"I am 'old school'. As a young man I was taught my hunting methods and ethics by a group of 'oldtimers' who treated the outdoors as being a gift from God, and the game they harvested as the bounty of their hard work and skill. They were men to whom hunting was not a 'sport', but rather a way of life. It is my fervent hope that when they look down on me today they will take pride in the fact that one of them still lives." - Kenn Young "Patterning" big bucks has become an obsession with serious trophy hunters. But as we shall see, there is another side to the coin..." HOW BIG BUCKS PATTERN YOU The old buck moved quickly along the mountain trail bathed in silvery moonlight, instinctively placing his hooves to avoid making noise. Though he moved with some urgency, the first streaks of dawn in the eastern sky were still nearly an hour away.  Occasionally he paused to sample
the cool breezes, inhaling deeply while his ears swiveled to catch any
sounds from the hunter's camps along the road below. As he did he felt
that vague uneasiness, even though he knew that man did not roam the
woods at night. Oh, occasionally the blinding lights did shine into
the roadside clearings where the does and young bucks fed, then the
terrible sounds would shatter the night and afterward blood would
remain on the grass. But he had learned long ago to avoid such places.
While he did not recognize it as such, opening day of hunting season was only a short time away. The buck understood only that once again man had invaded his world, and the resulting feeling of dread pushed him quickly toward the seclusion of his ridgeside safety area. Long before he had been born a terrible, howling wind had slammed into the mountainside, leaving the huge trees scattered like so many straws along it's steep sides. Over the ensuing years the land had slowly reclaimed the area, and now a myriad of vines covered the rotting logs. With many hidden holes beneath the vines the area was dangerous for man, and thus ideal for deer. His favorite bed was alongside a huge uprooted oak, and vines literally covered him as he lay against it’s upturned roots. No one ever bothered him there, not even the one who spent so much time on the mountain, looking at tracks and examining the trees he pushed against as he readied himself for each fall's breeding season. A sense of unease came over him as he thought of that solitary hunter, but even that one was easy to avoid. Several times over the years the man had been within yards of the buck's hiding place, without even knowing he was watched from such a close distance! It seemed that man did not use his nose very well, and even his eyes and ears seemed almost useless. 
This morning the man-stench from the lowlands below burned his nose it was so strong. All the preceding day the cars, trucks, and houses on wheels had streamed into the valley, the animal inhabitants fleeing before their noisy onslaught. From his ridgeside bed the buck had listened to the turmoil, his growing concern and fear making him restless. Only after complete darkness had he ventured down to the grainfields to snatch a quick meal of the succulent wheat. Even then he had stayed at the very edge of the opening, where a single quick bound would take him into thick cover and safety. But now he would change his normal patterns, moving only at night and feeding in those remote openings deep within the forest itself. Luckily, the sweet acorns had begun to fall, and he would be able to gorge himself without venturing too far from his security zone. The stirrings of fear were not new to the buck. He had now endured six hunting seasons, and he had learned their lessons well. He knew that soon the terrible sounds would again turn his woods into a place of terror, and well he remembered the searing pain one such sound had caused him during his yearling year. The hurt had finally gone away, but the hunter's bullet had left him with a lingering limp that caused one hoofprint to be light and indistinct even now. Though he could not know this, it was an identifying trait that had long identified his tracks to every hunter in the area, and men often drove many miles to simply gaze at the huge impressions where he had crossed a wet road or snow-covered field. He paused as the sounds of laughter floated up from one of the campsites below. Man gathered at that particular spot every year, their noise and woodsmoke combining with the stench to make it a place to be avoided. Lights still burning in several of the tents and trailers indicated that some of the late-night card games had lasted well into morning. That was good, because there would be many sleepy hunters in the woods that day, and those would head back to their camps soon after sunup. 
As he moved up a last steep ridge he heard a car door slam on the road below, followed by another and then loud voices, the sound distinct in the cool morning air. Man parked at that spot, from which there were two distinct trails they would take up the mountainside. This habit made them easy to avoid until they reached the higher ridges, where they would separate. Some made so much noise with their breathing, gasping and even coughing on occasion, that his ears could follow their progress all the way to the top. Climbing even the easiest slopes seemed hard for man, and they NEVER stopped their incessant talking! It was almost as if they wanted the deer to know where they were at all times! Most also left their vehicles wearing the same heavy coats and gloves they would wear when on stand. Their sweat under the layers of heavy clothing would quickly make them cold and uncomfortable, along with making their stench even worse. Those who became chilled would be walking aimlessly through the woods soon after daybreak, their discomfort combining with their lack of faith in their hunting spot to put them on the move. Damp clothing and boredom had saved many a buck over the years! He paused in a dense growth of pines and watched the first pinpoints of light moving into the woods far below. The flashlights winked like fireflies as he checked to make sure of their direction. Even with the help of their lights humans still moved noisily. They broke sticks and rustled leaves underfoot as they plowed through the underbrush, their contact with low-growing vegetation leaving their scent everywhere they went. Oddly, he had occasionally encountered human trails that smelled faintly like a fox or even bobcat, and several times the solitary one who hunted on the mountain had left no scent at all. That had been disconcerting, because in some way that hunter had come up with a way to confuse his nose, which was his most trusted warning system! 
The group of hunters below were on their way to several ladder stands overlooking some upland oak flats. Man was somewhat predictable in their movements, and returned to those same spots year after year. To make matters even better, most of them hunted their stands even when the breezes and thermals carried their scent directly to the deer themselves! The hunters who moved slowly and quietly, like the one on the mountain, were the dangerous ones. They used the platforms that could be easily and quietly moved, and a flashing arrow from one such during his third fall had taught him to watch for unnatural movement in trees. It had left a stinging cut across his back that the flies had bothered for days! He thought back to the preceding autumn. A late-spring ice storm had destroyed the white oak acorns, the food even an old buck enjoyed above all others. But even with no acorns falling, the humans had continued to hunt their stands in the vast oak groves. Few deer had been taken, because they had been feeding on honeysuckle and greenbrier along the mountainsides. Just as the eastern sky began to turn pink, the buck slipped into the dense blowdown where he would spend his day. Maybe around midday, when man invariably left the woods to eat and rest, he would grab a quick bite of honeysuckle and a drink from a small spring inside the edge of the thicket. But if man came near during the morning he would forego even that chance, remaining in his bed until full darkness again blanketed the mountain. With the help of a full moon he might even finish feeding in time to ease down into one of the doe areas. THE time was close, and he had felt the stirrings rising in his body for some time. Fortunately, he lived in an area where does were plentiful, so it was not necessary to take long jaunts looking for a mate. He gave the sapling on the edge of the blowdown a few pushes with his massive rack before disappearing into the densest part. The six-inch cedar, worn half through by his annual rubbing, was a 'signpost' that marked this particular area as his, and warned others not to come there. None had for many autumns. The old buck would stay in his secure area as long as man was in the woods, and by so doing would live to see another summer. As a brilliant dawn broke over the sharp ridges, and as the first volleys of shots rolled across the valleys, he was nestled against the upturned roots of the his hiding place. A buck that thinks? Fortunately for hunters, deer do not have the ability to 'reason' as we define the term. But they certainly have an ‘awareness’ of virtually everything that takes place in their world, and repeated contact with man will make them alter their patterns and habits. Understanding that, and altering YOUR habits accordingly can make the difference between success and failure Good hunting! It is late in the season. The noisy masses that roamed the woods on opening day are long gone. The old buck, though still alert, has resumed feeding in the lowland fields at night. His urge to breed has been partially denied during the weeks when he spent his days inside the blowdown. So on this particular morning he has tarried an extra moment to chase one especially sweet-smelling doe in the valley below. The eastern sky is pink as he hurries along the trail to his security area. Just before he enters the sanctuary of the blowdown, the smell of another ready doe drifts across his nostrils, causing him to pause for a moment. Though the smell is tempting there is something wrong... Fifty yards up the ridge, with the morning sky behind him, the hunter slowly raises his rifle...
ANTLER RESTRICTIONS AND ALTERNATIVES I remember the conversation well. It took place back in June of 2000 and I was talking with Hugh Durham, who had just been hired as Director of the Arkansas Game & Fish Commission (AGFC). We were discussing his plan for deer management in the Natural State. "Antler restrictions are merely one piece of the puzzle," Hugh said. "They are not a stand-alone management program, nor are they necessarily a long-term answer." Here in the central Ozarks where I live, I believe that the 3-point rule has had a positive effect. Buck age structure has improved and both antler and body size have increased overall. In other areas of the state the results have been either great or terrible, depending on who you talk to, but a majority of hunters still seem to favor the rule. But questions do exist.
Consider a statement made recently by Larry Castle, deer program coordinator
for the state of Mississippi. Stephen Demarais, professor of Wildlife Management at Mississippi State University, concurs with Castle's opinion. After intensive monitoring of buck kill on the state's Sunflower WMA, his statistics show a gradual but definite decrease of the Boone and Crockett (B&C) scores of 3 1/2-year-old bucks taken on the WMA since the 4-point rule was adopted. The 3-point rule has now been in use for seven years here in Arkansas. Are we on the edge of seeing antler size beginning to decrease? Cathy Helm is one of the
prime forces behind the annual Arkansas Big Buck Classic held each
January down in Little Rock, and is directly involved with the event's
popular statewide big buck contest. Those comments, by someone who year after year sees a majority of the state's largest bucks, would seem to agree with the opinions mentioned above. So OK, if we do have a problem, or soon will have one, what are the alternatives? Here's where it get 'dicey', because the answers are sometimes ones that a lot of hunters simply don't want to hear. So let’s look at some of the possibilities, along with the pros and cons of each. *SPREAD
REQUIREMENTS. Some biologists suggest adding a minimum inside antler
spread to the current point restriction. *SLOT LIMIT FOR
BUCKS. Hunters may take bucks with LESS THAN three points on
one side;or MORE THAN four. This is being
tried on a limited basis in some areas right now. Those two options are merely adjustments to current point restrictions. While many hunters view the 3-point rule as being the entire quality management package, that is not true. In actuality quality management is much more far-reaching, and there are numerous other herd/buck improvement options which have nothing to do with points. *LOWER BUCK BAG
LIMITS. Kentucky has drastically improved it's buck age structure
by reducing the bag limit to one buck per
year. Quite a number of other states utilize the same approach. *REDUCING SEASON
LENGTH. Longer seasons result in more bucks being killed, so
reducing days would cut down on
harvest. *ADJUSTING SEASON
TIMING. Kansas, a noted big buck state, and quite a few others as
well, do not open their gun season during the breeding period. *MORE PRIMITIVE
ARMS HUNTING/LESS MODERN GUN. The McAlester Army Ammunition
Plant in Oklahoma is known for the number and quality of it's bucks. One of
the primary reasons is that only
bowhunting is allowed there for bucks; shotguns are permitted during
doe-only seasons. To sum up, I really don't know that Arkansas is in dire need of any of the changes mentioned above right now. Aside from the 'slot limit', along with the 1-buck limit currently in use in certain zones, I have not heard about real discussion by the commissioners of potential major changes for the coming year. Of course that could change. But it is time for us, as hunters, to
educate ourselves, and to become aware of the various options, and even to
begin making our opinions known about them. It is our right, and it is also
our duty. GAME FARMS ARE NOT ‘HUNTING’ Webster’s Dictionary defines ‘hunting’ as being ‘the act of a person to search carefully for, to try to find game’. It also defines a ‘hunter’ as being ‘a person who hunts’. Keep those two definitions in mind as you read the rest of this article. Have you ever
thumbed through the hunting advertisements that appear in
the back of most outdoor magazines? Have you ever noticed one that
makes the claim ‘guaranteed kill’; or '100% success', or ‘no kill - no pay’? Now I’ll
tell you a story about a friend of mine who won a trip to one of those
guaranteed-kill Texas ranches several years ago. I’ll call him ‘Mike’,
but that’s not his real name.
"I got to the ranch on a Thursday," Mike said, "and
that afternoon one of the ranchhands and I drove over the place. It was about
as rough and rugged country as you’ll ever want to see. What game we
saw disappeared into the brush and cactus as soon as they got a
glimpse of the truck. So when I went to bed that night I was looking
forward to a hard hunt the next day." If
you have questions or comments about any of these articles,
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Today
KENNETH
RALPH 'KENN' YOUNG
makes his home, along with his beautiful wife Connie, in the Red Lick
community north of Clarksville. Located along the southern face of the
Ozark Mountains, it is close by the same areas he hunted with the
'oldtimers' more than four decades ago, and today he roams many of the same hills and
valleys he hunted as a boy. 
Kenn began his writing career in 1980, when his article
'Mock Scrapes For Big Bucks' appeared in North
American Whitetail
magazine. Like most of his work, that initial article outlined a form of
hunting utilizing areas of deer behavior he has observed throughout a
lifetime spent afield. His passion has taken him to such noted big buck
Valhallas as Texas, Kansas, Iowa, Illinois, even up to the wind-swept
plains of Canada.