The Buck

Almost exactly a year ago, I made a grand pronouncement here that I am not a trophy hunter. It's only fitting that today I report the harvest of my first trophy.

Grand pronouncements notwithstanding, I'm not hating the feeling.

This is my sixth hunting season, and before this year I had only harvested does, save for one small button buck (i.e. a buck whose antlers were mere buttons on top of his head).

Many deer hunters sit in tall tree stands, or even what could be described as miniature cabins, well out of the sight line of their quarry, and with high powered rifles that can take a deer from some distance. I, on the other hand, prefer to be no more than six or eight feet off the ground, fully exposed, and with a gun that could be described as "distance challenged". I do this because I seek a more pure experience, truer to the concept of fair chase, giving my prey more equal footing in the epic struggle between hunter and hunted.

I'm also too cheap to buy a decent hunting stand, but really, it's mostly about the "pure experience" thing.

Honest.

But given my self-imposed limitations, the art of concealment is beginning to become second nature. I climb into the stand, chamber a shell, and settle into a state of stillness. Hearing the crunch of leaves from an animal's footstep, the natural reaction is to turn in that direction. But deer are remarkably aware of their environment, so the slightest movement will spook them. To view the source of the noise, I turn my head at the pace of snail, all the while my heart pounding in anticipation of the magnificent creature I'm about to behold. A large doe? A majestic buck? A precious fawn? Perhaps even a sly fox or wily raccoon?

Settled into my stand, ready

to battle wits with my

quarry...or a squirrel

Or a squirrel. Usually just a damn squirrel. Noisy little buggers.

But I do on occasion get a glimpse of a deer, or a group of three. Yes, you've seen plenty of deer. You've probably seen them browsing on your roses while you stood on your deck, yelled loudly to shoo them away, and watched them look up and then resume dining. Watching them move and browse through the woods, however, their natural environment, completely unaware of your close presence, is singularly different.

My first hunt this year was on a Wednesday, and three deer passed by my stand near last light. They appeared to be does, but small, and I coveted a larger one to supply meat for a year of soups and stews.

The next night a small antlered buck nosed around in the pine needles a mere thirty feet from my stand, also close to dusk.

With my previously noted limited range, there is a very small window to decide whether to pull or not pull the trigger. I let the does and the small buck walk, but second guessed myself in the following days when the "deer within range" count dropped to zero.

Sitting in the woods for an hour or so with a gun during deer season is a unique and complicated experience. I'm in an intense state of continuous anticipation that in the next moment I will hear or see a deer. Then, as the light dwindles or the morning fades and only squirrels have crossed the stage, anticipation fades to discouragement.

A damn squirrel.

But later you cross paths with a friend who is a fellow hunter and you exchange stories, because hunting is really mostly about creating interesting stories to share with friends, and about inviting those friends over to hunt and enjoy a meal, friends with decades more experience than me. And you tell your friend about the ones you let walk and how you regret it a little, and your friend says "You'll get one", and then a couple days later your sweet wife says the same, out of supreme confidence in your abilities, or more likely to get me to be quiet about hunting already. But those three simple words, said so casually, make the discouragement disappear.

And then there are days when, deer or no deer, sitting in the woods is uniquely restorative, like the day my mind was troubled by some stress or other, and I suddenly realized what a tragic waste of time and energy it was to dwell on such things, and how much more pleasant and productive to think of the people I love, and all the reasons I love them.

As in previous years, for this year's hunt I wasn't after a trophy, rather simply some meat to fill the freezer. And after several more hunts with no opportunity to shoot, I decided the next deer within range, small, large or medium, doe or buck, would become the aforementioned freezer filler.

On Thursday evening, like several previous, I raced home after work for a short hunt. I settled into the stand and felt the familiar state of anticipation, but also some sense of peace and patience. The squirrels, of course, fooled me more than once with their noisy romping about in the dried leaves, but then I began to hear leaf crunching that seemed a bit different, more substantial.

As is almost always the case, I hear a creature long before I see it. But within a minute or two, I was certain that the sound was being created by something much larger than a squirrel. It had to be a deer, and it was moving closer. The noise continued for several minutes, but without so much as a glimpse of white from ear or tail. It would alternately rise and fall, and more than once I wondered if it was wandering off.

Finally, after five or so minutes, it stepped into view.

The light was fading, but it appeared to be a buck. Yes, definitely a buck, it's rack much wider than the small one I'd had the close encounter with days earlier. It was maybe eighty feet away, walking straight towards me. It looked straight in my direction and I thought surely it would see me, my stillness broken by the rapid heaving breaths that dominated my body.

My concealment held, but the buck turned to walk behind a couple trees, leaving no chance of a clear shot.

From there, the buck could walk in almost any direction within a half circle arc, but only one would give me a chance to take it. I raised my gun.

He emerged from behind the trees, his left side to me. I did not hesitate.

The buck ran a short distance, collapsed and expired. I sat quietly for a moment in the stand before climbing down for a closer look.

The antlers indeed were wide and handsome, with six points, small by normal standards, but a monstrous beast to me. Indeed I would have meat for the freezer, and a small trophy to remind me of a season, of stories shared, and of time in the woods.