Thread: Living up to your name

So this story ends with @Pop Shot, @199p and I sitting over a slip contemplating how in the hell I had managed to clean miss a spiker at 160yds - not once but three times!

We had met in town at a gentlemanly hour and made the short drive out to the road end together. The plan was to head up to an area that 199p had scoped out ages ago and thought warranted another visit. It was more of an exploration mission than a hard core hunt. The other two decided they couldn't be bothered carrying a rifle so I dragged along my 7mm Rem Mag (otherwise we would have just been three losers on a romantic bush walk).

From the road end we made our way up the creek to the ridge where 199p remembered we needed to head up. The bush was thick with sign of deer, some even suggesting we had recently displaced them as we made a noisy slog up the hill, making no attempt to be sneaky. At one point, popshot dropped to a knee and pointed into the scrub and whistling as I chambered a round and came up on aim to see the rear end of a big animal ghosting away quietly at less than 20m. No shot presented itself so we pressed on only to bump another group in the thick shit less than 200m further on.

We found the spot that had got 199p all moist last time he was there - A nice lookout over a series of clearings on a big slip. We sat down and began glassing while talking shit - Again making no effort to keep the noise down. It obviously worked in our favour as within 10 mins a hind, along with her yearling and a young spiker, wandered out into the open looking around for the source of the din. They were quite alert but not exactly alarmed.

I settled the crosshair on the shoulder of the spiker as popshot ranged the shot and 199p looked on through his flash as binos. Nice and relaxed, steady breathing, good rest from prone, squeeze the titty and the rem mag barks. All three trot about 20m and stop, looking around wondering what happened. I quickly chamber another round and again settle on the engine room of the spiker. The rem mag whispers once more. The hind and yearling bolt for the bush, the spiker takes two steps and stops. "He's down" I proclaim proudly. "Nah, one more, one more" retorts popshot. So I chuck another up the spout and send another dose his way. He doesn't need another invitation to take his leave and heads for the bush line looking somewhat perturbed but uninjured.

What the hell happened? Am I that bad a shot? Have I bumped my scope? Buck fever? What the fucking fuck!?

I leave the boys at the lookout along with my day pack while I head down and see if I can find any evidence of a hit. Nothing, zip, nada - Not a hair, spot of blood, handwritten note with a sadface, nothing! I followed the footprints for a good 20-30m across open grass and into the bush without a shred of evidence of a deer with anything more than a small fright and hurt feelings.

I made the painful ascent back to the lookout feeling dejected and astounded that I could miss such an easy target, three times!

The boys gave me a bit of a ribbing but in general were pretty good about it. I still couldn't figure out what had happened... Until this morning - Racking my brain and talking through what happened with @HNTMAD, he asked when I had last zeroed the rem mag? "With you, a month or so ago" was my answer. His reply chilled my blood "Didn't you and @Philipo mess around with it since then?".

What a dork! Since I last had it at the range I had taken the scope off and messed with the rings, adjusted the position for better eye relief and generally tinkered. I then threw it in the safe and forgot to zero it and it cost me big time!

Yes I am a loser and am kicking myself. To add insult to injury, I had my last pack of venison for dinner that night. That spiker would have been my first Ruahine deer after three months of trying, and only my second on public land since I took up hunting 2 years ago. Moral of the story - Don't be a Dorkus.