2022 Deer Season Recap

The 2022 deer season was full of emotions for the Racks Or Tails Outdoors crew. For some, it was a season of great success; for others, it was a season full of slim sightings; and for me, it was a mixture of triumph and heartbreak. We had some excellent bucks on camera this year on multiple different tracks of the land, but we couldn't seal the deal on any of them. So let's jump on in and break it all down.

After multiple long and hot work weekends over the summer getting our stands set, trails cleared, bows tuned, rifles sighted in, and gear ready, opening weekend was finally here. The season started on September 10th, and we were excited to get back in the woods finally. I was going to my new stand location on our fifty-acre tract, Kelsie and Brad were both on our two-hundred-fifty-acre property, and Dad went coyote hunting at his box stand since he didn't bow hunt this year. That morning was slow for everyone, with no monumental deer activity. After getting down around 9 am, we all headed back to the camp house.

After getting a bite to eat and loading up the tractor, 4-wheeler, and seed spreader, we were off to the one-hundred-acre tract to plant our two big food plots. I had come up with this cheap DIY version of a lawn roller to level the ground after tilling it up, so I was eager to try it out. It worked, but it could have been better. We made a mistake this year that probably resulted in the food plots not turning out as good as last year when we decided not to water after seeding because the rain was forecasted. Well, it didn't rain that afternoon, and we later learned about its impact on our food plots.

The afternoon hunt provided a little more in the way of deer sightings, as I got blown at by a group of does before I could even really get eyes on them. Kelsie saw a coyote pup but couldn't get a shot, and brad saw five deer but nothing worth shooting. After we all made our way back to the cabin, we began our annual opening weekend beer-drinking festivities, which, now that we are all getting a bit older, doesn't amount to much more than sitting on the porch having a few cold ones and talking. We would have one more sit tomorrow morning before we all headed home.

The morning hunt was another disappointment for me, and it wasn't any better for Kelsie, except she at least saw some squirrels. On the other hand, Brad had a great morning, shooting a nice 8-point buck around 7:15 am. We all got out of our stands around 8:30 am to help brad track down his deer. It wasn't a long track since brad had made a great shot and the deer only ran about sixty yards, leaving a blood trail that was easy to follow. While tracking the deer, Brad said, "Don't judge me if I get emotional with this one," I promptly responded, "Brother, I will judge you if you don't get emotional on this one." It was the first hunting trip brad had taken since his mother unexpectedly passed away on March 1st, 2022. That weekend Brad revealed to me that he had some of the best conversations with his mom over text during long sits in the stand, and it was something he would genuinely miss on hunts. Now I don't consider myself a very religious man, although a glance at the tattoo on my arm may suggest otherwise; however, I was confident that his mother looking down on him from heaven had much to do with his success that weekend.

After dragging his deer from the thick cover the deer had run into, Brad knelt to take a photo with the deer. He placed his bow on the deer's belly, picked the rack up off the ground holding it out proud while smiling more prominent than I have ever seen. There are a lot of ways people base the caliber of a trophy. It may be the size of the antlers measured in inches; for some, it's the animal's age. I place that choice solely on the hunter who took the animal, for it is an argument that will be debated until the end of time. This animal, however, is a trophy that will never be up for debate in our hunting camp, for its significance to my best friend is something that only the people who consider him family will truly understand.

The next trip to camp was on September 24th, and I would be going solo. There was little to speak of as far as deer sightings went, as I only saw two deer that Saturday morning. However, the trip was not a total waste. Before my evening hunt, scrolling through trail cam pictures, I was surprised with photos of a nice 8-point and 7-point in daylight. The evening hunt provided no deer sightings, and I returned to camp to enjoy the first campfire of the year with nothing but a cold beer and a Luke Combs record to keep me company. After another disappointing morning hunt, I loaded the truck and headed home.

The next trip to camp would prove to be the most productive weekend on the gun season opener on October 22nd. I had requested off work the Friday before, so Kelsie and I left Thursday evening and would archery hunt until Saturday. After a night of poor sleep, thanks to our old labrador retriever having a bad go of it with anxiety, Kelsie decided to sleep in while I stayed close to camp hunting the lock on behind the cabin. My poor layering of clothing caused me to end my morning hunt early with no deer sightings. We headed to town to buy corn and grab lunch before heading out to the woods to check trail cams and freshen up feeders.

We had a bit of comedic gold when we were filling the feeder at the fifty acres and came across a baby squirrel. After scaring the squirrel from under a log with the four-wheeler, he quickly hurried to the base of a snapped-off pine tree. As I was taking a couple of photos, I got too close to the little guy, and he jumped off the tree and ran right up Kelsie's pant leg and onto her head. The shock on her face turned to amazement, then laughter, as I snapped a few portrait shots of her new head ornament before he jumped off and retreated into the bushes. We returned to the cabin to meet up with my parents, who had just arrived that afternoon.

The next morning's hunt provided a much-needed increase in deer activity. It was barely 7:30 am when the young bucks started to pile into the field. Spread throughout the half-acre area, the young bucks spent the next hour feeding and taking turns sparring with each other—no doubt preparing for the all-out battles that would come during the November rut. After the deer made their way out of the field, I packed up and headed back to camp. We spent the middle of the day shooting bows and waiting on Brad to arrive before heading back out for the evening hunt.

The evening hunt was much leaner compared to the morning showing of deer. I arrived at the stand around 5:45 pm and sat almost an hour before the first deer appeared. The young buck popped out about halfway down the field at 6:30 pm. With only about 45 minutes of shooting light left, I studied the young buck's movements, looking for any sign of nervousness brought on by a giant buck in the area. As the sun faded and I began to lose hope for success, the buck started making his way to the feeder at the far end of the field. With about 10 minutes of shooting light left, I kept the binoculars up to get a better look at his body movement. Just as he got to the feeder, his ears perked up, and he turned his whole body towards the left-hand side of the field, fixated on the pines. I shifted my focus to the pines and caught the flicker of a tail as I scanned. As I adjusted the focus on my lens, the older buck stepped out onto the field. I quickly and not so smoothly put down the binoculars and picked up my rifle. At 200 yards out, I could tell he had tall antlers, but I couldn't assess width; either way, I had made up my mind. I raised my rifle and fixed the scope on his front right shoulder; clicking the safety off, I took a breath and exhaled, squeezing the trigger. Boom! The buck never took a step as the young buck disappeared into the pines.

After answering the quick texts from brad, my father, and Kelsie, all asking if that was me, who shot with a reply of "Buck Down!" I quickly climbed down to retrieve the deer. After loading him in the truckbed, I returned to camp to show the rest of the crew the deer, take some pictures, and start the skinning process. After completing the processing, it was time for some cold beer and steak before hitting the sack.

The following day we all went back out to our stands. Since Kelsie and I were heading home that afternoon, we only planned to hunt until 9:30 am. I did not see much deer activity, nor did Kelsie or Brad. Around 8:30 am, I heard a shot that sounded like it came from the 250. Even though I was hunting on a different property, they were still close enough to tell when someone took a shot on the back half of the 250. I sent a text to Dad asking if it was him, to which he replied, "Buck Down ." He got down and could not find blood, so I promptly left my stand and picked Kelsie up to help him look for the deer. On the way to his spot, Kelsie looked down and found a pocket knife we had lost the previous year lying in the middle of the firebreak. We arrived at the site where Dad said the deer was standing, and besides the marks in the ground from where the deer took off running, there was no blood.

We found something I have never seen before in twenty years of deer hunting. While looking for any trace of blood, Brad knelt and picked something up from the dirt. It was the slug from the bullet, perfectly intact and mushroomed from impact. The impact had slowed the bullet down enough for the ground to stop it on contact. After not finding any trace of blood, we fanned out in all directions and started making loops in the woods, looking for any sign the deer had been hit. I was about to give up when my Dad called and said he had found the deer and to bring the golf cart. There was no blood trail; if Dad had not walked up on the deer, we probably would have never found it.

Loaded up, we headed back to the truck and made our way to the processor. Usually, we would process the deer ourselves, but with all of us running home to prior arrangements, it was a convenience that would win the day. After waiting too long to get the backstraps and tenderloins taken out, we headed back to camp to pack the trucks. We said bye to Brad and headed our separate ways home. That evening, Brad shot a nice doe to cap off a great weekend in the woods.

I made a return trip the following weekend with my dad and mom. Typically Halloween weekend is an excellent weekend for hunting, but this year we were all left empty-handed. I watched some awesome deer activity in the field, and it provided some great insights into how deer interact with each other and how they act when other deer are approaching the area. So, all in all, a great learning experience either way. We headed home with a bit of sadness since we would not return until Thanksgiving because Kelsie and I would be in Mexico for a week to participate in our good friends' wedding. Dad, however, would be headed to Indiana with his good friend Brian to his farm for a week of deer hunting.

It's November 12th, which happens to be Dad's birthday, it's frigid, and he has already sent me photos of a field that went from green grass to snow-covered in a matter of hours. Dad tried to be in the woods for his birthday as he had killed some excellent animals over the years on that particular day. One year he killed a 600-pound hog on our 250-acre property, which took seven men to load it in the truck and over 4 hours to cape out. However, on this day, he would leave the woods empty-handed. Another hunter that evening ended up taking a tremendous 8-point buck that was probably a 130 to 140-class deer on a 1000-acre piece that Brian leases. They didn't know that it would be the start of one of the best weeks of trophy-class deer kills on a single piece of property that the camp had ever seen.

The following day Brain ended up shooting a 187-inch deer in the morning. It was a giant with multiple kickers and two double-brow tines. That evening would be Dad's turn when he had a great buck step out 250 yards away. Even from that distance, Dad said, "There was no doubt I was shooting him ." The deer scored just shy of 150, with a final score of 147 inches. Dad's biggest deer to date was a great follow-up to the 130 – 140 inch deer he also took in Indiana the following year. Four days later, on November 17th, another great 8-point would be killed on that same piece. It's fair to say they picked the right week to make that trip.

November 17th would also be another great day in the woods for Brad. He had been in Georgia for a few days trying to kill a nice 10-point he had on camera at his spot on the 250. That evening he was on the infamous peanut field in search of another deer to fill the freezer. The peanut field had always been a great spot in the evening to see multiple does and the occasional buck cruising into the area in the last 30 minutes of daylight. Brad wasn't planning what would step out in the field that night. At 5:30 pm, daylight fading, a broken tine 6-point emerged in the low bottom of the field about 60 yards from the stand. It was the biggest deer we have seen on that property since my cousin Jeff killed a nice 7-point back in 2016. Without hesitation, Brad raised his rifle, settling on the deer's shoulder and squeezing off a shot. The deer didn't even take a step and dropped to the dirt. After completing the complicated task of loading a deer with no help, he headed back to camp to take a few pictures under the skinning rack's lights and begin processing the deer. Tagged out on bucks for the year, he loaded his truck and headed home from what would be his last hunt of the year for the 2022 season.

It's now Thanksgiving, and I am back at camp with my Dad, Mom, my cousin Randy, and the dogs for a four-day weekend in the woods. Kelsie had decided to go with her Sister and Grandpa to Tenessee to hunt her uncle's farm. The weather in Georgia was horrible, but I was determined to sit through it. I spent the first day hunting the 100-acre piece, hoping to catch a massive 8-point I had on camera in daylight. After several unsuccessful hunts, I decided to sit the lock-on behind the cabin, as the red moon guide said it was a good day for transition areas.

I was settling in the stand when the first deer blew at me. Great, usually in this spot, that means no more deer sightings for the rest of the hunt. The wind could have been better that morning. Blowing from behind me and off to my right but not directly in front of me towards the feeder. I was letting my negative outlook get the best of me and was scrolling on my phone when I heard the stick crack. I looked up to my right and immediately saw the rack coming through the woods at me. It was one of the shooters, and I saw him well in advance before he got in close. I reached up, grabbed my bow, and hooked on my release holding my bow at the ready. I lost sight of him behind some thick cover and was surprised when he emerged on the opposite side from where I was hoping he would. No matter, I could still see a window to shoot if given the opportunity. He was about to take the last few steps I needed when I felt it. The wind, which had died down, suddenly gusted from behind me, blowing right in the deer's direction. Oh, shit was all I could think when I watched him point his nose straight up in the air. As quick as he had come in, he turned and walked right out of view, leaving me with nothing but heartbreak and a recurring problem in that spot that needed to be solved.

Coming out of the woods, I was frustrated. The ongoing battle with the wind in the small block of woods behind the cabin was defeating. What started as a frustrated conversation with Dad; ended with a purchase from Ozonics. I probably wouldn't truly get to use it for the remainder of this season, but next year I will be putting that thing to the test, along with some much-needed improvements behind the cabin. My last encounter for the weekend would be with a hungry owl trying to pick a fox squirrel off the field at the 100 before heading back home.

That brings us to the final trip of the season on December 10th. It was Kelsie, and I's anniversary weekend, so we headed to camp for one last weekend of hunting. Saturday morning offered no deer sighting, but I did get a chance to use my Ozonics for the first time, and I will need to work the kinks out with it before next year's season. My morning hunt was ultimately cut short by the sound of construction from the guys building a lean-to on the side of our garage to cover the trailers.

I went out to the 100 that evening and saw a handful of deer but none worth shooting, and Kelsie went to the 250 to Dad's runway stand and saw the most deer activity she had seen all year. Sadly she only saw does, which we try not to shoot late in the year, and a couple of small bucks, so no shooting opportunities. I decided to have my final sit of the season behind the cabin, not as much for the last-ditch effort to see a shooter, but more for the recon for next year's makeover this spot would be getting. At 9 am, I climbed down for the final time this season. I took one last look back at the area before walking out into the camp's yard.

The 2022 season left us all with full freezers and big dreams for next year. We have numerous good bucks that will be absolute studs if they make it to next season. I leave this season with some great plans for my spots next year, and hopefully, all the work I plan on putting in will allow me to get a shot at a great buck. It's always a sad time when hunting season ends, four months of long sits and long drives to the camp, and we always wish we had another month to do it. As with every season, though, one ends, and the preparation for the next has already begun.

We will return to the woods in the spring to put out minerals for the deer and chase turkeys; then, we will return in the summer heat for long work weekends prepping spots. We will plant food plots, hang stands, put out cameras, and pour our sweat and blood into each task. We will do all this in preparation for those four glorious months of hunting these majestic animals and create new memories during another great hunting season.

Written by: Rick Stewart