For an entire week, they toiled in the predawn darkness and hunted until the twilight. Day in and day out they stalked without so much as a flash of a deer. I was able to join them in a washed out opener as we searched for whitetails in a pouring rain, trekking up and over ridges and down along creek bottoms with overflowing creeks and flooded out swamps. It wasn’t until the final day of the hunt on the doe opener, that an opportunity for a shot at success would present itself.
After an unproductive morning of stand hunting in state gamelands, we transitioned to the Stone Valley forest, a 7,000 acre public land swath of high ridges, wooded creek bottoms, and thick pine stands. We began by posting on the ridgetops high above Shaver’s Creek around midday.
For the first drive, we set up along the Mountain View trail which tops out around a thousand feet above the stream. Uncle Tom, Tommy, and Dad would watch the spine-like tops for deer crossing over from one side of the ridge to the other. Past experience showed that deer like stay high in order to see hunters pushing up toward them from below. Typically, they’ll lay with the wind at their backs, so they can scent danger from behind, while using their vision to watch the forested benches in front of them.
After everyone set up and began settling in along the south side of the ridge, Spencer and I began a plodding hike down the north side. The object was to try and push deer up and over to the south side where our posters waited. At the time, I had no idea that we were about to walk into a small herd of doe. Likely, they spotted us just as we began the drive, and after we had walked no more than a few hundred yards below them, they decided to make a break for it.
I remember hearing the shots...one….two….and then a short pause before a third. I knew almost immediately that the fired rounds had come from Uncle Tom and Tommy. Briefly, we pondered turning and going back, but after a few minutes of silence, we decided to continue on with the push. Working along the backside of the ridge and at this point nearly a thousand yards from where we started, I dropped way down the south side of the ridge to push the creek bottom. After roughly an hour or so, I struck directly back up the ridge to the posters.
When I first reached Uncle Tom, he was a bit forlorn about missing with a shot. “I was fiddling with the damn scope...you put those deer right in our lap Andy! Fifteen yards! All of them big, dark beauties...damn it!”
Tommy confirmed that five doe had come crashing over the ridge directly at them when we first started the drive. “The first shot I hit a tree...I saw the woods chips flying….I took a second shot just before they disappeared out of sight...but I don’t think I hit anything...I shouldn’t have even taken it,” he said.
I told them not to worry. It’s only the first drive of the day. We’d get more moving. I was sure of it. But, I know the disappointment of a missed shot well. It’s always best not to dwell on it, because the next opportunity often presents itself quickly.
As they gathered their gear, I struck out ahead and met up with Spencer, before following the path down to Dad. “Did you see those deer?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Which way did they go?” I asked.
“Well, they stopped up there on top and turned and ran back over the other side. But one of them rolled down the hill,” he said.
“Ok, how many did you….Wait! What?? One of them rolled down the hill?” I said.
“Yeah.” Dad said.
“Wait….did you see it ‘roll’...I mean how did it roll? A deer wouldn’t just roll down the damn hill like it tripped or something,” I said.
“I saw it roll, gray...white...gray...white...but then I lost it, I couldn’t find it in the scope.”
“OK,” I said, beginning to feel excitement rising quickly, “Point to where you last saw it!”
By, this point, Uncle Tom, Tommy, and Spencer had arrived.
“Guys,” I shouted. “You may have hit one of the those deer. Dad saw one roll down the mountain.”
Now everyone was moving quickly. I started toward the spot where Dad said the deer tumbled, and after no more than twenty paces, I saw it. A big, fat doe piled up at the bottom of a steep draw. I knew immediately that Tommy’s last shot was no miss at all. It was a hit! And, a good one. We soon discovered that the bullet passed clean through the deer’s heart before it came rolling down the ridge while the rest of the herd ran back over to the other side of the mountain.
There is no way to capture the pure joy of the moment when a life memory is being realized in real time. No way. All I know is that I was happy….immensely happy….positively happy. I knew how hard Uncle Tom and Tommy had hunted that week. I knew how wonderful it was for them to have that time together as father and son. I also knew that harvesting a deer was high on the list of objectives, and being able to check that box is everything a hunter could ever want in a hunt. There were a lot of smiles and back slaps...rounds and rounds of them. There was the excited talk of the shot, the rifle, and of course, a man’s first deer. I knew in that moment I would never forget how it felt to be part of it. To have a role to play. To see the success sought and won. To see a father and son bond high on a ridge top in the Pennsylvania wilderness on a cold December day.
