Pennsylvania Game News - January 2011 - 50

hadn’t been given an itinerary, hadn’t been directed to “push out that thicket, then swing around that side hill” as a deer drive chore. I wasn’t part of a group, a cog in a wheel, a worker bee in a hive. I was on my own and could go where and how I wanted. And that pleased me. Daylight was just seeping in, and I didn’t want to go too far up the path before I could see well. I had bounced does in this section of woods several times during the early muzzleloader season, but never got a shot. I was always walking too fast or the leaves were too crunchy. Today the shallow, wet snow was spotty and the leaves underfoot sodden and quiet. If I walked slowly and watched well, I might spot the does in the open woods, before they gained the thicket at the top of the hill. With my ’06, I could shoot a long way, if I could get a lean against a tree. I found myself hiking too quickly. My boots seemed to have a mind of their own. Like two eager hunting dogs let loose and racing ahead of the hunter’s pace, they needed to be called back and slowed down. I stopped, my rifle cradled across my arm. I looked uphill, at the upper part of the shallow drainage I was just entering. That’s where the does were when I saw them in October. I stood and peered into the lightening woods, the dim grays now joined by the browns of the downed leaves and the greens of the scattered hemlocks. A gold light was growing beyond the trees. Time to move on. I turned my head to scan downhill, and there he was. I never heard the buck’s approach. Twenty, at most 30 yards away, he must have walked in silently while I was looking in the opposite direction. I still had a buck tag. The deer was staring at me, his head slightly to the side, and I could make out the points on the light-colored antlers. Three on each side, no brow tines. Not long, but long enough. He met the legal requirement for the area I was hunting. Now to raise the rifle and shoot. I did so slowly, the slight motion cen50

Linda Steiner

A LONE HUNTER (lone wolf) waits for a deer in a peaceful winter woods.

tered in the middle of an otherwise stationary object not warning the buck he should turn and run. In my rifle scope, the deer’s chest looked enormous. I fired. He ran and I let out a long-held breath. I didn’t see or hear him fall, but I felt the shot was good. I looked for blood or hair and found none, but I had a line on the direction the buck had run. I crossed the first shallow drainage and went through the next. He was on the far side, sprawled out, having collapsed mid-flight. The deer had traveled fewer than 100 yards, but my worried search had made it seem farther. I stood behind and tapped his open eye with the rifle muzzle, to make sure he was dead, but I already knew he was. I knelt to pick up his head and antlers, hardly believing the reality. I got a buck. I slipped off my daypack to get my knife for field-dressing, and took my deer tag and pen from the license holder. Then I thought of my radio. I wouldn’t be meeting my friend at noon. I’d better let him know. I called to tell him why I wouldn’t make the rendezvous. I said he could keep hunting; I’d have a downhill drag to the car. “I’m coming up to you anyway,” he said. “You don’t have to,” I said. “I’m coming,” he insisted. I couldn’t blame him. If it had been me, I’d have wanted to see the deer and congratulate
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Pennsylvania Game News - January 2011

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