Hunter’s Journal – November 2016

By Andrew Litton

Hunting in northern Georgia can be tough for chasing a giant whitetail. From pasture edges to thick hardwood hollers, north Georgia monster bucks are few and far between. 

It had finally come the time of year all hunters who chase trophy bucks dream of, the rut. I had been putting in my seat hours every day since Nov. 6 when our first real cold front hit. I knew that it was time to start hunting hard, but with each night’s sleep, I could see the full moon gleaming through my bedroom window. The full moon always brings up the debate between hunters of how we are wasting our time because the deer are going to be active all night and bed all day. However, even facing this debatable situation, I rolled out of bed at 4:30, grabbed my gear and headed to the woods. 

The stand location was on the edge of a hardwood ridge that had an excellent crop of acorns. In front of the stand was an open area with a few loblolly pine trees and fescue covering a field. To my left and right were very heavy thickets consumed with pine trees, privet hedges and briar patches. I knew I was in a great transitioning location to catch a big buck slipping around.

I have been whitetail hunting for 20 years now, and the rut was in full swing like I had never seen it before. With each morning that passed, bucks of all ages were cruising through with their heads down, necks swollen and mouths open. I knew that as long as I could keep my scent down, movement to a minimum and put in the time hunting, something great was eventually coming my way. 

However, by Saturday, Nov. 9, deer sightings had started to fall, and warmer temperatures had slowly moved back into our area. I sat the entire morning without seeing a deer at all.

That next morning, Sunday Nov. 10, I was going to give it one more chance. As I started to head to the stand, I had a thought come over me about taking my set of rattling horns. I thought, “Why not? The worst thing I can do is have a little fun in the deer stand breaking the monotony.” 

I silently stalked a quarter of a mile to my stand and got settled in at 6:24 a.m. About an hour went by, and a semi-truck broke down on a nearby highway. I thought, “Just my luck. I should have stayed at home in the bed.” As they were working on the truck, they caused an awful commotion. I was thinking there wouldn’t be a deer for miles around. They finally left around 8, and it was finally back to peace and quiet. 

I sat for a while and had not seen or heard any movement, so I took my rattling horns and gave it a try. I rattled my horns and rustled a nearby branch to add a lifelike noise to the buck fighting commotion. A few minutes later, a beautiful 2 1/2-year-old 8-pointer walked within 15 yards from my tree. He milled around before wandering off into the woods looking for his next opponent. 

Time slowly passed by, and it was getting up around 9:05. Since the only deer I had seen was the young 8-pointer, I took my horns and gave it all I had, rustling leaves, goring the tree, making it sound like a real knock-down, drag-out fight. If there was a dominant buck in the area, he would not be able to resist checking out a brawl of that caliber. 

Some time passed by after the woods began to settle, and I thought to myself, “Well, there is always next time.” Just then, in the field of pines and fescue, I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. I slowly turned and looked down to see an absolutely gorgeous whitetail deer standing no more than 20 yards away and slowly walking toward my tree.

I thought to myself, “Whatever you do, do not move a muscle.” I was in shock and disbelief. This giant walked directly underneath my stand, stopped, slowly raised its head and looked at me with his eyes gleaming in the sunlight. Our eyes locked just mere feet away.

At the instant he came, he was gone, spooking back down the hill 75 yards. He did not smell me or see me move, but his natural senses kicked in, and he knew something was just not right. It was now or never, and I had to act fast. There was no time to count points or to judge the age of the deer. I knew he was massive from what little I had seen.

Andrew Litton, of Rome, with this Floyd County 14-pointer taken on Nov. 10, 2014.

I shouldered my gun and found his front shoulder in my crosshairs and squeezed the trigger. I felt positive on my shot, but the deer ran. From the way he took off­­­—hunched back, tail tucked and at a slow trot—I knew I had done the unthinkable. I was almost in tears in my stand hoping my shot placement was not as far back as I thought it was going to be. I gave it a solid 30 minutes before getting out of the tree. I put a good mark on the last sight location of the deer and went to look for blood.

I found the blood trail, and once I saw it, I knew my worst nightmare had come true. The shot was just a little too far back. I made the hard decision to back out as slow and quietly as I could and come back the next morning to hopefully find this deer. I was physically sick, sleeping little to none that night due to the fact I could have potentially lost the buck of a lifetime and also because no hunter wants to make a poor shot and always wants to make a clean kill.

The next morning seemed like it had taken two weeks to finally arrive. I had recruited my long-time hunting partner, best friend and the person who I can give all of the credit to for teaching me everything I know, my dad. We had planned different strategies and worst-case scenarios of what we were going to do if we did not find the animal, but the first place to start was the blood trail I had found the previous day.

We made our way to the blood trail and began our search. As we spread apart and I began to thoroughly look for any sign of the animal, that is when I heard my dad’s voice say, “Andrew, there is your deer.” Less than 20 yards from where we had begun laid one of the most beautiful 14-point whitetails I have ever seen come out of north Georgia, perhaps the state of Georgia alone, but of course I am bias in this situation. I was truly blessed to be able to take a deer of this caliber, and it will never be forgotten.