Pennsylvania Game News - December 2017 - 40

with family. Though I eagerly anticipated
sitting next to him for the couple-hour trip
north and east, I opted to stick around and
hunt locally with friends.
The independence was as fresh as the
snow.
Still, I kept the countless hunting lessons learned from Dad at the forefront,
chambered in my heart.
Father, not expecting me to actually
shoot a buck, lent me a gun more adequate
for woodchuck than whitetail - a singleshot .25-06 Remington.
Though I had succeeded under his
supervision with both a flintlock muzzleloader and centerfire rifle, I once again
had to prove myself without his powerful
presence. Like any young man, I was up
to the challenge.
Three buddies and I stuffed hunting
gear and ourselves into my car, a red
Pontiac Firebird. I am confident we four
hunters, through either exuberance or
ignorance, were the first to enter Penn's
Woods that fateful year.
Jim, Ryan, Brandon, and I started the
season on a property nestled just outside
Mercer where Ryan had secured permission.
The morning was measured with
squirrel sightings and distant rifle reports
instead of deer encounters. Undeterred,
our party reunited and enjoyed a latemorning breakfast.
Properly fueled with food and fellowship, I led the group toward New Wilmington and the family farm. I placed all
hunting partners in proven spots - escape
routes, funnels, and the like. Ryan hunted
a thicket atop a ridge overlooking the
overgrown field I watched.
In just short of the hour it takes a deer
hunter to get properly acquainted with a
landscape, I heard Ryan's rifle.
Seconds later, a buck skirted the
40

ridgetop and disappeared amid the briars
and brambles below.
I summoned Dad's words from my
chest, "Never give up! Always be ready!"
Suddenly, the whitetail bounded from
the brush into the field. I shouldered my
father's single-shot. The moment the deer
hit the trail, the race was on. The buck
sprinted straight away, seemingly exponentially farther with each stride.
"Aim small, miss small!" I could
almost hear Father whispering.
I took a deep breath and thoughtfully
exhaled, all the while steadying the crosshairs on the escaping deer.
As I plucked the hair trigger, the deer
plowed into the snow.
The walk to approach the trophy was
a blur. As I neared him, the gray buck
appeared to be sleeping on the fresh
blanket of snow. Its lean, muscular body
was led by eight small, brilliantly white
points. It was astonishing how quickly
four independent hunters gathered as one.
Jim, positioned on the opposite side
of the field with a view of the entire hunt,
offered, "Nice shot, Marshall!"
Brandon, the biologist of the group,
excitedly began examining the deer.
Instantly, he noticed a mysterious hole
in the ear. Brandon laughed, "Ryan, you
pierced its ear!"
"Caught in the moment, must've
accidently aimed at what I kept looking
at - the antlers!" Ryan confessed.
Following some good-natured ribbing
and congratulations, we began dragging
our fond memory over the snow.
With four young men kicking it into
four-wheel drive, we made quick work of
the haul to the rear-wheel drive sports car.
Proudly giving the deer the gift of
flight via the Firebird added yet another
highlight to the perfect hunt.
Naturally, we swapped stories and

Pennsylvania Game News - December 2017

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