Pennsylvania Game News - January 2010 - 33

once in a while to peek over the ridge. After several such stops, George pointed out deer several hundred yards below us. I couldn’t see any deer but he insisted they were there. We stared for what seemed like an eternity, and finally I saw what I thought was a sapling move. It was a leg, followed by three more and then several dozen. I’ve always marveled at my brother’s eyes. Another time he motioned us to stop and pointed out ahead. He said he’d seen an ear flick. We stood still and soon enough the deer that was attached to that ear slowly walked out onto the path ahead of us; it turned toward us and then disappeared into the underbrush. That morning they put me in a hemlock-filled creek bottom, just below some beech and oak trees, at the edge of a dark woods. About a dozen does trotted by that morning. I had brought the lever action .30-30 with open sights to bear on every one of them, looking for antlers. With my heart beating heavily each time, I would take a deep breath as they passed, wondering whether I had missed seeing a buck. With George off to my right and no shooting, though, I knew my eyes had been right, because his always were. There was a lot of shooting elsewhere on the mountain, but I never saw George move. Earlier we had discussed that if no one got anything in the morning, the three of us would work back toward the road just after noon, where Dad was waiting. We were about a mile in and we spread out on the mountainside to walk back, hoping to push one past Dad or each other. I could see George, off to my left, as we headed back toward the truck. I was on the right side of our little push, JANUARY 2010 following the creek upstream to where it would eventually cross the road, so I couldn’t get lost. I came across a blood trail coming down off the mountain and I followed it a bit, back and forth across the small mountain stream. Stopping to choose my path in the knee deep snow, I saw movement out ahead of me and there, standing on an island in the stream, was a 6-point buck. It was watching me intently, and I slowly brought the gun up to my shoulder, but the buck spooked. He took two leaps into the stream and out again and I squeezed off a shot as he crested the opposite bank. My heart was pounding and then began to pound harder when I realized I didn’t know how far ahead my brothers had walked while I slowed down to examine the blood trail. And I now had to take care of a deer that weighed as much as I did and I was a mile from the road. Hopefully one of my brothers had heard the shot. Sure enough, George had been waiting and watching when he saw I was no longer to his right and I soon saw him bounding down the mountain, snow flying all around him, a smile as wide as the valley we were hunting. He helped me fielddress the deer and then we began the long pull up the mountain and out to the road. You never forget your first buck and even though it was a tiny rack compared to those I have gotten since, it hangs on the plaque my dad put it on way back then. That my

Pennsylvania Game News - January 2010

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