On Suffering- Antlers Come and Go

I had been seeing him since July- the monarch, the twelve point with drop tines (10 pt plus drops). He was the biggest of the "Gang of Four." The others include a wide 9 (Rich's story) a perfect 8 with wide spread(missed at ten yards in archery by one of the guys that hunts here--I saw him twice during archery but too far), and a huge 7 point. I saw these four bucks many times in velvet together, then during hay making season in August and September. Twice while varmint hunting/ deer scouting armed with a scoped .223 I had them at 50 yards or less, inspected every fiber of the big 12's vital area with the cross-hairs overlay-ed...talk about temptation. Anyway, I knew these four well.

Two evenings ago, after having spent countless hours during shot gun and more recently the muzzle-loading season, I found myself once again reveling in the mediation of suspension by deer stand. I have so enjoyed the hours this year, the time to collect thoughts and put them in quiet places for long periods, the time to focus intently on being aware of being totally present. I was in my third "half hour perfectly still" repetition ( I allow myself a five minute break between these to look around) when I heard a muffled sound to my left and a bit behind me. I moved only my eyes and picked up a fast moving doe. She stood out well against the snow in the fading light of the lead sky.

As I prepared to move slowly to take the doe (thus far I have killed a small buck,no antlers to speak of, in archery and the 11 pt "bizzarro" in shotgun, so I still have excess DMPs), she stopped and looked over her shoulder. I froze, and looked with eyes only, further to the left and rear. There with his nose down and snuffling was the perfect 8, looking just like the picture on the "Wanted" poster of the Gang of Four hanging in my mind and robbing me of sleep for months. He was trailing her by only a few yards, and then, he looked back. Through the whip saplings and briers I could see the monarch. He was cautiously trailing the doe and the 8 pt, but was exhibiting signs of nervousness. The other two deer entered the thicket in which my stand was placed haphazardly...the big boy was not so sure. He sniffed the ground where my footprints were in the snow, walked forward, swung his head down and up quickly, suspicious.

I quickly assessed my situation. Clear shot at the 8 pointer slightly quartering away at 15 yards, or, potential shot at the monarch broadside at 25 yards in a few seconds/steps if he stays on his current left to right path skirting my stand thicket, but a very narrow shooting lane. Decision needed NOW. The decision was the monarch, of course. I got the gun up, a New England Firearms "Sidekick" muzzle-loader with fiber optic sights, and swung with the deer evenly. The deer stepped four times and had his vitals in the shooting lane. I whistled lightly and he stopped. I touched the trigger, heard the snap cap go "pop"...and watched the startled deer take two steps to the right before the follow up "BANG" of the pyrodex powder ignition. The deer squatted at the shot. It was chaos...smoke in my eyes, attempting shot follow through but incredulous and panicked at what I thought probably just happened. Two trophy bucks and a doe running in confused circles under my feet. Physiological reactions to the situation manifesting themselves in my body as I tried, futilely, to reload a muzzle-loader while balancing in a tree-stand wearing a f*#@-ing moon-walking suit. Total soup sandwich.

The big deer ran down the logging trail and I listened for any tell-tale crash but heard none. The other buck stood and stared at me loading my gun, at about 100 yards, right up until I finally had the thing loaded and ready to go. Then he bounded away. It was quiet. I had a bad feeling, like I imagine a professional football player feels when he realizes that the Superbowl has just been lost by one point with seconds remaining on a 3 pt kick that was somehow blocked.

I waited for the woods to settle down and for my hands to stop shaking. I realized that light was fading fast, so rather than wait the obligatory 30 minutes, I descended and slowly puzzled through the tracks in the snow to the point where the buck stood when I shot. It was brushy. I could see the impact of the bullet in the dirt, where it had kicked particles of frozen mud into the pure white snow. There was neither hair nor blood. I looked back upwards toward my stand and guessed at the angle of the bullet. There was a twig recently broken, hanging awkwardly, in the path. Damn... very bad luck. Hit a branch, deflected the bullet. Game over. I blew it.

Antlers come and go.

Tonight, and last night I have sat in the same tree-stand, more out of penance than passion. I have been over the scene many times to be sure I didn't miss something; a speck of blood, a hair. Nothing. Nada. The red gods graced me with a consolation prize tonight, unexpectedly. I shall try once, only once, again and finally, on the morrow.