| Georgia Hunting Trip 2001 | |
|
||
|
||
|
||
The trip started innocently enough... on Friday, after almost a week of deer hunting with my father in my home state of Florida, USA, we loaded our gear into our respective pickup trucks and hit the road. We were heading to Georgia for another week of deer hunting, this time on 800 private acres with Richard, a friend of ours. I was pulling my twelve-foot camp trailer, and Dad was following. All was well for several miles.
Then my truck started acting up. I limped on for a while, but after seventy-five miles, it was clear that my truck was having troubles that were being greatly compounded by the strain of towing. So we switched off, and Dad hauled the camper with his truck. Several miles later, I spotted something coming from under his truck! It turned out to be transmission fluid - and when he stopped using overdrive during towing, this too was solved. Finally, we could get on down the road! Arrival and setup in Georgia went reasonably well, though it was later in the day than we'd planned.
Here's
the camper after we got it set up Friday afternoon.
Photo by Russ Chastain, all rights reserved.
Saturday
Saturday morning I saw three deer, immediately surpassing the number I had seen in the week of hunting in Florida. All were spooked and running away from me, as I walked the hills finding my way back to a spot I had found the previous year. No further action was had on Saturday, other than the excellent fish fry we attended at the camp of some of Richard's friends.
Sunday
Sunday dawned cool and clear, and I easily found my way to my climbing stand, which I had set up Saturday afternoon. I was settled in by 6:44 AM, just as good shooting light became available. At 7:00, I heard Dad's truck as he pulled up and parked a couple of hundred yards distant - though my stand was four-tenths of a mile from where I parked, it was only about two hundred yards from the main clay road from camp. No problem.
At 7:15, I spotted a deer coming down the slope from the road towards the wash between myself and the road. I should mention that at the time of this hunt in this county in Georgia, doe are legal but bucks must have at least four points on one side to be legal - so of course I had to take my time determining that any given non-racked deer was totally bald-headed before shooting.
At about 7:25, I got a good view of one of the deer (I'd seen that there were at least two there together), and saw that it was indeed a doe. I lined up the shot and squeezed the trigger. Nothing! I sqeezed again - still nothing! I checked the safety - it was off. Again I put the crosshairs on the sweet spot and pulled the trigger - again, nothing! Lowering the rifle, I unchambered the chambered round, fully opened the bolt and re-chambered it. Just as I was pulling in on her again, ka-vroom! Dad started his truck. Instantly, three flags went up as three deer bounded away from me. Talk about disgusted - I was just sick.
I composed my jangled nerves, then tested my rifle. I closed the bolt on an empty chamber, pulled the trigger, and it snapped just fine. I did this several times, and the gun successfully dry-fired every time! This is a Winchester Model 70, factory synthetic stock with a matte blued finish on the metal, chambered in 30-06 Springfield. I again chambered a round and sat back in my stand.
At about 8:45, I stood up to stretch, since I'd been sitting for a full two hours. As I stood there, looking to my right, I heard something in the leaves to my left. Could it really be another chance? I slowly turned to my left, and there was a deer, slowly feeding along the slope! A thorough scoping proved it to be a definite doe, so I sat down in my stand, steadied up and waited for a shot. Finally, she turned broadside, I squeezed the trigger - and nothing happened!
I lowered the rifle, with the muzzle pointed in a safe direction, and started to open the bolt. I raised the bolt handle slightly, and heard a click. Thinking that perhaps whatever was awry had somehow fallen into place, I lowered the bolt handle again, waited for another opportunity at the doe, and finally she again stepped broadside into the clear. Again I pulled the trigger; again the gun did not fire! Again I lowered the rifle with the muzzle pointed in a safe direction, lifted the bolt handle slightly (my intention was to fully cycle the bolt), and the gun fired! Yes, I checked - my fingers were nowhere near the trigger.
The doe perked up at the shot, and after a second or two I recovered from the shock enough to cycle the bolt as quietly as possible and chamber another round. By the time I got the rifle back into play, she was slowly walking away through the trees and brush, stepping over the ridge and out of my life.
Experimentation with the unloaded rifle showed that it would fire every time, unless the bolt was cocked and closed, the safety placed in the intermediate position (on safe but not locking the bolt closed), and the bolt was then opened and closed again, as you would do to safely chamber a round - in those instances, it would fail to fire almost every time.
I headed back to camp, tore the rifle down, and found nothing out of the ordinary. I could not then replicate the problem, with the action out of the stock. After I replaced it in the stock, I still could not make it malfunction. Perhaps it's cured; I don't know.
Whether the Winchester is healed or not, I will be carrying my Browning A-Bolt in .338 Winchester Magnum for this afternoon's hunt - and hopefully when I next fire up this computer, it will be to relate a much happier tale!
~~~~~~~
Well, Sunday afternoon didn't provide me with any more chances at deer, although I did have an interesting experience... within minutes after I settled down into a clump of bushes, noisily kicking away leaves and gouging a semi-level area for my "stump" (small folding seat). I really didn't expect any critters to be active in the area so soon after I had made all that noise, but I heard a scuffling in the leaves behind me.
Soon I began to hear a low whistling sort of sound, along with the scuffling. Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer, so I twisted around to see what it was. It turned out to be a large covey of quail, the closest ones only about eight feet away. They saw me and moved away a little bit, but not far. That was a great experience, which helped offset the misery I felt from the morning hunt.
- Russ Chastain
