MikeTraps2
trapper
Registered: 12/23/06
Posts: 309
Loc: Ames, IA
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This is not finished, but I just want your opinions.
I remember well my first deer hunt. I was twelve and my Uncle Dave had arranged for his friend Arnold (who later became my trapping partner and best friend) to help us pick out a spot for the opening day of Pennsylvania deer season. We walked the two and half miles from my Mothers house to where we were going to meet Arnold. (Uncle Dave had lost his driving license for some minor misunderstandings with the local enforcement authorities.) We met Arnold at the edge of Glenwood, a vast timber full of oaks, hickories, beeches, honeysuckle, and just about any other type of food that deer like to eat. Arnold started us at the top of Glenwood, taking us down the old logging path as silently as if he were a shadow. I being totally new to deer hunting was just walking like I did when I was trapping. Arnold turned and gave me a look that made my blood freeze in my veins. “You need to pick your foot up all the way, and then set it down on the leaves, don’t just go charging through them” he said to me throwing a look at Uncle Dave too.
Arnold then led us down off of a ridge into the bottom of Glenwood. A small creek flows through the bottom, running from east to west. Arnold would stop from time to time to point out a deer trail in the leaves. “See how those leaves there are all turned the other way and sticking up? Well that mean that a deer ha been going up that way” He would say to me, giving Uncle Dave a glance as well. He also pointed out some of the better spots for us to sit on for opening day. “There’s a great spot” Arnold said as he pointed to a ridge that ended and looked over the bottom of the valley as well as giving a view up the other end of the ridge. We walked along the bottom for a couple of hours being shown more sign and more potential spots to sit. As Uncle Dave and I exited the valley and came out on the railroad tracks, we saw a man sitting on a high ridge overlooking the track. We asked if he had seen any deer. “I haven’t seen any deer around here for a week or more” he said. Uncle Dave and I just turned and walked down the track to where Arnold was coming through the honeysuckle. “Guy over there said he hasn’t seen a deer in weeks” Uncle Dave told Arnold. Arnold took a look at the guy and said, “Oh that’s Jack, he’s just trying to discourage you, so you don’t hunt in there.”
After we got home Uncle Dave and I discussed the different spots Arnold had chose for us to hunt, and which one we thought was best. We both agreed on the end of the ridge overlooking the valley. Where we lived you were only allowed to use shotguns with slugs, pumpkin balls, or buckshot. You also had to apply for a doe tag, and hope for the best. (Now you can buy them over the counter, and shoot up to a doe a day, due to overpopulation.) I was lucky enough that year to get a doe tag, but Uncle Dave had a few minor disagreements with the game department and so could not get a license. He was going to go along just as my second pair of eyes and voice of experience.
The morning dawned crisp and cold, the temperature was hovering in the teens. Uncle Dave and I loaded up the shotgun and some seats in the trunk of my Mom’s car (she allowed him to borrow it for the two mile drive.) We got out at o’ dark thirty (5am). Uncle Dave believed in getting to your spot long before daylight. We popped the trunk and got the gun and the cushions out, and then headed into the dark of Glenwood woods. We followed the old logging trail as it meandered like a snake through the deepening woods. We arrived at our predetermined spot a good hour and a half before daylight, and hunkered down just enough so we would not be sky lined on the ridge. Sitting on the ridge was so exciting, I could hardly contain myself. I could just barely make out the numerous ghost deer than seemed to be slipping past just at the edge of my sight. Some were does but every so often a great-granddaddy of a buck would slip past, with antlers resembling a rocking chair on his head.
Then the eastern sky began to lighten, first just turning from a dark blue to more of a gunmetal gray, slowing warming like a heated barrel. The grey turned to a soft red, which warmed to a dull orange. Far in the distance we could hear the pop pops of shotguns as hunters were shooting. I could only just make out the actual floor of the valley, when I saw two things floating up the valley toward us. At first I could not determine what they were, and then I could tell they were owls. They kept coming closer and closer to us. Suddenly they were right in front of me, they passed by so closely I could feel the wind as they flapped their wings. The most incredible thing of all was they made not a single sound as they passed, drifting by me like wisps of smoke on a breeze.
Soon after the owls, it was legal shooting light and the valley started to sound like Beirut. BANG, Bang, pop, pop, pow, pow, guns of every sort were going off from every different direction. I could now see the great-granddaddy buck I saw in the pre-dawn gloom was nothing more than and old stump with some dead sticks behind it (so much for that dream). I scanned the valley slowly trying to memorize every stick, tree, stump and bush, so I could tell if something was different. About two hours or so into out stand I discovered my legs and feet were not cold anymore; this was due to the fact that they were now numb! Well numb legs beat cold ones anyway. We watched that valley from 5:30 am till 10 am without seeing so much as a danged squirrel. My legs were numb and I was miserable, but I wasn’t about to say lets go home. Thankfully Uncle Dave suggested that we hunt our way back to the car slowly. I was more than enthusiastic about this idea. The only trouble was I never tried to walk around on wooden pegs much. We got about halfway back to the car before I realized I still had feet! Amazing, I thought they were still back keeping an eye out on that ridge. Another amazing fact if your legs and feet go numb, when they start to get feeling and circulation back in them they HURT!!! We got back to the car without seeing and deer or anything else for that matter.
Uncle Dave dropped me off and then went up the hill to his house saying we’d go back out around 2:30 and do an evening hunt. I went in the house took a nice long hot shower. Then I curled up in an electric blanket set on the highest setting, and crashed out on the couch till I was rudely awakened by Uncle Dave. “Ready?” he asked. I grumbled something in reply. I got dressed in three flannels, two pairs of pants and an extra pair of socks. I also did not tie my boots very tightly, hoping that by doing so I would allow blood to circulate into my feet better. Mom had gone to work so we had to hike the two and half miles up to Glenwood, carrying the shotgun with us. Luckily we lived in a town where most people hunted or knew the people who did.
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