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There were several times when we lost the trail due to the combination of the lack of blood and the abundance of other deer tracks in the snow.  So we would each take a track that was the proper size and shape and follow it on hands and knees, careful to preserve the trail.  We did this until someone confirmed the direction.  A couple of times we lost the trail for long periods of time, and just when it appeared hopeless someone would find the next clue.

Steve, finding the cold trail several times, quickly earned the nickname “‘Bloodhound’ Meyer”.  We had been on the trail for about five hours and had traveled about a third of a mile as the crow flies when we found the first bed the buck had laid in and then another a few yards away. We all thought for sure we would find him piled up within a few yards but there was no buck.

In the river bottom thicket we had lost the trail for quite awhile. Steve and I had exhausted all our leads. Then Dale whistled and said he had blood.  This routine seemed to go on and on.  Late in the afternoon about eight hours after the shot we found two more beds where buck had laid down.  There was not much blood in these beds. As we methodically searched for the next sign we recognized it was about twenty minutes before dark.

We were a long ways from the truck and on the wrong side of the river.  We decided to try to find a place to cross the river and resume the search in the morning.  After not having any luck we were contemplating walking all the way back to the bridge to cross.  But we were tired and cold so that was an option that was not appealing to any of us.

Against Dale’s wishes I found a narrow part of the river that was froze thick and I braced myself on a large branch of a dead tree that was leaning over the river and inched across.  I was the heaviest of us three so they crossed after me with confidence.

Clint picked us up on the road about an hour after dark.  We were all very tired.  I thanked Dale and Steve for giving up their day of hunting to help me.  That night I dreaded the thought that of not finding the buck.

The next morning everyone wanted to help me find my deer but being the last day of our hunt I talked Dale and Steve into enjoying the morning hunt and catching up with me later.  Clinton knew of a road that would get us across the river and close to our last confirmed sign. The road was perfect and we drove to within a quarter mile of the last bed.

After being on the blood trail for nearly two hours and only traveling a hundred and fifty yards we had lost all trace of sign. It was impossible to distinguish his tracks from the night’s fresh sign.  Clinton and I had fanned out in the direction the last hoof print was headed.

After what seemed like forever Clinton whistled and I quickly made my way over to him.  He had found a bed with some blood in it.  It was over 100 yards away from the previous one.  It was about 9:30AM and nearly time to pick up Dale and Steve so I sent Clinton to get them.

I pressed on looking for the deer’s exit route from this bed and after several agonizing minutes I found his path out.  Twenty yards further I found another bed, then another.