Twin Elements · Hunting Stories
Fallow Frenzy : Bowhunting Rutting Bucks!
A Note On This Story:
This hunting story was originally written over a decade ago.
Pulled from the archives of some of our earliest attempts at sharing our adventures.
The images are dated, they lack the resolution of today's cameras and they aren't as sharp.
Yet, the memories they capture and the stories they tell remain true.
This hunt took place in 2016 and captures all of the action from a fallow rut bowhunt with my father Nick Doumtsis.
Each of us set out with hopes of sending an arrow through our first fallow bucks!
In This Report
The Rut Is On
Fallow Frenzy
The cabin stood quietly in the surrounds of a dark night sky. Inside, bodies lay still. Conserving heat and energy for the day ahead. In one of the rooms, someone stirred, unable to sleep. The anticipation of the morning and knowing full well what monsters roamed in the darkness outside was like a burning shot of coffee which kept my mind ticking late into the night. For this hunter, there would be little sleep tonight, instead, my mind raced with excitement and anticipation. I was in prime fallow country and in a matter of hours would be undertaking the challenge of arrowing a giant.
The eerie grey lighting of early morning subsided and the clouds began to part, indicating that the forecast would be clear. A crisp frost on the ground ensured the conditions were perfect for a mid-march pursuit.
Leaving the warmth of the cabin we set off for higher ground. The icy morning breeze burned cold on our exposed skin. Glassing the surrounding mallee knolls it wasn’t long before a number of immature deer were seen patrolling and freshening their scrapes. Stalking these edges we inched closer to the deer ahead, hoping that a mature animal would throw them from highly prized rut stands.
As we entered the proximity of the rutting pads we were met with the stench of a territorial buck. Signs indicated we were early and that the full swing of the rut was not yet upon us, the action was certainly building. Deep trenches in the sand had been poured out and lined with scent. Fresh urine marked the ground whilst overhanging saplings had been stripped bare and marked with sticky preorbital pheromones.
An eruption in the thicket of mallee scrub ahead seen a doe come blasting from the cover with a young buck hot on her heels. The thick scrub acted as an obstacle course, which she used to her advantage. After some ducking and weaving, she had created separation between her pursuers. In the midst of the confusion the young animal stood and stared listening for the hind, without any luck he returned to a scrape not twenty meters away. Tearing vigorously at the ground with his hooves he scraped away the scent of another buck until satisfied that none remained. As if on a timer his pizzle swiveled in excitement. Knowing full well what would happen next we observed as the young buck urinated in his scrape, upon himself and then began imposing his wrath on a less than deserving eucalypt sapling. The noise of the past events must have attracted other deer nearby, as two mature bucks seemed to materialize out of their surrounds drawn to the noise. Assessing the bucks for potential with the binoculars the first had unimpressive clefts in his antlers. With the second also failing to attract any awe if you discount his unusual guard tine.
Locating the Giant
The Fallow Buck
Giving the deer some time to dissipate back into the mallee scrub from which they came we moved on looking for the monster which we knew roamed these lands. Edging our way along a rutting stand we glassed the cleared paddocks and counted a number of deer. The hinds were spread out feeding undisturbed and unaccounted for. Another indication that the full swing of the rut was not yet upon us. Stepping further around the wall of dense bush to uncover the corners of the clearing my eyes drew towards movement. To this day, the sight that met me is one of the best things I have ever had the privilege of witnessing in the Australian bush.
Having never hunted fallow deer, the first thing that struck me about this deer was the sheer mass and weight of his antlers. Long tines seemed to carry stature and curl back as mature bucks do. His guard tines pointed back towards the rear of his head and could be seen clearly from nearly eighty meters away without binoculars. If his antlers weren’t enough to go by, the muscular definition of this rut primed fallow buck was breathtaking. His sleek menial coat shimmered in the early lighting showcasing his power and dominance. Pausing in my tracks I signaled to the others that I had located a shooter and that the hunt was on. They had not yet seen the deer although from the look on my face must have got the impression he was a giant. Within seconds the buck had disappeared into the wall of mallee scrub, which quickly consumed him. My next move was dictated by the wind. A strong southerly breeze heading from left to right suggested that I double back to where I had just come. In doing so I would regain some elevation and hopefully relocate the buck from a vantage point. The maneuver cost me valuable time and thirty minutes later after dodging deer, kangaroos and sheep, I arrived where I needed to be.
The buck, on the other hand, could not be located. I glassed the surrounding landscape thoroughly and assumed that he had continued on his path. Rounding the hill a little ways I spotted the rear end of a fallow doe. Dropping to a knee I was mindful not to skyline myself as I slowly crawled my way towards a viewing plateau. The glistening golden paddocks below held the best feed, thus the hinds. With each crawl forwards more of the pastures came forth and it wasn’t long before a mob of fifteen does and their buck appeared before me. From hundreds of meters away I could tell it was the buck from earlier. I signaled to the others and they too crested the hill. Immediately the excitement generated betweenthe group as we all watched the heavy wide palmed buck feed amongst his does. The sun was now beginning to have a little bit of bite as mid-morning approached. The deer began feeding quicker and eventually, the lead doe headed away towards the thick tea tree flats. From our position, all we could do was look on and observe, perhaps even pray that the buck would return to the scrapes atop the hills.
Sometime later only two does remained in the opening and just as it looked like the buck would follow the same path, a lesser male burst from the scrub. Hot on his heels was a slightly larger animal, obviously displeased with the young bucks antics. The two zigged and zagged drawing the attention from the king of the hill. Finally, this action had prompted response and the buck we were watching quickly took up chase racing up the hill. Immersing myself in good cover I readied for his approach. The meterage kept shrinking and within moments the buck, which trailed the two others, was only at thirty meters. It quickly became apparent that despite being within bow range the deer were not slowing and their course led slightly astray. When available I let down my draw and watched as they scurried over the ridge. Fortunately, the wind remained consistent and the deer traveled up over the spur and out of sight. Following along I quickly reclaimed the buck in the binoculars, just as he proceeded to bed down for the afternoon.
His preferred location was a large dugout scrape in the middle of a sparsely vegetated mallee knoll. It gave rise to a 360-degree view of the surrounding open paddocks. This bedding area had obviously contributed to his old age as it provided excellent opportunity to detect any approaching threats.
The Stalk
The Buck of a Lifetime
As I calculated my best path, taking into account the wind it quickly became apparent that I would have to backtrack once again and loop around the scrub between us. For the most part, I would be traveling out of sight, then the plan was to reappear on the side of the hill with the greatest topographical drop-off. The slope would permit me to sneak in using the missing ground whilst utilizing the strong wind. The only issue with the plan is that for some time I wouldn’t be able to see the deer and for me, the style in which I bow hunt it wasn’t overly comforting.
With the plan in motion, knowing it was the only approach I set off. Before long I had circled the scrub, traversed the underside of the hill and come up alongside the only large tree for miles. Unsure of the buck's location on this new angle I approached slowly. I remember clutching at the binoculars, glassing one hundred and eighty degrees ahead. Peering around the tree, relief set in as I located the buck bedded only forty odd meters away. At the end of my available cover, all I could do was assess the situation from behind the large tree. At this distance, the buck gained stature. He had everything; Forthcoming brow tines which protruded from his forehead. His guards protected the vulnerable neck region and had minor scuffs. His trey tine carried an extra point which made him that little bit more identifiable. Lastly, my eyes set towards his huge palmated antlers. He must not have been long out of velvet as his lightly stained antlers still carried venation and light pearling. My heart skipped a beat as his head raised, eyes darting the surroundings. As quickly as he had stirred he had repositioned, undisturbed. I sat there observing for some time, it must have been thirty minutes before I mustered up the courage and said to myself “make it happen”. Rather than wait and hope for the buck to stand and ideally head up the hill towards my position. I decided that I would take it upon myself and stalk in closer. I came to this decision as I looked across the wide open terrain and thought to myself, that after all this time he could just as easily stand up and make his way down to where he was earlier with his hinds. If he chose that path, he was safe.
Trusting in my abilities I waited for the next big gust of wind and slowly raised to my feet. From there I bee-lined for the closest cover to the buck. Before leaving the large tree I ranged the buck at forty meters, with the only significant cover a small tree, a mere ten meters from the bedded deer. Crossing the thirty meters of open cover I moved quickly and precisely. Dodging sticks and leaves I placed each step down gently. Wearing only socks made the approach quiet and in a short space of time I was at my marker. Ten paces from the bedded buck. Glancing between the tea tree which separated a direct line between the buck and myself I could see the whites of his eyes, I was that close. From my standing position and the growth of the timber there was no shot available. Dauntingly, I would have to drop down to a knee and etch out from behind the base of my tree. Every time the wind stopped my heartbeat could be heard. “Surely the buck could hear the pounding too” I thought to myself as his ears flickered and eyes moved. Yet somehow I had managed to make it to my knees. With the bow frame erect and covering my face I slid nervously away from the safety and concealment of the tree. Each slide marked an opportunity to be detected, however like a script the scene played out as I had hoped. My grip tightened on the release the second I had a desired shooting angle and when the buck closed his eyes I drew back. Anchoring, with the pin hovering low on the bucks vitals I squeezed the release. If I told you I saw the arrow hit the buck I would be lying. The speed in which the arrow left the bow and disappeared towards the buck was un-nerving. Before I could even fathom what had occurred the buck had erupted from the scene and raced over the spur out of sight. Rising to my feet I grabbed at the binoculars as the buck re-emerged. Instantly I could see crimson flowing on the bucks leg crease. A large gaping hole where I had aimed. A number of tightly looped spins, some staggered steps, and a stiff-legged fall occurred and before my eyes my buck of a lifetime had fallen. Raw emotion took over, ripping my facemask off I looked up the hill towards where I had left the others. Fist pumps released some built up energy and adrenaline yet the smile couldn’t be shaken. I sat there taking in what had just occurred before making my way over to the fallen giant. Little words can express the appreciation I have for this animal, as my first fallow deer with the bow I think I have set myself an unreachable goal for future successes. As the morning sun had almost reached its peak, we launched into the tasks of photographing the hunt, caping the animal and retrieving the prime cuts of meat. This kept us occupied for the remainder of the day. Getting back to camp we had time to reflect on the day's events, with the excitement still fresh in our minds we spoke excitedly making us evermore ready and anxious for tomorrows hunt.
Dad's Buck: Inside the Arena
Rutting Arena
Daylight brought with it the suns warming rays and highlighted that we had reached the rutting stands. Moving early, concealed in the darkness enabled us a full day of hunting should we need it. By reaching our intended location in pitch-black surrounds we had disturbed minimal animals and arrived undetected.
Clashing antlers broke the silence and gave us a direction to travel. All around us the dense tea tree flared an orange hue. The bucks had been aggressively rubbing each and every single tree strengthening their necks for an upcoming battle. Having traveled roughly eighty meters in the direction of the earlier fighting the dense tea tree wall subsided and an opening could be spied.
Approaching the edge, the sound of antlers clashing echoed once more. Antlers filled the binoculars once a clear viewing lane was reached. Immediately we recognized a nice buck with a rut swollen neck. Sitting down amongst the cover we observed the clearing for a good hour or two, assessing a number of bucks as each individual made their claim. The clearing was roughly one hundred meters long and oval-shaped almost resembling an arena. In the open of this space the bucks were safe, yet on the edge of the scrub where their scrapes lay, we could get close. All we had to do was avoid the satellite bucks and countless does and we were in with a chance.
Upwards of ten different bucks had been accounted for, yet two particular bucks were the most eye-catching. All morning we had observed as these two rivals antagonized each other. Only clashing antlers with intent to kill when other means failed to display who was superior. They had been going at it, racing up and down for some time. Thrashing trees, scenting scrapes and aggressively posturing, just as one buck seemed to get the upper hand the other buck would strip him the right. Being so equally matched and both mature animals the spectacle was amazing to witness up close. One buck would claim the major scrape whilst the other would come annoyingly close to his newly claimed land. Then the two would either fight there and then, or undergo a lap of the battle arena replicating behavior like that of synchronized partners. During this whole lap of the arena, the two deer would remain within a meter of each other, swollen necks and stiff bodies showing no signs of weakness.
Signaling for dad to move forward and close in on the rutting bucks my eagerness wasn’t received. Hastily I prodded into his back and whispered, “move!” Understanding the urgency in my tone, we maneuvered forwards single file until I tapped on his shoulder once more. This time I whispered, “stop.” Before we could properly position ourselves and get comfortable, the elongated tops of palmed antlers crested the small open ridge as the two courting bucks made their return. Having just covered fifty meters in the blink of an eye we were fortunate enough to remain undetected in our new position.
We now sat in the buck’s very scrape. Arguably the most important patch of earth in the whole world for these two rival males. Heading straight to our location, Dad remained motionless in front, release aid on string ready to draw back the bow. Our position in the wall of tea tree blended us in perfectly. With the bucks distracted by raised hormones, we would not be seen. Closer and closer these two bucks approached. From a wide winding arc, their path straightened. Their rut-swollen necks attached to defined bodies looked huge. Within seconds, now even closer they looked daunting. Somehow in the rush, Dad had managed to draw back the bow. I watched from behind the viewfinder of the camera as the bucks came to within five meters. It was now or never and just as I was beginning to sense the shot wouldn’t take place an arrow soared past. The whooshing noise upon released was the only sign of release, as the arrow collected a buck at a lightning pace. Both bucks veered off their path, choosing to flee in separate directions. It became evident quite quickly which candidate was hit as it motored across the flat before beginning to waver then slowly sway its steps. Cresting the slight rise of the arena a brief glimpse revealed the arrows entry; behind the shoulder blade ensuring he wouldn’t make it far after he disappeared out of sight.
Not even fifteen meters away the other buck stood. Staring, none the wiser. He looked with intent at the two broken figures sitting in his scrape, trying to identify their intentions. More realistically he was probably wondering where his rival had run off too. Surely his victory couldn’t have been that easy, winning the highly prized scrape without a fight. When Dad shifted his weight and removed his facemask the confused buck raced off into the timber. Dad was stoked, grinning a huge smile as we exchanged congratulations! Some time had passed before we took up the path of the buck. Watching the footage back, we knew he was hit well and went straight over the slight rise to where he had disappeared. A few drops of blood were scattered here and there, struggling to hold in the sandy ground. Fortunately, the papery trunk of a pushed over tea tree held the sign and it wasn’t long before we had a path to follow. Eventually, finding dads buck amongst the dense scrub. Once more we found ourselves entrenched in a photography, caping and meat retrieval session. Dads buck capped off an amazing few days of hunting and as quickly as we had experienced the fallow rut, it was all over, driving home that afternoon reality had set in and the realization that our dream came true ensued.
A Year Later
The Following Rut
A full year had passed yet the sounds, sights and scents remained the same. Croaking fallow bucks echoed throughout the surrounding scrub. The smell of rutting buck lingered on the nostrils and countless small shrubs and trees displayed the ferocity in the mood. Once more we found ourselves in the rutting stands, literally meters from where dads buck fell the previous year. In its place, new rival bucks showcased their strength and gave opportunities for a stalk. Having taken respectable bucks the previous year, Dad and I chose to sit off the battle arena and observe. Armed with the camera we photographed an array of deer. Simply being in close proximity to the action was breathtaking. Noticeably, the majority of the buck's antlers were broken, a sign that this year's peak rut may have been and gone. Not that the bucks had noticed as they rounded up the last of the in-season does.
Amidst the confusion and constant movement I spied a respectable buck, more so and intact antlered buck. The buck stood patrolling a small span of tea tree on the edge of the arena. Where he stood were a number of sandy scrapes. Eventually, when the heat of the day got too much and his weary legs gave out he bedded up. I took this as my chance, creeping in slowly with dad following behind on the camera. At 30 odd meters, we stopped behind an ancient eucalypt tree. We devised tactics, with our movements completely hidden by the timber. It was agreed that dad would watch the stalk unfold from afar, whilst I edged closer to the buck.
Approaching in socks softened the noise of crunchy leaves and padded my feet against buried sticks. A persistent wind provided ambient noise and ensured my movement would not be detected amongst a secure backdrop. At twenty meters I ranged the buck. Due to his slightly quartering bedded position I wasn’t quite comfortable with the available shot. Instead I slightly changed my line and approached another large tree. With my movements largely hidden by the girth of the tree, I only dared edge out from the cover to read the distance with my rangefinder.
As the distance decreased the shot angle increased. The situation was becoming perfect. With the wind blowing so intently I choose to be patient and wait for a lapse. When it finally came I was ready. Having already ranged the buck I drew back slowly, focusing on his vitals. I picked a small white dot on his dark grey menial shoulder. Upon release, the arrow soared through the air until reaching the buck. At this point, the effect of a razor-sharp three blade Ozcut became obvious. The broadhead seemingly branded the buck. Burning through his cape, a hole around one inch in circumference. Leaping to his feet the buck tried to flee the scene hurdling over fallen debris, before succumbing to a perfectly placed shot around 40 paces away. Looking back to dad I signaled that the buck was down. He made his way over and we followed in the bucks footsteps. The bloodied arrow lay on the far side of the buck’s bed. The fletches were covered in a thick red lacquer. Despite the large entry hole, the blood ceased to catch on the granulated sand. Luckily leaves and branches showed the path to travel. Upon reaching the buck the full extent of the shot could be analyzed and it wasn’t by luck that he made such a short distance. Like the events of the previous year, I was fortunate enough to be taking it all in, sitting beside a beautiful fallow buck.
Bowhunting the rut and experiencing the sights and sounds that come with it is a must for those serious about deer. The pure excitement, amount of close calls and wired nature of this deer species can only be experienced first hand for true appreciation. For us with the onset of a late afternoon storm and the frenetic fallow rut coming to an end, we set towards the tasks post a successful hunt. As we appreciated the animal lying before us, ultimately our minds lingered towards that next rut adventure.
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The Adventure Continues
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