Monday morning, one hour before sunrise, was black as the inside of a coal sack as we groped our way out of the house and into the bush. I had not even seen a buck during the previous day and a half of hunting and today was the last day. My son Sam, aged 15, and I reached a point in the corner of a semi-open area where we planned to post ourselves for the first hour or two of the day. Legal hunting time started a half hour before sunrise, but the overcast was so heavy that even 15 minutes into legal hunting time, I still could not see the sights on the old Winchester Model 1873 44-40 octagon-barreled rifle that had seen a lot of meat harvested since 1888. A light, but steady rain soon set in and we tucked ourselves a bit further under some cedars to try and stay as dry as possible under the conditions. The meadow grew lighter under a heavy grey sky and about two hours later, we had not so much as even thought we heard a deer. A photo looking out from where we were waiting under the cedars is below ...
A view of the same clearing from a different location is shown below. The Tamaracks, Balsams and Spruce are slowly taking over the long-abandoned hay meadow.
Here's a picture of my son Sam ...
The old '73 glistened in the steady rain. It seemed entirely comfortable doing what it was meant to do and I figured that this was not the first time it had been out in the elements in the past 129 years. It was made for this. I estimated that any deer that may have been on the move had bedded down by now. Sam had some schoolwork he needed to get done (since he was skipping school to be up north with me) so he decided he would head back to the farmhouse of the friends we were staying with and work for a few hours and then join me later in the day. I would start quietly sliding through the forest looking for a buck. I have never seen a buck in the open in 5 years of hunting on this old farm. Lots of does ... maybe 30 to 50 in total, but never any bucks in the open except the ocassional spikehorn. They always came out long after dark, judging from what I'd seen in the headlights of my truck late at night, scanning the hay meadow to see what the local deer population did after dark. If I wanted a buck, I would have to go into the thickest parts of the forest to find him; there really was no other choice.
One of my rules for hunting is 'never be in a rush'. I started moving along a low slope that marked the border between a hardwood forest and a dense belt of Cedars. The Cedars were so thick that one can move through them at a crouch or, often on hands and knees. I'd once come across a deer bedded down at the edge, where it could scan hardwood forest of Maples, so I moved right at the edge of the belt, at less than 10 yards per minute, stopping almost continuously, listening and scanning the trees ahead with eyes and binoculars for an ear, or a patch of brown fur, or an eye. About 45 minutes into this type of hunting, I came to a small thicket of Balsam and Cedars about 50 feet in diameter. I stood there for a minute, looking at either side, considering which way to go around it that might best reveal a bedded down deer. I was about to move to the right when I heard two, maybe three deer approaching through the leaves on the far side of the thicket. The young trees were thick enough that it was impossible to see them, but they were coming my way. I crouched down low to the ground, listening to see which side of the thicket they would come round. They were coming around the left side, but taking their sweet time. There was no wind yet. Still crouched low, I lifted the rifle into position and waited. I estimated that I would have about one second to identify a buck and get a shot off before they bolted, so the rifle was aimed and ready. They were advancing so slow that I had time to silently work my digital camera out of my breast pocket, which was about touching the grip of my gun. For those that couldn't get out to hunt this year, I thought this would be the next best thing ... to take a photo looking down the barrel of a classic levergun, with deer closing in within the next minute or so. If they turned out to be does, I hoped to be able to take another photo of them looking over the barrel of my rifle. Still in position, I eased the camera out of my pocket, keeping the rifle steady, and silently took the photo. Here it is.:
As I waited, the shuffling started growing fainter. Dad gummit! They had turned and headed down into some dense old timber. Not knowing if they would continue on that route or turn again, I waited for several minutes. No more sound. I decided to trail them down into the old timber and immediately found their tracks. My hope was that they would soon bed down. I paused for one of my numerous pauses just to listen and to plot a course through the trees that would make the least noise. I snapped another photo looking down in the direction the deer had taken. Note the hundreds of small, dead branches that stretch out between the trees, forcing one to move very slowly if one wants to be silent:
I don't know how long it took, but I wasn't keeping track of time. Trying to catch up to them in this brush, without letting them know of my presence, was not realistic. Rather, I was trailing them, stopping, and listening. Maybe they would bed down and I could get up close enough to them to take a buck before they bounded away through the trees. Perhaps there were others that would be moving in these timber bottoms too. I finally reached the lowest point .... soggy ground, fallen trees ... perfect place to stop for a while and wait to see what might happen. A couple fallen trees and a root wall made good cover. I made myself comfy and had my coffee. Here is a photo:
I spent about an hour there. Watching and listening. I also confess that I was relaxing. It was so peaceful. I talked to God, I savored the smells of wet leaves and cedars. I also thought about things that I should think about more often. Solitude. I spent about an hour and a half there in that fallen tangle of trunks but I could have spent much longer there. I took a few more photos of my '73 ....
and the forest immediately in front of me through which the deer had moved ....
The forest, as you can see, is a bit more open here. I could see as far as 75 yards between the trees in some places. Finally, deeply refreshed, I began to move again up out of the low area and back into the thicker cedars. I still kept hoping that the deer had bedded down ahead. I came upon the remains of an ancient cedar rail fence that marked the northern boundary of the farm where I was hunting. I wondered if the old cedar rails were as old as my rifle. Here's a photo ....
The old moss covered cedar rails, with their soft bed of fallen leaves, begged for a desktop photo, so I obliged. Here it is ....
In total, about 3 hours passed like this and no further hint of a buck. I returned to the farm house to pack up so that we could hunt later right to the end of legal hunting time and then drive the eight hours back home. Finally, it was time to head back out. I figured Sam and I would head back to the edge of the dense cedar thickets about 50 yards from where those deer had almost walked into my ambush earlier in the day. There were signs that the deer moved along the edge of the dense belt of cedars so we took cover within a shallow, leaf-filled hollow. We could scan both into the hardwood forest where visibility was up to 75 yards, as well as the very edge of the cedar thickets slightly below where we were waiting.
About a half hour before sunset I heard a sound in the leaves behind and to my left. I slowly turned my head. A deer was down in the dense Cedar thicket staring straight at me. The light wind was blowing toward me, so it could not tell what I was. An easy shot .... about 40 yards. Trouble was, where it was standing under the dark cedars in the rapidly failing light, I couldn't tell if it was a buck or doe. I only had a buck tag. With my right hand gripping the '73, ready to go, my left hand raised the binoculars for a closer look. I ignored the adrenalin. Still, the dadgummed deer's head was about level with the underside of the Cedars, partially camoflaged by a tangle of dead branches and twigs. Was that a a set of antlers, or were they just dried branches? The deer turned sideways and moved forward a couple yards, then turned again to look at me. I swear I caught a flash of antler on the left side of its head, but what about the right side? Was it an antler I had seen or a branch moved by the deer. It was now quite dark under the cedars, but its front quarters were still in the clear. Still an easy shot. I was almost sure it was a buck, but 'almost sure' doesn't cut it with the game laws. I stared at it, trying to make my eyes see beyond their ability. Every second counts and the more seconds go by, the greater the chance it will bolt. It still could not wind me. I strained my eyes to the limit. Suddenly another deer gave a coughing bark about 20 yards to the right, too deep in the thicket for me to possibly see. The deer I was still trying to identify lightly bounded away, leaving me still less than absolutely certain it was a buck. A few seconds later, I caught sight of another silent movement deeper in the Cedars from a third and then they were gone. Here is a photo of the thicket taken a half hour earlier when it was lighter. The place where the deer was, was just outside of the view to the extreme left. You can see that on the left side of the photo, already, it gets thick and dark about the level of where a deer's head would be. It was significantly darker a half hour later.
I could have easily bagged it, but I was not going to take the shot until I knew for sure it was a buck. Sam and I waited in the last light of legal hunting time. When it was almost too dark to see, I checked my sights to see if I could still get a good sight picture. The German silver front blade on that ancient '73 was the brightest point on the entire rifle in the failing light. Did the designers know that when they chose that material 130 years ago? I handed the rifle to Sam and told him to sight down it. He, too, could see that the tip of the font blade was the only thing left to see, nestled between the rising sides of the rear, semi-buckhorn sight. Suddenly, I could see why a semi-buckhorn, or full buckhorn sight could be much better than the flat topped rear sights they have today. It was too dark to find the tiny notch in any rear sight, but the dark shadows of the semi-buckhorns still let me center that tiny bright front bead, giving me maybe 10 more minutes of sightable time. I smiled at the knowledge of the old timers who must have known this. A few more minutes, then we stood and made our way back through the tall Maple hardwoods, back to the farm house.
When we got back, our friend's son, aged 16, had just harvested a young doe. His first deer. One shot and it immediately dropped. Winchester 30-30 carbine. Here's a photo of the proud young man. Although we had not got a buck, we rejoiced with him at another milestone toward manhood ... providing meat for ones family.
We said our goodbyes and climbed into my old Chevy Suburban for the eight hour drive through the night back home. I'm back in civilization now, but very refreshed. Sam and I had a great time that I am sure he will still remember when he is an old man and I am long gone. Memories of waiting in the cedars, a light steady rain, whispering jokes under our breath so as not to alert any deer, the sound of a deer approaching, failing light, the beautiful quietness of the forest, two men silently enjoying God's creation and one another's company. It was well worth it.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Kirk: An old geezer who loves ancient levers, classic side by sides, old sixguns, the smell of
freshly turned earth, Ringnecked Pheasants rising out of cornfields in the fall, old farms with
cedar rail fences, antique John Deere tractors sprinkled with autumn leaves, wood smoke, a
crackling fireplace on a snowy evening, pristine wilderness lakes, the smell of cedars and a
magnificent Whitetail buck framed in the semi-buckhorn sights of a 100-year old Winchester.
A view of the same clearing from a different location is shown below. The Tamaracks, Balsams and Spruce are slowly taking over the long-abandoned hay meadow.
Here's a picture of my son Sam ...
The old '73 glistened in the steady rain. It seemed entirely comfortable doing what it was meant to do and I figured that this was not the first time it had been out in the elements in the past 129 years. It was made for this. I estimated that any deer that may have been on the move had bedded down by now. Sam had some schoolwork he needed to get done (since he was skipping school to be up north with me) so he decided he would head back to the farmhouse of the friends we were staying with and work for a few hours and then join me later in the day. I would start quietly sliding through the forest looking for a buck. I have never seen a buck in the open in 5 years of hunting on this old farm. Lots of does ... maybe 30 to 50 in total, but never any bucks in the open except the ocassional spikehorn. They always came out long after dark, judging from what I'd seen in the headlights of my truck late at night, scanning the hay meadow to see what the local deer population did after dark. If I wanted a buck, I would have to go into the thickest parts of the forest to find him; there really was no other choice.
One of my rules for hunting is 'never be in a rush'. I started moving along a low slope that marked the border between a hardwood forest and a dense belt of Cedars. The Cedars were so thick that one can move through them at a crouch or, often on hands and knees. I'd once come across a deer bedded down at the edge, where it could scan hardwood forest of Maples, so I moved right at the edge of the belt, at less than 10 yards per minute, stopping almost continuously, listening and scanning the trees ahead with eyes and binoculars for an ear, or a patch of brown fur, or an eye. About 45 minutes into this type of hunting, I came to a small thicket of Balsam and Cedars about 50 feet in diameter. I stood there for a minute, looking at either side, considering which way to go around it that might best reveal a bedded down deer. I was about to move to the right when I heard two, maybe three deer approaching through the leaves on the far side of the thicket. The young trees were thick enough that it was impossible to see them, but they were coming my way. I crouched down low to the ground, listening to see which side of the thicket they would come round. They were coming around the left side, but taking their sweet time. There was no wind yet. Still crouched low, I lifted the rifle into position and waited. I estimated that I would have about one second to identify a buck and get a shot off before they bolted, so the rifle was aimed and ready. They were advancing so slow that I had time to silently work my digital camera out of my breast pocket, which was about touching the grip of my gun. For those that couldn't get out to hunt this year, I thought this would be the next best thing ... to take a photo looking down the barrel of a classic levergun, with deer closing in within the next minute or so. If they turned out to be does, I hoped to be able to take another photo of them looking over the barrel of my rifle. Still in position, I eased the camera out of my pocket, keeping the rifle steady, and silently took the photo. Here it is.:
As I waited, the shuffling started growing fainter. Dad gummit! They had turned and headed down into some dense old timber. Not knowing if they would continue on that route or turn again, I waited for several minutes. No more sound. I decided to trail them down into the old timber and immediately found their tracks. My hope was that they would soon bed down. I paused for one of my numerous pauses just to listen and to plot a course through the trees that would make the least noise. I snapped another photo looking down in the direction the deer had taken. Note the hundreds of small, dead branches that stretch out between the trees, forcing one to move very slowly if one wants to be silent:
I don't know how long it took, but I wasn't keeping track of time. Trying to catch up to them in this brush, without letting them know of my presence, was not realistic. Rather, I was trailing them, stopping, and listening. Maybe they would bed down and I could get up close enough to them to take a buck before they bounded away through the trees. Perhaps there were others that would be moving in these timber bottoms too. I finally reached the lowest point .... soggy ground, fallen trees ... perfect place to stop for a while and wait to see what might happen. A couple fallen trees and a root wall made good cover. I made myself comfy and had my coffee. Here is a photo:
I spent about an hour there. Watching and listening. I also confess that I was relaxing. It was so peaceful. I talked to God, I savored the smells of wet leaves and cedars. I also thought about things that I should think about more often. Solitude. I spent about an hour and a half there in that fallen tangle of trunks but I could have spent much longer there. I took a few more photos of my '73 ....
and the forest immediately in front of me through which the deer had moved ....
The forest, as you can see, is a bit more open here. I could see as far as 75 yards between the trees in some places. Finally, deeply refreshed, I began to move again up out of the low area and back into the thicker cedars. I still kept hoping that the deer had bedded down ahead. I came upon the remains of an ancient cedar rail fence that marked the northern boundary of the farm where I was hunting. I wondered if the old cedar rails were as old as my rifle. Here's a photo ....
The old moss covered cedar rails, with their soft bed of fallen leaves, begged for a desktop photo, so I obliged. Here it is ....
In total, about 3 hours passed like this and no further hint of a buck. I returned to the farm house to pack up so that we could hunt later right to the end of legal hunting time and then drive the eight hours back home. Finally, it was time to head back out. I figured Sam and I would head back to the edge of the dense cedar thickets about 50 yards from where those deer had almost walked into my ambush earlier in the day. There were signs that the deer moved along the edge of the dense belt of cedars so we took cover within a shallow, leaf-filled hollow. We could scan both into the hardwood forest where visibility was up to 75 yards, as well as the very edge of the cedar thickets slightly below where we were waiting.
About a half hour before sunset I heard a sound in the leaves behind and to my left. I slowly turned my head. A deer was down in the dense Cedar thicket staring straight at me. The light wind was blowing toward me, so it could not tell what I was. An easy shot .... about 40 yards. Trouble was, where it was standing under the dark cedars in the rapidly failing light, I couldn't tell if it was a buck or doe. I only had a buck tag. With my right hand gripping the '73, ready to go, my left hand raised the binoculars for a closer look. I ignored the adrenalin. Still, the dadgummed deer's head was about level with the underside of the Cedars, partially camoflaged by a tangle of dead branches and twigs. Was that a a set of antlers, or were they just dried branches? The deer turned sideways and moved forward a couple yards, then turned again to look at me. I swear I caught a flash of antler on the left side of its head, but what about the right side? Was it an antler I had seen or a branch moved by the deer. It was now quite dark under the cedars, but its front quarters were still in the clear. Still an easy shot. I was almost sure it was a buck, but 'almost sure' doesn't cut it with the game laws. I stared at it, trying to make my eyes see beyond their ability. Every second counts and the more seconds go by, the greater the chance it will bolt. It still could not wind me. I strained my eyes to the limit. Suddenly another deer gave a coughing bark about 20 yards to the right, too deep in the thicket for me to possibly see. The deer I was still trying to identify lightly bounded away, leaving me still less than absolutely certain it was a buck. A few seconds later, I caught sight of another silent movement deeper in the Cedars from a third and then they were gone. Here is a photo of the thicket taken a half hour earlier when it was lighter. The place where the deer was, was just outside of the view to the extreme left. You can see that on the left side of the photo, already, it gets thick and dark about the level of where a deer's head would be. It was significantly darker a half hour later.
I could have easily bagged it, but I was not going to take the shot until I knew for sure it was a buck. Sam and I waited in the last light of legal hunting time. When it was almost too dark to see, I checked my sights to see if I could still get a good sight picture. The German silver front blade on that ancient '73 was the brightest point on the entire rifle in the failing light. Did the designers know that when they chose that material 130 years ago? I handed the rifle to Sam and told him to sight down it. He, too, could see that the tip of the font blade was the only thing left to see, nestled between the rising sides of the rear, semi-buckhorn sight. Suddenly, I could see why a semi-buckhorn, or full buckhorn sight could be much better than the flat topped rear sights they have today. It was too dark to find the tiny notch in any rear sight, but the dark shadows of the semi-buckhorns still let me center that tiny bright front bead, giving me maybe 10 more minutes of sightable time. I smiled at the knowledge of the old timers who must have known this. A few more minutes, then we stood and made our way back through the tall Maple hardwoods, back to the farm house.
When we got back, our friend's son, aged 16, had just harvested a young doe. His first deer. One shot and it immediately dropped. Winchester 30-30 carbine. Here's a photo of the proud young man. Although we had not got a buck, we rejoiced with him at another milestone toward manhood ... providing meat for ones family.
We said our goodbyes and climbed into my old Chevy Suburban for the eight hour drive through the night back home. I'm back in civilization now, but very refreshed. Sam and I had a great time that I am sure he will still remember when he is an old man and I am long gone. Memories of waiting in the cedars, a light steady rain, whispering jokes under our breath so as not to alert any deer, the sound of a deer approaching, failing light, the beautiful quietness of the forest, two men silently enjoying God's creation and one another's company. It was well worth it.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Kirk: An old geezer who loves ancient levers, classic side by sides, old sixguns, the smell of
freshly turned earth, Ringnecked Pheasants rising out of cornfields in the fall, old farms with
cedar rail fences, antique John Deere tractors sprinkled with autumn leaves, wood smoke, a
crackling fireplace on a snowy evening, pristine wilderness lakes, the smell of cedars and a
magnificent Whitetail buck framed in the semi-buckhorn sights of a 100-year old Winchester.
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In the meantime, you will have to resolve not to think too deeply about questions such as:
One of the things that I like about sitting alone in the bush is that it is a break from discussions of heavy subjects.
