2022 Rifle Season Opener

Saturday, November 26th. 2022. Pennsylvania. Opening Day of rifle season.

The day before the opener, my cousin Tommy made the trek from North Carolina, where he is stationed as a major in the Marine Corps. 

We met in the frigid darkness enshrouding the Scotia game lands. It was quiet. And we were quite early, but ready. We hiked the two miles of trails back to where I had placed a rifle stand. Along the way, we caught up on two years of life since we had last hunted together. I pushed my mountain bike along, all the while whispering in excited tones about the spot where we were headed. The anticipation of Pennsylvania’s opening day of rifle is pervasive and catching. 

I remember commenting on the beauty of the morning, stars sewn like sequins into the night sky. Clear and cold, a perfect morning for opening day.

Sunday, November 20th. 2022 (A week earlier).  I returned to the same tree from where I had arrowed a nice six point buck during archery season, and arranged a stand for Tommy. It was 18 degrees and fresh snow covered the ground. I thought about another buck I had encountered in late October.

It was a dandy six point buck that had eluded me by way of his nose. He scented me from his position on the ridge from roughly 35 yards away, and there was no shot as he stood among wooded cover while I watched helplessly from my stand. He turned and meandered away, stopping for long minutes. A beautiful mature Pennsylvania whitetail buck. 

Once I felt like the stand was secure and safe, I took in the view, snapped a few pictures, and sent them off to Tommy, amping up the excitement for the new rifle season about to begin. 

What I enjoy most about rifle season is family. Being in the woods with my dad, uncle, brother, cousin, and family friends, makes the season all the more enjoyable. Tommy took to hunting quickly, and over the five or so years he’s been hunting with us, he’s had some moderate success harvesting a few antlerless deer, but never a buck. 

My biggest hope was that luck would change this season. I felt good about the setup, and I knew he would have a good chance to see deer on opening day being so far back and away from other hunters who would undoubtedly push deer toward him as they entered the woods hours later. 

November 26th. 4:57 a.m. Cold, late November. Tommy was safe in the tree. I offered some final words of advice. Our plan called for a return around 10 a.m. to check on how things were going in this hidden corner of the woods that I’ve grown to cherish. This place I felt good about and hopeful for Tommy to have success. 

I pedaled back to the trailhead. Met my dad and uncle and led them to their stands. 

6:30 a.m. Dad and Uncle Tom are properly and safely placed. I returned home to pick my 11 year-old son, Quinn. On Thanksgiving morning a few days earlier, I had arranged a double stand for us, so he could see what opening day of rifle season is all about. 

7:30 a.m. Quinn and I have been in the stand for three minutes when all hell breaks loose as two whitetail bucks chasing a doe crash down from the ridge above us. Not more than 10 yards away, they breeze by in full strides, a spike and a four pointer. What a sight! 

Later a small, yearling doe would cross nearby and Quinn would get her in the scope for a shot, but we decide to pass on her, for she is small and young.

7:43 a.m. Thock…Boom!!! I remember hearing the shot. Sounds like a 30.06, sounds like Tommy’s rifle. But, it is opening day. I am more than a mile from his stand. Hard to tell. 

8:00 a.m. My brother George texts. Deer down. He shot a doe at 20 yards in his thicket stand. He communicates that deer are headed toward Dad and Uncle Tom. 

8:15 a.m. Thock…Boom!! So, close, surely my dad’s rifle. Hope risesl. Did dad shoot one? Quinn and I climb down and head his way, hopeful. It will turn out to be a miss, but a big buck passed by him. 

Already it’s been an incredibly exciting opening morning. 

10 a.m. Quinn and I began hiking back to Tommy’s stand. 

10:30 a.m. I encounter a friendly hunter who tells me my cousin has a deer down. I start running. 

Along the old logging road, emerging from the woods, I see Tommy. He’s dragging a great buck. I yell. I sprint. We embrace. So happy! First buck. 7:43 a.m. A dandy. A big six point. The  season comes full circle. I am happier now than when I arrowed my own buck a few weeks earlier. The miles of ridges we’ve hiked together over the past five or so seasons have brought us to this moment and this memory. One I’ll never forget. A remarkable rifle morning. 

It was the best day of the season. The best opening day of rifle we’ve had in quite some time. I would be able to enjoy a few more hours rifle hunting with Tommy and my uncle before life called them back whence they had come, but I cherished the time. 

With just one doe tag left, I had one more memorable rifle season afternoon of hiking and exploring the forests I’ve come to enjoy. Places of solitude. Places I spot deer and catch native brook trout on the fly rod. Places I feel I belong. It is always fun to discover and adventure. And, even though I had a running doe in the scope for a fleeting second, it wasn’t worth rushing the shot. Yet, I had found some new, hidden canyons and blowdown covers that might deliver deer for years to come. I feel lucky to enjoy these outdoor sanctuaries.