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As I load my gear I can’t help but wonder to myself what will make this morning any different than the last thirty-five. It had been a strange season so far without any promise of getting better. Looking at my past entries into a log I keep I notice that I have to go way back to 1991 to find a season where I didn’t at least see a buck in October that I would have been pleased to shoot. This year, during the month of October I hunted at least a portion of everyday with the exception of one, the day Abbey, my granddaughter was born. In that time I watched two dozen bucks walk by my stand but other than one “big bodied” buck they were all babies. It becomes difficult to stay “sharp” during vigils when a guy has these kinds of results. I might add that my limited preseason scouting and trail cam had not turned up anything that would encourage me to push myself to exhaustion and hunt hard.

I am happy to see a 34 degree reading on the thermometer and frost on the windshield, but I am perturbed by the northeast breeze, it limits my hunting locations. Once again this season the predicted wind direction was not the reality that was happening in my part of the world. Grin and bear it I thought to myself, there are many tasks that a lot of people have to do today that they won’t enjoy. I get to go hunting this morning; life is good!!

The stand I choose this particular morning sits on the side of a gradual slope. Just below the tree the ground gets steeper. In other words on one side of the tree it seems as if you are looking into an endless abyss and on the opposite side you wonder if you shouldn’t be higher.

I do some rattling and calling after the sun comes up but the results are just like the last hundred times I did it…nothing. As I shift my weight in the stand to check out varioussounds as the morning passes I am dismayed by the noise the stand is making. I determine it will have to be adjusted but at that moment I see a buck jump the fence in the distance. So much for the adjustment…I reach for my binoculars. It is another baby buck; a six point, probably a year and a half old. He winds his way through the “abyss” and passes by me at 30 yards heading up the slope. I sit back down and think how lucky I am to observe the deer that I do.

My philosophical contemplation is interrupted by the unmistakable sound of crunching leaves. I poke my head around the tree and see another little buck coming down the slope. Behind him is a decent eight point. I want to get a closer look at him, he might be a shooter. I have to move dreadfully slow to get into position because of the noise issue with the stand. By the time I get situated I know the small buck is very close but I can’t see him because the tree I am in blocks him out. I am very interested in the eight point; he looks decent, especially compared to what I have been seeing. As he makes his approach I strain to get a better view. Yup, the eight IS decent. After making that observation, without changing positions I look down, and guess what; the little guy has me pegged! Yessiree, he is looking up at me like the kid at the circus gazes at the high wire act. He isn’t sure what he is looking at but he goes on alert and I know it is only a matter of time before he puts it all together. Now the eight becomes edgy and adjusts his course in a direction that will take him away from me. The snitch directly below me begins to back out. I know this gig is up. As the little guy makes haste up the hill, with nothing to lose, I grunt to the bigger buck as he stands forty yards away. He puts his ears straight back, and as if contemplating his next move hesitates for a moment, then trots off to parts unknown. You win some you lose some. A grin breaks across my ugly mug as I think of that little buck that exposed me. I am intrigued how time and chance play a role in the everyday life of wild creatures.

I sit back down and look at my watch. I can stay for one more hour then I have some commitments that need tending to. Ten minutes later the shuffling of leaves behind me again grabs my attention. I wonder if it is that baby buck…perhaps coming back like they sometimes do…without standing I peer around the left side of the tree. About fifty yards away I can see the rear end of a deer sticking out behind a tree. The thought crosses my mind that it must be the little buck again. My thought is,I am going to let him get close again and then reach around the tree from the other side and throw my hat at him. That will almost make us even for what he did to me a few moments earlier. Oh yeah sweet revenge baby! I am going to enjoy watching him “jump out of his skin”!

My plan makes me almost giddy…I slowly rise and face the tree. This time I stretch my neck around to the opposite side expecting to see the head of the little gremlin that plagued me earlier….The view causes my legs to go weak! What I saw sent shock waves through my body like a condemned man strapped in the “chair” as the switch is thrown! It isn’t that this buck was such a monster, I have seen bigger and certainly arrowed larger, it is just that I was whole heartedly prepared to see that year and a half old imp when this dude crashed the party!

One of the neat things about hunting is that bad luck can change in a split second and vice-versa. Things in the “hood” went from zero to serious in nothing flat! I slowly reach up and get my bow, it seems strangely heavy….

He is a magnificent specimen. Though his body is on the small side for mature bucks in this area, he is awesome to behold. Even his simplest movements like licking his nose, pawing the earth, or turning his head are poetry in motion. Occasionally he raises his head to look around and I am mesmerized by his 14 inch G2s. They sit like twin towers in the midst of a row of tall tines that come offthe respectable mass of main beams. The sun accents his stately headgear with a combination of reflection and shadows. It is hard to not look at those “sabers” without suffering some type of emotional meltdown. If I am going to take him down I must have a plan like Persius did with Medusa (for those who don’t know Greek Mythology, all who looked directly at Medusa were instantly turned to stone. Persius was able tokill her by carefully lookingat her reflection and not her faceas he fought). I make a conscious effort to concentrate on the spot I intend to put the arrow and no longer admire those horns.….

This buck is in no hurry. He stops to investigate every overturned leaf, every odd twig, and bare spot between he and me. As he moves down the slope nose to the ground he inhales invisible scents and obviously analyses each and every one with a scrutiny perhaps only an ungulate can understand. His swollen neck tells me he is following powerful urges that he neither questions nor cares. He is unaware of his role in the great plan of the propagation of his species, but his ignorance does not diminish his instinctive enthusiasm. He is in search mode. His greatest strength and number one defense mechanismnow becomes a liability; for the route he has chosen to sniff out is about to expose him to clear and present danger. He moves closer…I hear myself whispering the words “That’s right, come on, come to Papa baby…”

He is easily within range now, I briefly consider bartering with God to make him turn right or left which would give me a broadside shot, as he continues his forward motion. He nowseems close enough to spit onand for the first time I feel this thing slipping away. A squeak from my stand, a swirling wind, dirt falling form the soles of my boots, any little mistake, and this traveling show is over. To complicate things, I cannot draw my bow at this angle because I don’t have enough length in the tether on my harness. Of course I knew this to be the case already from practice drills so I did something that I wouldn’t recommend to anyone else. I repeat; DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!! Very carefully I unhooked myself from the tree…

Tension is high. He is close…too close! He is facing me but I can’t see him due to the trunk on which I am perched, a position I just hate to be in. Assuming he doesn’t run back up the hill I have to figure out which way he will turn so I can get in a position to do the deed. All my life it seems that I have had a knack for “out thinking” myself. It seemed reasonable to me that he would follow the path of the eight point that had exited to my right. I could see the tip of his left main beam pointed in that direction so I gingerly moved the bow and prepared to shoot across my body to the right. For reasons unknown to me he swaps ends. He is so close I am afraid to breathe let alone reposition my entire stance again. Somehow I pull it off and now I can see his head. If he doesn’t hear the beating of my heart I might get a shot. He puts his nose to the ground, I draw my bow…I quickly run a check down of some necessary things that have to take place for the shot to be successful. Pin is good, anchor is good, limbs are clear….The buck starts to move…judgment is about to be meted out...

The little Bowtech huffs and in doing so delivers a missile of carbon and steel a scant 12 yards to the unsuspecting monarch. I was concentrating so hard on the spot I wanted to hit I never really saw the arrow disappear into the animal. I heard it though! It was that lovely hollow sound, like someone slicing into a melon. The buck kicks up in defiance and runs for forty yards before stopping to see what happened. Alas his fate has been sealed, nothing now can reverse the process that is about to take place; for what he has caught, there is no cure.

I began to count in my head, one thousand one…one thousand two…one thousand three…

His demeanor is still so very regal as he stands in bewilderment…He scans the horizon for the perpetrator of the prick…ears fully forward, hackles of neck hair standing at attention, wide eyes piercing through the brush. His crown of horns glistens in the sunlight as he takes a last look in my direction…Other than that crimson stain dripping feverishly down his left side that pose would have made a great photograph for a calendar.

…One thousand ten….one thousand eleven…one thousand twelve…

I am euphoric!!! If it were possible I would do a back flip off the end of my tree stand! I want to hoop and holler but instead a smile parts my lips and ads one more wrinkle to a Grandpa’s face…

…One thousand twenty…one thousand twenty-one…..

What happens next is always bitter sweet for most of us. Mixed with the feeling of incredible jubilation, is a feeling of solemnity nearly to a point of mournfulness. Each season that goes by I think the passing of my quarry carries more impact. Somehow, someway, I see myself in each creature. The many similarities and parallelisms of their existence to mine boggles my mind. There is a fine thread that connects all of us to nature and the eco-system. It is all part of a bigger grander plan; a plan that was set in motion by the Great I Am before the dawn of the universe. In one respect our fate is not all that different from this old warrior; all of us will face the “Reaper”. We can only hope and pray that our demise is as quick and as merciful as the one I am beholding….

…One thousand twenty-two…one thousand twenty-three….one thousand twenty-four

The tell tale signs begin to unfold signaling the big sleep…the wagging of the tail…the sagging of the limbs…his back begins to bow and sway. This creature of such athleticism and grace suddenly turns clumsy and inept. Like a drunken sailor, he staggers nearly falling, recovering in time only to repeat the process in the opposite direction. As he falters whatever does not snap or break in his pathway, he helplessly ricochets off of. The decibel level of all this commotion in the morning’s stillness is so high that you’re sure a crowd will come to investigate the ruckus. Finally, my beautiful prize can no longer support his weight and he collapses as darkness overtakes him. A final heave of the rib cage and with that he belongs to the ages…

The momentary din now ceased, stillness returns to the forest. The silence is deafening. There are tremors in my hands, a quiver in my voice, and a prayer of thanksgiving in palpitating heart. Soon birds again begin to sing, squirrels return to their fall ritual of gathering, and I begin to make adjustments on a squeaky treestand….