By Charlie Benton
It was only 115 degrees in the ground blind on South Carolina’s opening weekend of whitetail season, and I’d been steeping in my own sweaty funk for hours. As a bonus, I’d forgotten to put on deodorant after showering the previous day. Fortunately, my best friend and leasemate put this blind in a tiny clear patch of otherwise thick pine forest floor, right between several stinkhorn mushrooms—the kind that smell like a rotting corpse. In all the years we’ve had this property, we’ve never hunted this spot—probably for good reason, as there are essentially zero shooting lanes other than about one-yard wide and 35 yards dead ahead. Any other shot would be pretty sporty with the gazillion pine trees all around. I’m convinced the stinkhorns’ odor of death masked my own putrid stench as a yearling buck and a doe grazed 30 yards in front of me. With my scent covered, I just needed to account for sound and movement.
A second doe stepped out near the initial pair but paused and looked back over her shoulder, suggesting that another deer was following her. This trip served as the maiden voyage of my current whitetail rig: a Springfield Waypoint 2020 in the caliber of our Lord with a Trijicon TenMile. Holding my breath as I eased into the scope for a closer look, I became suddenly aware of a peculiar and persistent noise. It sounded like someone slowly, quietly, and rhythmically rubbing their hand on the fabric of my blind. This particular blind is see-through from top to bottom on the inside. Creeping back off the scope, my eye caught movement at my one o’clock. For reasons known only to Satan himself, a dark-bodied, four-and-a-half-foot snake stretched upwards, weaving his belly back and forth along the exterior of the blind in an attempt to climb towards the open window.
Be Cool, Honey Bunny
I forced myself to split my attention between the as-of-yet-unidentified species of slung and the doe who might be telegraphing the approach of a buck I’d like to shoot. Within a minute, the front three feet of Mr. No-Shoulders plopped to the ground, demanding I shift my eyes back to him. The snake slithered around the outer edge of the blind, rounding the corner from the front to my right side. I then noticed a small peak where the fabric met the ground—a passageway, if you will—about halfway down the side. No sooner had I noticed the opening than the snake popped his big snake head right in, followed immediately by his entire body. Fortunately, I quickly assessed him to be a black racer and not a copperhead.
Just as soon as I’d identified this guy as non-venomous, I shifted my right foot, which was about 18 inches from his face. If snakes had voices, this one would’ve screamed like a little girl. I’m no snake expert, but I do know the vision of some snakes is based on their ability to detect heat signatures. Within the confines of the blind in the blistering lowcountry heat, I must have looked like a hulking fire-monster. I scared the everliving shit out of this poor bastard. The snake bowed up like a cobra, then flattened back down on the ground, and took off, zipping wildly around the interior perimeter of the blind, completing no less than 37 full laps before coming to a stop in a pile of pinestraw and leaves in the front left corner—all in less than five seconds.
I looked out the front window and saw all three deer staring right at me. One doe stomped, but they all stayed. Have you ever whispered, “Be cool, Honey Bunny,” to a snake? I have.
I shifted my left foot ever so slightly, and Honey Bunny lost his shit again. This time, he raised his head and began frantically shaking his tail in the leaves and pinestraw, mimicking the sound of a rattler. I couldn’t believe it. I was about to be the first person in history to have their hunt busted by a snake—because the snake was terrified by a human and not the other way around.
I decided to ignore my histrionic limbless companion and also to remain completely still so as not to induce more theatrics. About 10 minutes later, he slithered out through a different opening and disappeared into the forest. All three deer, who stuck around throughout the entirety of Honey Bunny’s dramatic and surprisingly loud performance, quietly wandered off over the next half hour.
Back in the Game
Shortly before sunset, the trio returned. In much the same manner as before, one of the does glanced behind her. This time, the other two alerted as well. Then all three scampered off in the opposite direction, away from the thing that caught their attention. I shouldered my rifle and peered through the scope, picking apart the thicket. A solid eight-point cautiously peeked down the lane before quickly trotting across and into the cover of more trees, about 70 yards out. Despite the close yardage, any shot would now require a degree of precision due to the forest’s density. I silently followed his pace until he edged out ahead of a pine trunk just far enough and stopped. The bullet entered his front right shoulder and exited his left flank, traveling through his heart and at least one lung. The buck ran in a 20-foot circle and dropped.
When Schoby wrote about the short-action version of the Waypoint 2020, he called it “boring,” but it wasn’t a knock. He simply meant that as someone who likes to modify his own firearms to increase their performance, Springfield beat him to it. His rifle shot ⅓- to ½-MOA out of the box with no upgrades and using factory ammo.
After a few years of us harassing Springfield to give the people what they want—a Waypoint 2020 chambered in .300 Win Mag—they came through. My experience with the long-action is the same as Schoby’s with the short: This thing, as delivered from the manufacturing line, is a hammer. The TriggerTech trigger is solid, and the stock and mechanics are both comfortable and intuitive. With built-in QD cups and an empty weight of only seven pounds, five ounces with the carbon fiber barrel—or seven pounds, eleven ounces with the fluted steel barrel—it’s easy to sling and carry in any terrain. Both the carbon fiber and steel barrel options are 24 inches in length and threaded, so you can easily add a suppressor. The carbon fiber stock is offered in two camo patterns and can be purchased with or without an adjustable comb.
I plan on using this setup as my main whitetail rig for the 2025 season and have confidence that it will continue to perform like the champion we all knew it would be when we demanded its creation.
Cost: $2,173 – $2,670.
Pros: Reliably dead-on accurate and intuitive out of the box with no upgrades needed.
Cons: Not naturally snake-repellent.
