Dan Geddings: A very different kind of recovery

The odor was faint and unpleasant, but a smile spread across my sweaty face. I knew that I was close. Stopping to check the wind direction, I noted a slight breeze out of the northwest. It was mid-morning, and I was on a hillside above the swamp. The woods here were fairly open, and I could see the leaf-strewn ground 40 or 50 yards in each direction. Nothing caught my eye, so I turned to the north into the soft wind.

After several yards, the smell had vanished, and I stopped again then turned toward the west. The land here sloped down into another low area. I stopped at the edge of the swamp and studied the ground. There was no odor in the wind, so I turned back to the south toward my original line of travel. After a short distance, I noticed some white splotches on the brown leaf litter, and I looked up. A large white oak tree towered over this area. I realized that the white splotches were left behind by buzzards that had likely perched in the open canopy of the big oak.

Troy and I had seen the buzzards the day before from the other side of the swamp. We were at the creek discussing plans to install a new bridge. A large flock of the scavengers was seen circling above the treetops beyond the powerline right of way that cuts through the big swamp. Troy remarked, "They're onto something," and I knew what that something was.

Shannon had called me a few days before, and we had talked about the hunting. After a while, he casually remarked that one of the other hunters had shot a "monster buck" on the powerline the evening before. They found some blood, but the rain came and they lost the trail. It rained all night and all the next day. They eventually gave up the search.

The creek was too wide and too deep to cross from our location, so I told Troy I would check on the buzzards the next day since it was too late in the day to start a search. I told him that I was planning a hunt near that section of the property and would check out the area after my hunt.

The next morning was cloudy, and a thick fog hugged the ground. The wind was bad for the stand that I went to, but I sat for a while hoping the fog would burn off and the wind would change. Neither thing happened, so I climbed down early. I walked out to the powerline and turned to the west, where we had seen the buzzards the day before. The powerline was too rough,with water-filled ruts and soft, muddy ground. I turned to the north and found higher ground, then turned to the west again, walking parallel to the powerline. I managed to work up a good sweat. That's when I noticed the disagreeable odor on the wind. I knew it was the buck, but I still had to find it.

There were no buzzards in the area, but I reasoned that the clouds and fog had kept them perched somewhere this morning. Standing there beneath the majestic oak, I scanned the hillside around me. Something caught my eye 30 yards to the north. It was the deer. There wasn't much left. A host of nature's scavengers had feasted on the carcass for several days. The buck's antlers were magnificent. Perfectly symmetrical and clean. I didn't have a big enough knife with me to salvage the horns, and I knew that I would have to come back with some help.

I called Ed later that day, and we went back to make a different kind of recovery.

Reach Dan Geddings at cdgeddings@gmail.com.