Sumter outdoors columnist Dan Geddings: The magical beanfield

Soybeans are a major crop here in the coastal plain of South Carolina. Most beanfields will grow waist high, and some will get nearly shoulder high. The plants are bushy and are usually planted closely enough to close their canopy at the top. The weeds get shaded out, and moisture keeps the soil cool below. It's fall now, and the fields are turning yellow.

The beanfields are a favorite haunt for the whitetail deer. Deer will feed heavily on the plants throughout the year. The young plants are sometimes eaten down to the ground around the edges of the woods. Later in the year, when the beans are taller, deer will lie up in them during the day and browse on the leaves in the evenings and at night.

The land I hunt now has no agriculture, but I hunted a farm in Sumter County a few years back that had extensive cropland. One of the fields was called the mother-in-law field. It was set off to one side, across the branch from the rest of the farm. The field was completely surrounded by woods and is very remote. When that field was planted in beans, it was my favorite place to hunt.

I put a tripod in there one year about a month before the season opened to give the deer time to get accustomed to the stand. The stand was on a corner toward the northwest end of the field. The farmer had left a little space around the edges of the woods, which made access easy.

It was early October before I had a chance to hunt that stand. It had been very hot, but the air had cooled a little, and I thought the deer would be more active in the afternoons. I was not disappointed. As soon as I climbed in the stand and got settled, I looked out to my front and saw a doe. She was looking at something. It was another deer, a small buck.

The beans had started to turn a little yellow but were still plenty thick enough to hide the deer. That afternoon was absolutely magical. I counted 21 does and nine different bucks. Sometimes I would see ears and a head, sometimes just horns above the beans. There were deer as close as 40 yards and as far away as 300 yards. There were usually only three or four visible at a time. The wind was out of the north, blowing my scent back down the edge of the field toward my truck.

Finally, I saw a very large rack sticking up out of the beans at about 200 yards. The buck was headed across the field away from me. I never saw more than the back of his head and those big antlers. When he got to the woods he turned to his left and started around the edge of the field. I realized that if he kept coming, I might be able to get a shot. He was in no hurry and stopped to nibble on the beans a couple of times. As he got closer, I could see him better. He was a huge-bodied deer with a massive eight-point rack.

When he got straight across the field from me, I could see him well enough for a shot, and all I needed was for him to stop, but to my great disappointment, he turned and walked into the woods. I realized my heart was beating and I was excited, and I wondered if he would come back. It was getting late, and there wasn't much daylight left. All I could do was wait.

I waited, but the big buck didn't reappear. What a letdown. Well, what now? There were a doe and a yearling down the field to my left. It was almost dark, but just to see what they would do, I took out my grunt call and made two or three soft calls. To my surprise, they came running, right up in front of the stand. I was sitting there with my gun across the shooting rail and the grunt call in my hands when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.

It was the big buck, and he was coming in from my left front, at a run. He crossed the field before I could put the grunt call down and get my rifle up. He didn't stop and ran straight into the woods 20 yards to my left. I could hear him crunching in the leaves as he circled around through the woods behind me. He had slowed to a walk, and I managed to put the grunt tube down and get my rifle in my hands. Unbelievably, he walked right up to the leg of my stand behind me. I could hear him breathing. I couldn't stand it and had to look. When I turned my head, he bolted and disappeared into the dark woods.

I didn't see that buck again and didn't shoot a deer that year, but every year when the beans turn yellow, I think back to that afternoon in the magical beanfield.

Reach Dan Geddings at cdgeddings@gmail.com.