noting that the hunt is never fruitless 12/03/08
There’s one thing I look forward to every year: deer season.
It’s a chance for me to set aside everything I do in Washington and escape to the beautiful woods of Pennsylvania. Nothing buzzing. Incoming emails remain in the inbox. And the iPhone is turned off (or at least the ringer is). Just me, my rifle, a packed lunch, and the woods. And, on occasion, an amazing amount of wildlife — big and small — graces me with its awesomeness.
This season was no different.
On Sunday, I rented a Kia of some sort and drove up to Centre County, PA to stay with my Uncle David and his family. [Aside: Renting a car always makes me miss my bimmer; but upon returning the rental, I always feel better knowing that my car isn't sitting on the street getting dinged by irresponsible parkers. Owning a nice car that you love is nearly impossible in DC without a garage.]
After dueling bumper-to-bumper traffic making a 3.5 hour drive turn to six, I arrived at my uncles place in State College where I was greeted warmly by family I hadn’t seen for a year. We ate dinner — a delicious salad, pasta, and a nice glass of red wine. As per usual, we drove to the local Wal-Mart (why do they hire a greeter?) for my out-of-state license and some random gear add-ons that I absolutely needed for the hunt.
We turned in early knowing that 4 AM was right around the corner.
The weatherman called for a delightful blend of snow and rain so we packed the rain gear. Fortunately, neither greeted us that brisk morning as it turned out being crystal clear without a cloud in the sky. We drove out to my uncles farm, sipping on coffee, talking politics and what’s wrong with the GOP, anticipating the day.
My uncle set up at a spot overlooking a few of his lower meadows. He likes being the sniper taking the long-shot. As has become customary, I scurried up the mountain to the tree stand I’ve come to know and love. I remember just before stepping into the woods staring up at the stars thinking — this is nature at its finest. Upon climbing into my chariot in the tree I sat patiently. Listening.
The turkeys are always the first to wake. The tree next to me sounded like it was tipping over as a giant turkey descended. As quickly as the noise woke the tree next to me, it stopped. Silence. Again.
As daylight breaks, you see shadows. You can’t quite make them out, but you know that they are deer moving. You sit. Patiently. Listening. Staring into the dark trying to make out the shadows.
As the sunlight begins to fill the forest — cracks of rifles break the silence. On opening day in Pennsylvania they say that more than 1 million armed hunters fill the forest. Given the scores of rifle shots you hear in those first few hours, I believe it.
With crunchy snow on the ground, you hear them before you see them. They’re scared. The doe and young bucks are anxious. They move without understanding what exactly they’re running from. They move in packs of 6-10. You look to the noise and doubtless see them running.
On the first day I must have seen 60 or so deer including half-a-dozen bucks.
I didn’t shoot. I sighted a few. One or two walked within 15 yards of me. I could have but I chose to let them go. Why? Because they weren’t the Prize. They were small bucks, running with the doe, scared. Given the amount of deer I was seeing I expected the Prize to turn the corner and present itself.
Sadly, he didn’t show up.
Around 11 AM the cold sets in. You sit there tightening and releasing every muscle in your body hoping to get the blood boiling to warm you up. It’s useless. The rifle cracks subside. The deer have stopped moving and have taken to laying down in thick cover.
It was time for lunch and warmth. I walked down through the meadow hunting my favorite line every step of the way. You see them moving. You hear them calling you back for more challenging you to hunt them more.
By the time I reached my uncle’s barn he already had his deer cleaned, headless, and hanging to age. My cousin Drew had arrived earlier and was hanging out learning the ways of the responsible deer hunter from my uncle. My uncle, a doctor, judiciously tends to his kill and teaches every step of the way. A true sportsman and a great father.
We ate lunch and decided that for the afternoon hunt, we’d all do it together. I was the hunter — they were the observers. We spent a few hours walking the meadow and sitting in the tree stand. Nothing.
The day ended and I was a bit discouraged. I had so many opportunities yet I didn’t take the shot. As quickly as opening day had come it was over.
On to day two.
Day two is a much more relaxed day. You’re pretty beat from waking up early the morning before but you’re still full of energy and optimism for what could be the day you find your Prize.
We got out to the farm around 9 AM. I had decided the night before that I was going to mix it up and try to hunt the far side of the mountain. Immediately upon walking into the woods I spotted a deer about 150 yards down the road. I sighted it. Doe. [Ed. note: In PA, you have to have an anterless tag to shoot anything other than a buck of which I did not have.]
As I walked slowly toward the road and in to the woods I heard fierce rustling. I looked up to see countless shadows flying through the woods, crossing before me at record speed. All doe. I continued my walk encountering at least a dozen turkey chatting it up. The turkeys seem to know they’re out of season.
After stalking the far side, I headed back to my old faithful stand determined to find the Prize. I sat in my stand for two hours and not a single deer walked by. Absolutely. Dead. Quiet.
Defeated I returned to the barn where my uncle met me for lunch. I was willing to leave then but he said that this was “my hunt” and that he’d hang around for a few more hours if I wanted to give it a go.
Feeling re-energized (gatorade, an apple, and a ham sandwich will do it) I made my way to the far side stand — my first time in the single-shooter stand. I took a seat sitting patiently. Listening. Five minutes later, I hear the sound of snow crunching — could this be it? I looked over my shoulder with bright eyes to see a family of deer — at least 4-5 — all doe.
Knowing that where there is doe there is usually a buck I resisted movement and sat patiently with my scope trained on the group. After five minutes, what appeared to be the largest of the doe stood up straight, pounded its front hoofs, and stared me down, smelling the air knowing that something wasn’t right. Within 10 seconds they scattered. Was it something I said?
I sat in the stand for a few more hours before I knew it was time to head in. I didn’t have a watch on but I just knew it was that time. My season was over. Fruitless.
Fruitless in the sense that I didn’t take a shot at my Prize. However, I loved every minute of it. For me, as a young hunter with much to learn and many years to hunt, it’s already not about the kill or the shot. I took a buck on my first day years ago.
No, for me it’s about waking up early on opening day, enjoying nature, being with family I rarely get to see, and yes, sitting in my tree stand with a beautiful rifle that’s mine.
On the drive back to DC I knew what I was returning to. Hundreds of emails. Calls to return. Politics.
But I also knew that next year I’d be back at it again. Sitting in my tree stand patiently. Listening. Hoping that the Prize would present itself.
