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Michael Heggood

The Velvet Settle



The summer time heat doesn’t exactly scream whitetail hunting. When I think of whitetail hunting, I envision frigid mornings followed by cold evenings with some tolerable yet still cold afternoons somewhere in the middle. The late summers are kept for offshore fishing, drinks by the beach, and of course, doves. However, there is one reason that I will climb up 20 feet into the stand, get eaten alive by mosquitoes and sweat my ass off in 90 degree temperatures, and that is for velvet whitetails. Here in the Midwest, there is a small window of opportunity to wrap your tag around a buck still in velvet. When the calendar flips to September, any second bucks will begin losing what is considered to be the fastest growing tissue on the planet. Your best chance is opening day, and realistically, maybe your only chance. I’ve always wanted to harvest a velvet whitetail, since I became obsessed with bowhunting at the age of 7. Something about the fuzzy tissue, that just looks so badass, not to mention adding considerable mass to their headwear. But a 15 year string of shitty luck forbid that from happening. Year after year either the bucks would lose their velvet the day before, they would turn nocturnal, the weather would so conveniently ruin my opportunity, it didn't matter. I was destined to never get that chance. In 2017 I was checking my trail cameras the week before the Kentucky whitetail opener. I had pictures of two bucks still in velvet. A massive 8-point that easily would have scored 150”, and a small basket-rack 8, with half of his G2 bent down from summer sparring. It wasn’t exactly a hard decision to make. I wanted the big 8 that I appropriately named “Yardstick” due to his wide rack that looked as if its inside spread was about three feet. I climbed up into my stand the evening of opening day. Within 20 minutes I had ten mosquito bites due to me setting up next to a creek. Jackass move. A couple hours go by and all I have seen is two does and a spike. But as most early season whitetails do, about an hour before sunset, they all start filtering in. A few younger bucks walk by my treestand. “They’ll be damn good in a few years” I thought.



Out the corner of my eye I notice movement behind some honeysuckle. I can see the silhouette of a massive body. “It’s him.”



As soon as he steps out, I take a look at his rack, anticipating those bulbous, dark brown velvet tines that I have seen on camera, as my heart is beating out of my chest.



 But alas, white and hard horned.



“Shit”



He steps out into a clearing about 30 yards to my left. Broadside with his head down, chip shot. I watch him feed as if it's a chore for him to lift his head up due to his heavy antlers, as I think to myself how inconvenient those things must be.



This was a dream buck to me. Hell, this was a dream buck to anyone who loves whitetail hunting. But this didn’t change the fact that I wanted to finally achieve my goal of harvesting a velvet buck on opening day.



This buck would be one of the biggest bucks on my wall today. One that every guest who visits my home would immediately ask about and admire. Yet, every time I saw him, I would think about how I still didn’t get that damn velvet buck. But the sun was falling, and by tomorrow, likely all of my bucks would be out of velvet anyway. So I had to take the shot.



As I connect my release to my D-loop, I notice a different buck coming up from behind me and to my right. A deer I had never seen before. He was a great looking buck. Nothing you would see in a magazine, he wasn’t Yardstick. He had a little bit of a character to him, would easily hit the 140s on the tape, and he appeared to be at least four or five years old. Did I give a shit about any of that at the time? No. What did I give a shit about? He still had his velvet.


I draw back, place my pin behind his front shoulder and release. Blood immediately shoots out of his body like something from a Tarantino film.


Trying to keep my eyes on what path he takes, I can’t help but notice Yardstick running off with his tail flagged. I gave him a symbolic nod.


“Maybe next year.”


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