucks scattering in different directions he is out of bullets. (Note: someone needs to inform Tony that you need to squeeze the trigger while continuing to aim throughout the shot. You do not get the buck in the scope, close your eyes, and jerk the trigger.) Tony climbs down from the ladder stand and in his backpack pulls out 7 more boxes of bullets. “220 grain solids, just right for the big bucks I’m going to shoot,” he says to himself. He’s ready this time after missing 37 rounds at multiple big bucks last year.

A lone 30-06 shot rings out at 1:13pm from the east end of Ben’s. Everyone who didn’t hear it, sensed it, and everyone knew that could only come from none other than Scott. Which of course meant a big whitetail had just been successfully taken and sent to Scott’s personal Happy Hunting Grounds for that day when he passes on to forever hunt the animals of old. Everyone else wishes they had so many big bucks to choose from in their afterlife. So many forkies and spikes sure get boring in eternity.

Scott, because of his year round training and so many hikes in the mountains of Alaska, simply drags the 300lb buck up the hills himself and makes it back to the house in time to watch the Nebraska game with Jer – who would rather watch the game than hunt deer. Scott is now mentally prepping himself to hike each and every thicket for Tony all week long, kicking out multiple big bucks daily for the erratic marksman to miss, and miss, and miss. But Scott won’t be daunted. He loves deer season.

At 4:27pm, Tony sees a big bodied buck. He tells Alyssa to shoot it, then after she hits it perfect, decides he needs to put more rounds in it – or rather at it, and unloads his gun again. Alyssa’s first shot is good though and the buck dies without anymore holes being punched in it from Tony’s rifle. Alyssa’s buck has a much bigger rack than Tony thought, and he wishes he’d have shot the buck first. Maybe the guy needs glasses?

Way up north (we not even sure they are still in Nebraska) Dale put his skills to work and rattles in two nice South Dakota bucks for Anna and Becca.

Brent spent the rest of opening day driving around and pickup up dead coyotes per our description of where we left them lay. He couldn’t see leaving a $3.00 coyote rotting out in the hills.

After opening day has come and gone and the stars light up the night sky; Clark comes wandering into the yard. Everyone wondered where he’d been all day. Scott wasn’t going to say anything, but he’d glassed Clark curled up in the fetal position sleeping it out under that small cedar tree on the Knob. Guess the newspaper job, the Cabela’s job, being dad and husband was just too much for him. Luckily Scott and Liz will help him get a tiny forked muley the next evening. He’s excited about the new Butt Out tool he has in his pocket.

We all gather over at Brent’s place and try to figure out where the heck we are going to hang 13.75 bucks. We can’t really count Chad’s tiny forkie as one so he gets a .50, and there’s only .25 left of Glenn’s basket racked midget 7 point after it got shot by Glenn three times, Wayne twice, and Chad once. The Coyote Hole may need to soon be called Lead Canyon for all the lead we’ve dumped into those hillsides.

Stories get told over and over every time someone else comes over that hasn’t heard the details yet. It’s a great evening in the glow of the yard light with everyone standing around the deer cooling upside down, and a football being tossed occasionally. Plans are already starting to be made for tomorrow. And soon everyone is looking towards the window to see if supper is ready.

Dad and Brent show up well after dark, and just before we all head into the house with one more, he won’t say where he got it, but it’s a nice one. Rock salt peppered in a spread that resembles a full choke on a shotgun, is plastered on the tailgate of Brent’s pickup that tells a story that he was somewhere he probably shouldn’t have been, but hey he drove the hills with Grandpa and helped load more deer after dark more than any of us.

Guess that’s 14.75 now. Only 10 more deer to go…

Scott “can’t wait to see how this year turns out” Luber

Neat Stuff on the Ranch

Old Tractors

Apples for Deer

I guess Liz and I were running for State Rep...I wonder if we won?

Supper

Stumps

Warmth

Bigger Stumps

A Hottie on the Docks

Secret Tunnels

I'd never heard of deer making tunnels - but then again I'd never hunted here before.  Gives you an idea of how thick some of this stuff is in Western Washington.

A New Knife

My buddy gave me this knife recently, so I had to give it the official test.  It's a Coghlans by Opinel.  While it worked, it doesn't quite cut it, so it will be reserved for apples and cheese; priority snacks for road trips and hikes.  Thanks Joel.

Two Great Symbols of America

Scouting Blacktails

As soon as I'd filled my tag with my first Columbia Blacktail Deer, I figured I'd get with some scouting to figure the place out a little bit. Dad doesn't let anyone hunt out there so it was unknown for what the area held for sign, and we'd been a bit hesitant to bust the brush not wanting to spook deer off the place.

Armed with a paper and pencil I walked every deer trail to find out where things led and what was back in there. The map above is the result of what was found and shows some high priority hot spots.

Rubs were all over the place and some bucks had torn up some really thick trees. Has me wondering what kind of larger bucks are sneaking around the lesser known trails. This particular rub (below) was really fun, as it had the two hoof prints of where the buck's front feet were as he beared down on this tree:

The two hot spots are below - they are small relatively cleared spots back in the woods that seemed to be hubs of deer trails and activity. I foresee a tree stand hung downwind and on the fringe for next time!

Columbia Blacktails

For a couple years now I’ve been wondering why I never hunted these deer during the few years I lived in Washington State. I just got to hunt the latter part of the rifle season down at my Dad and Mom’s place on the Wetside of Washington. Two days into the hunt I was reminded of the reasons of why I never hunted here. Blackberry vines are the absolute worst thing ever to try and walk through, the foliage grows so thick that the visual clarity resembles our Alaskan alder thickets choked with Devil’s Club…alright, maybe not that good. And the deer, they are around and all over the place - eating apples, leaving fresh tracks and droppings, buck rubs on most every tree, but darn tough to find any deer making those tracks in real time. I now know the meaning of an animal being nocturnal! No wonder that when Louis and Clark where in the Pacific Northwest, they would trade with the local Indians so they could eat dog for their meat …they figured there wasn’t anything around to shoot. Soon we started figuring things out. And some research beforehand started to fall in place. Want to see deer, go out when it’s dumping rain. And I’m talking monsoon stuff. The second evening on the place I was hunkered under the hood of my rain coat when at last light six doe and a big forky came into the clearing. What a joy it was to finally watch these animals. If I’d have known better I would have just shot that buck, but in my mind, hey, he’s just a big forky. More research on the internet that night had me convinced that he was at least a three year old…and actually a pretty good buck. And it might just be that I was pretty lucky to even have seen one. Three spike bucks the next morning was starting to prove I should have shot him, and the next three days of nice weather - which meant no deer sightings, confirmed my mistake. After that it was “nothing new under the sun.” I think that when he wrote that in the Bible, the author had been hunting these deer all week. Dad had to leave on Friday mid-morning to attend an unexpected business conference and I’d been praying that one of us would be able to get a deer down before he left. We were down to the wire in regards to being able to share in the first deer taken on their place. Thursday night I went to bed trying to scheme a plan on how I could possibly sit in a different location and be able to watch a hot spot that was loaded with fresh deer tracks. I needed to get up above the ground somehow to enable me to see over the terrain and see this particular crossing. The tree stand was already hung way out back (no luck there either), and I didn’t feel up to moving it in the middle of the night. I’d racked my brain trying to figure out some possibility. Early in the morning when going out to the garage to put my boots on I’d resolved to just sit down in the lower pasture. That’s when I spotted my solution. Morning light found me perched, above ground level in my high tech, camouflaged, super hunting accessory. Cabela’s should probably market this piece of deer hunting ingenuity. It flat out works. I’d put my seat cushion above my head in the branches because “torrential” doesn’t even describe the downpour of rain I was experiencing that morning. A little after 8am, I heard a noise behind me that registered different than the fatty rain drops pounding all around me. It was one of those subtle sounds that could have been easily lost to an inattentive ear. Looking over my left shoulder, the same big forky buck from earlier in the week, was just starting to make his way along the edge of the clearing. 40yards wasn’t a difficult shot off hand and I had my first Columbia Blacktail down. I ran to the house to get everyone and burst in the door a hootin’ and hollerin’ a good morning wake up call. We all went out for pictures and to share in this moment together. I’m so glad God’s really into the father/son stuff because it was neat to be able to have Dad there that successful morning. Everyone got a kick out of my colorful ladder stand – but hey, you gotta do whatever it takes. So, yeah, he’s just a big forky but I’m totally tickled with this guy. Probably one of my favorite bucks to have taken, and definitely a mentally challenging hunt. I’m still trying to dry out equipment after a week, but am sure looking forward to getting back and trying to find a big buck. I spent two days scouting and mapping their place so I’ve got some good ideas for next time. I have to agree with the consensus; that a big Columbia Blacktail buck is probably the hardest of all North American animals to get take.