12 December

THE UNLIKELY BUCK

The list was simple enough and summed up in one concise order what I love about hunting season. “Whisky, donuts, tree stands.” Staying organized for the PA opener requires such lists. When your organizing for two, say if you’re taking a junior hunter, it should take at least four lists. As it was, while containing essential items for deer camp there was another thing that should have been on there. Bullets. Or at least, “Check bullets”.

Recently, on a trip to Michigan, circumstances of broken-down vehicle required us to change out gear to another vehicle. In the switch the, slightly important, bag of ammo was left behind. Now, getting ready for the hallowed PA opener the bullets were packed with the guns and checked twice. So, at O’dark thirty on November 30th we were disembarking from a repaired truck and getting our rifles ready. When time to load up there were two guns and one set of bullets. A frantic search started through the cab. During the search the vehicle’s alarm was tripped, alerting every buck in a mile radius that hunting season was beginning.

It was par for the course for this autumn. Even though preparation for hunting season was complete and detailed things hadn’t been working out. We seemed doomed from the start. For the PA season, we picked a new spot but it wasn’t exactly the spot we wanted. Now the alarm was going off, we had no bullets, and someone was cursing loudly about it; me. Opening day was an hour off but it seemed like the season might as well be over. Eventually, we resolved the bullet problem and trudged up to our spots. With all the noise, though it was a relatively decent walk, it was still within range of the chaos at the truck so we didn’t bother to sneak, we just stormed up through the woods.

I was in my stand, still well before shooting hours but now was so discouraged that I didn’t even really prep for the day. Just kind of sat up there resigned to enjoy a quiet morning, little did I know it would be anything but quiet; the bad luck was not done piling on. Just as I was relaxing and enjoying watching flying squirrels come out of their nest and float off to find nuts. I also heard some hoof prints in the dark thicket. Maybe the deer were working their way back? There may be hope! That lasted about three minutes…until I smelled a man, or more like cigarettes. Even worse, I was certain the buck I was looking for didn’t smoke that brand.

Sure, enough through the dark and up the trail appeared a shadow. It was a hunter who also heard the hoof prints in the thicket. He still didn’t know I was there; I was hoping to just let him pass and save us a deer frightening human conversation but now that he heard the deer he wasn’t going anywhere. He knelt down on the trail and started frantically loading his rifle, shells were clanking everywhere but at least he had some. I could hear panicked breathing. Great, a 40-year-old virgin in the dark, who still gets buck fever. I sure can pick out a good spot! Yes, he did jump about ten feet in the air when I said, “Hello”. Then I heard the obligatory, “God, you scared the crap out of me!”. (Kids at home, don’t be like this guy, he was scared before I said, “Hello”.) “You can’t hunt here”, I said and waived him away. “Is anyone on top or over the hill?” What the heck? Now we are going to converse and, apparently, in the dark I looked like a guy who knew where every hunter in Pennsylvania was. “No.” I told him and waived him on again. Actually, the Mongolian horde may have been over there, I didn’t know but I like my buck season like I like my solitaire; alone.

Of course, while we had our conversation the deer didn’t stick around to listen or contribute. The hooves pranced far off, out of ear shot. I sighed sat back and opened a thermos, “Might as well enjoy some coffee as the sun rises on an empty forest”, I thought. Not surprisingly, the light grew over a now quiet forest. I couldn’t even hear the flight of the squirrels anymore.

Eventually, some turkeys came through to work grapes in the tangle. The squirrels picked their heads back up out of the sand. Even a little buck appeared but looked very nervous. He hit the trail of the jumpy, night shooting, lost hunter and got one whiff of that and bolted. I didn’t want that buck but if a young dumb one with milk on his lips is onto it, then the one I’m after is long gone. Time for more coffee. As I poured, I saw deer legs running down the mountain. Couldn’t tell what they were other than deer legs, too far off to do much about. I did put down my coffee though and picked up my rifle. I thought the deer were going to run all the way down and cross the valley to be gone for the day but they didn’t. Almost at the bottom they stopped and started running back up at an angle that would bring them about a hundred yards away. There were four does and a skinny eight point. Also, there was one bigger body deer with them but further back and fifty yards off to the side of their trail. I focused on that one. Whey he cleared some terrain and got into an open spot; I saw it was a nice wide heavy eight point. He was one of the three I was after. There I was, unlike most bucks I have seen while hunting practically un-prepared and posted without a lick of tactical subtleness. Yet, I was able to click off the safety and with an echo of expending brass ringing across the valley, my PA deer season ended. I sat back tipped back my hat and the old saying crossed my mind. ‘With a little bit of luck, anything will do for brains.’ I’m putting luck on the list next year.

See you along the stream.