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Here's a fun story I thought y'all might enjoy...
I had been sitting in my stand for 20 minutes Monday morning when this 8 pointer came running down the hill right in front of me, staggering, limping and running into trees. Kind of out of control. When he got right in front of me (about 40 yards away) I said "maaaaa" and he stopped. I shot him. Turns out he had been hit by a car. His back leg was all busted up. Glad I was in the right spot to end his suffering. Not the biggest buck ever but the third deer in three years for me with the old Model 14 35 Remington. (A family heirloom gun that's been in our family since 1927). When I inherited this gun a few years ago it had three notches carved in the stock for deer my great uncle had killed with it. Now there are six.
I only had a few days in the woods this year with no pre-planning whatsoever (hunted two new locations; no time to pick a spot for my tree stand, etc.).
Anyway, I slowly walked out onto the leeward side of the power line early one morning taking only several steps at a time, then pausing to allow my eyes to sweep both treelines, my ears attempting to detect even the slightest sound.
It likely took 20 minutes to traverse approximately 200 yards...then it happened. My periphery detected movement at 90 degrees left at approximately 30-40 yards. Two white "flags" bounded from the opposite edge of the tree line which had temporarily been obstructed by a small patch of thick and high alders. Instinctively, my grandfather's old Model 141 nestled itself into my shoulder just as it had done into his so many times before; its safely disengaged and in preparation to launch yet another .35 caliber projectile towards the specific goal of filling the freezer with fresh venison. The silver dot followed their rhythm as they headed for wooded cover proceeding directly away from my position...up, then down; up, then down. They were big and beautiful. My grandfather, who went to the "Happy hunting ground" many years ago, would be proud of both me, and his favorite "slide trombone" for taking care of business on this crispy Fall morning...coincidentally his 91st birthday.
However, grandpa's old slide trombone would not play reveille at daybreak this morning; but nevertheless, he would still be proud. From the time I was very young, he always taught me to never shoot when I didn't have full view of my target, or certainty that I would reliably hit it. Furthermore, he always despised those who would take the chance of crippling a deer...or even worse!
I held my fire and rendered his favorite instrument safe. As I nestled the old .35 back into my arms I could only smile. The deer were probably smiling from just behind the tree line, and my grandfather from just above.
Those were the only deer I saw this year; but I'm already planning for next!
