A PHILOSOPHICAL BUCK Last Sunday night at The Connection, it occurred to me that this was not the first time somebody has said that perhaps I was out of step. I'm talking about doing things my own way. Before my grandfather passed on he had given me his bamboo fly rod. Entering into the world of that avocation I discovered the pleasures of pride and even adopted a small amount of snobbery. In a nice way I mean. It might have been the feeling that welled up when I stopped in to buy some additional broadheads and complained when none were available. The Connection, gazing afar off, noted that tomorrow was opening day of the antlered rifle season, which everybody was preparing for, and then wondered aloud "Who's out of step here?" I had gone the entire bow season with no success. Is wasn't that opportunities hadn't occurred, for the deer seemed as plentiful in the Titusville area as they always had been. Nor could I say that I "just didn't have enough time". This year's job worked in exactly as it should with the hunting season. On September 30th I was laid off from the US Fish and Wildlife Service where I had worked the spring and summer on Sea Lamprey Assessment. On October 3rd I was in my treestand for opening day of archery season. Given the fact that we are not independently wealthy nor blessed with a very large amount of coinage safely installed in a financial institution, it was the opinion of some family members that perhaps it would be wise to search for the winter job without hesitation. The Family reminded me that "he who cares not for his own is worse than an infidel". I agreed with this in principal but reminded The Family that "...life is more than meat and the body more than raiment". There was more discussion but I didn't catch it all, something about "rightly dividing". I figured it was an admonition to properly field dress my deer, and so returned to planning the season. On opening day, having done a smaller amount of pre-season scouting then normal, my stand was placed in a historically good location. Just below the top of a ridge and running parallel to it was a deer trail that had been used for at least the nine years that I was familiar with. I have always tried to hunt in areas that were little disturbed or used by others and this was one of the best. In the five years that bowhunting has been my habit I could count on one hand the number of other people seen on that particular hillside. Wildlife on the other hand is very attracted to it. On an hourly basis it was possible to encounter deer there, as well as an occasional sighting of skunks, coon, a least weasel, a coyote, turkey, grouse, and the list goes on and on. Of course there were the usual amounts and types of songbirds as well. When I say, the usual, that may not be accurate. There have been mornings that I thought their clatter and partying would drive me to insanity. There is something about this particular section of forest that is inviting to the migrating flocks. At times it seemed that every songbird in the eastern flyway visited my treestand on their way to the southern climes. Visually it is a treat but as I said, their clamoring...! The day went as was usual for the first hunt, deer seen, deer out of range, deer too small, etc. As the season progressed though, conditions improved steadily. The rut gradually gained momentum and The Big Buck showed a few times. The smaller bucks were seen running the does around and deer sightings became more frequent. In past seasons, I had always kept the stand in one spot, figuring that sooner or later the deer and the arrow would intersect at that location. The1997 season however was educational to that point. I noticed that the bucks always crossed the old roadbed, that ran along the top of the ridge, at the same location. Being a sometimes stubborn and dull witted person (perhaps it was the cold that slowed the cerebral action) though it didn't occur to me until the afternoon of the last day to move my stand closer to that spot. DUH!! This year, having pondered on that phenomena, the strategy was to move the stand frequently. When the quarry visited a certain spot that was out of range of my instinctive shooting style, my stand would be on that spot the next day. This method worked out very well and provided me with several missed shots and a few stare downs with The Big Buck. All the misses fell under the usual reason categories; buck fever, wadded tracking string, afraidI'mgoingtomiss, etc. etc. The entire early bow season was a series of plans and moves. After a while it began to feel like a very large chess game with the pawn in camo and the power pieces wearing four legs and hatracks. The conclusion of the season was a checkmate with the camo player wondering if his strategy and philosophy was sound. The philosophy? After my first bow deer several years ago I decided, deep in my heart, that it wasn't fair to the deer to hunt them with a rifle. That is my own feeling. I do not put that on anyone else nor task any other hunter with it. I have many days to hunt due to the blessing of unemployment while most of my friends and family are able to wander forest and field for about three days of the year in hopes of bringing home the venison. An amateur philosopher might quip that "Work is the curse of the hunting class". I, of course, wouldn't use that phrase nor repeat it. At any rate it was my philosophy that found me in the treestand on opening day of the rifle season (antlered) with my compound bow. The woods were full of family as is normal for opening day. My wife Lyn was perched in the stand that she normally occupied not far from my own. The sister-in-law and nieces were a little further to the south where the forest and cornfield form a corner. I had chosen my spot because of the numbers in the woods. In a medium sized white ash, the stand was in a semi-open area but surrounded on all sides by puckerbrush (don't bother looking it up, it's a family term). My reasoning was that the deer would seek out this hide-a-way to escape/hide from the scents and sights of my orange clad loved ones. You know what? It worked exactly as planned. Having been in my stand for about thirty minutes, long enough to hang the hunting pack, take off the quiver and draw the bow a couple of times to get the feel and sight picture, The Big Buck appeared at my left. I didn't have time to analyze where he had come from for as he appeared he also moved steadily towards me and turned left on the deer trail that would put him underneath the stand. There was no time to develop buck fever or count points. As his head came behind a small crabapple tree I drew the bow, when the front shoulder cleared the tree and he stopped to look at the stand, I was already aiming. It was all instinct and reflex shooting. I didn't hear the arrow hit. I couldn't see the shaft but I did see him jump, whirl and trot about sixty feet where he filled my tag at the same spot where I had first seen him. What can I say? My emotions stirred up together. Excitement, joy, sadness, disbelief and a few others that I'm not sure I recognized. There was no need to wait. I descended the ladder, knelt over my first buck, prayed for the spirit of the deer (just in case) and gave thanks for my blessing. It was a snowless drag to the truck, and after installing him safely in the back, I returned to the stand with a thermos bottle. A shot sounded nearby from the direction of Lyn's stand. After scanning the woods with the binoculars for a few minutes I left my stand and stalked in her direction. A movement of orange off to the right turned out to be Lyn standing over her field dressed five point. I approached her with hands in pocket, admired her buck and when she asked if I had seen anything the only response I could think of was "Didn't you hear me shoot?" It took her a second to process that which allowed me time to unpocket the evidence of the morning's event. With both deer in the truck, it was decided we should check on the rest of the family, as shots had been heard from their direction. While stalking up the path, it came to mind that many people were against these permanent stands, citing them as out of place in the woods. While I could understand that feeling, the benefits of this one outweighed any aesthetic discomfort it may cause. The sister-in-law is blessed with six young, some of which were already hunting next to mom and dad, with the rest only a few years away. The comfort and security offered by a walled stand, with room for two (or sometimes three if one of the younger comes along to watch), is a great tool for properly educating a young hunter. Arriving at the stand and finding no deer, the sister-in-law asked me with sympathy and pathos if I could use Lyn's revolver now that she was done. With an inner glee and a poker face I replied that I was better with the bow. Her look of disbelief and wonder was more than I could bear and so related the short story of my eight point. In town we made the obligatory stop at The Connection for talk and photographs. I made it a point to stress that the fine deer they were admiring was taken by bow on opening day of rifle season. The Connections response was "I knew you could do it". My hunting season ended that day as employment caught up with me. Though I know that more and perhaps bigger deer are in my future, I will remember this season as a milestone in an otherwise average hunting career as being blessed with a bow, a buck, a sharing of family and fun with philosophy. Robert L. Fish Job 12:7-9