As I stepped out onto the porch this morning, I felt the cool damp air. The chill reminded me of the dark, early mornings in the hunting camps. I was reminded of the feeling of anticipation as I always tried to shake off the cold. But a hunting trip this season looks far from promising, I will instead share one of my hunting stories from the past.

For several years, my oldest brother and I had been hunting a place called “Wind Rock.” To my knowledge, it is one of the biggest sporting areas in the state. Hunters and extreme four wheeler users enjoy the wide open area. Though I am sure that either wished that the other wasn’t there.

Our hunting spot was almost two hours away to the base of the mountain and then another forty-five minute drive up a neglected trail. The trail was once a maintained road, but it has been so neglected that it can be more difficult to manage than some of the dirt trails. The forty five minute drive only covered five miles.

Because of the distance and two different work schedules, we only managed to get two, one day scouting trips in. We were both optimistic about filling our deer tags, but also aware that more scouting trips would have increased our chances.

A few days before we were to leave I jokingly told my dad that I needed to find a suicidal deer. The comment was in direct relation to the fact that up to that point I had been un-successful in my attempts to bag a deer.

My brother and his oldest son and I arrived at the campsite late in the morning. We spent what time was needed to get our make shift camp set up and then headed up the unforgiving trail to our hunting spot. I was the only that would be using a tree stand and by the time we reached the top, I was aware of every ounce that the manufacture bragged about the tree stand not weighing.

My brother and his son followed the top of the ridge to my left, as I started the fun process of attaching my self climbing stand to the tree. Why they call them “Self Climbers” I will never understand. What seemed like an eternity later, I had reached my hunting spot some thirty feet above the forest floor. Wiping the sweat from my brow as I tried to catch my breath, I searched the area for any possible deer movement.

As I sat there, swaying back and forth with the breeze, I was aware that the only things moving in the forest were the chipmunks and my shivering muscles. The rest of the day ticked by slowly as I watched the shadows in the forest growing longer. As the last evidence of the sunlight started slipping behind the mountains, I made my way down the tree and then back to camp.

When I arrived I noticed that my brother and his son were all ready there, resting. I plopped down in a chair next to the fire as I questioned them about anything that they might have seen. After listening to them, and telling them that I hadn’t seen a thing; it was easy to think that I was going to have the same success as in the past.

After enjoying a supper of canned stew and some more canned stew, we sat around the fire, forgetting the disappointing day and enjoying the star lit night. Each time that I am away from the city on a clear night and can clearly see the stars, I am reminded of my childhood in the North West. So many summer nights spent in someone’s back yard. Laying there in a sleeping bag, staring upward. The stars would be so huge that you felt like you could just reach up and pluck one from the sky.

After the fire started to burn down, causing the cold temperatures to bite a little harder, we decided to get some shut eye. The three of us climbed into the tent and settled in for the night. I have read stories about hunters that hang their clothes outside during the night so that the deer will have a hard time scenting them. Well I guess that none of us were that devoted. Or maybe we were just afraid of frost bite. Each of us climbed under as many layers of blankets as we had brought. At that moment, I am sure that I wasn’t the only one that wished he had bought more.

The night was peaceful as I tried to drift off into dreamland. But the peacefulness soon ended as I was awakened by the snoring orchestra, just a few feet to my side. It would grow quiet for a few minutes and just as I was about to fall back asleep, one of them would let out a loud snort. Each time that this happened, it had the same affect on me as if one of them had been hiding behind a door and jumped out as soon as I passed by. I only hoped that neither of them fell asleep while hunting the next day. Who knows what kind of animal might show interest after hearing their snoring, or snorting I should say.

It was either morning or I had decided that I wasn’t going to get any warmer laying there. So I climbed from the covers and made my way out of the tent and started to prod the coals from the previous nights fire. I was hoping and praying that there were some coals there that was still hot enough to catch fire. As the first flames came to life, I could here the alarm on my nephews wrist watch. A few minutes later, the two of them exited the tent, looking like they had experienced a wonderful nights rest.

After eating a frozen Pop Tart, (it wasn’t supposed to be frozen), we headed up the trail once again. Its always a gamble when you try to decide the time that you leave your camp. If you leave too early, you get to enjoy the cold darkness of night longer than you want. Where as if you leave to late, you could scare the game and ruin any chances for success. So we decided that the first choice was the best.

The trail was a lot tougher in the dark. The trail looked a lot like a dried up stream bed that hadn’t seen water except for when ever it rains. The rocks and boulders hid themselves well in the darkness. This was proven several times as you would hear the slipping of a boot, followed by a gasp and then maybe even a curse word.

Leaning over with my hands on my knees, I sucked in the cool air as I tried to catch my breath. I was thankful to have survived another trip up that trail. Now I had to find my tree stand in the dark. As I shone my flashlight through the woods, I realized just how well the camo paint worked. There were several times that I was sure that I would have to wait until daylight; ruining any chances of success. But finally something caught my eye, and it was the tree stand.

A few minutes later I was high in the tree again, thankful that there was little wind. Now all I had to do was sit there and wait. It is amazing how slowly time will pass when you surrounded by the ghostly images of a very dark forest.

As the sun finally decided to rise, I was all ready trying to control my shivering. It’s a rough transition when you go from being hot and sweaty from the climb to cold and clammy. But to pass the time and to force my mind to think of something else; I decided that I would check on my rifle. It was a muzzle load only hunt and I was using an old style rifle. This was well before the in-line type rifle was readily available. Just to be on the safe side, I replaced the firing cap with a dry, fresh one. I have heard a lot of depressing stories told by others about their rifle failing as they stared down the sites at a nice buck. Damp powder and or a damp firing cap is the leading cause of this.

As the sunlight became brighter, so did the breeze. Its times like this that makes one wonder what is so wonderful about hunting. And a strange thing can happen as you sit there freezing your butt off as you stare at the same group of trees. The gentle swaying of the tree only makes the urge to sleep even stronger. I believe that the only thing that kept me from slipping into la la land was knowing that I was so high above the ground.

As time passed, the forest became more alive. I was entertained by a small family of chipmunks. The more that I watched them, the more that I thought that they were acting up just to spite me. Making all their racket, jumping from limbs just out of my reach. Somehow they knew that I wouldn’t go crazy and start shooting at them. Who knows, maybe they knew that I only had one shot and that the chances of me hitting that small of a target was pretty slim.

Crack Came the sound somewhere out in front of me. Suddenly I was no longer freezing and had no desire to take a nap. I listened intently, hoping to see a deer step into the small clearing. My heart was beating fast as I waited. At first I was hoping to see a monster buck. But then realized that this was one of the few days that it was an either sex hunt. If it was a deer, it would be legal to take. This only made me more nervous. Because I knew that it was all up to me now.

Trying to sit perfectly still, I strained my eyes as I searched for movement. Then I saw the two front legs of the deer. The rest of its body hidden behind thick brush. I remember thinking, “If it just comes a little closer, if it just moves out to the small opening, I will have my first deer. As if on cue, the deer not only stepped forward, but moved to the exact spot that I had hoped for. It was then that I was able to see that it was a nice size, four point, Buck. Not a trophy by any means, but still, a nice deer for the area.

I carefully leaned forward, slowly pulling the set trigger. I knew then that with just a gentle touch of the real trigger, the powder would detonate. Leaning a elbow against the arm rest, I sighted the deer in, eased my index finger forward, gently touching it to the trigger. I let out a breath and took another in. This deer was going to be mine. I was all ready thinking of how proud I was going to be. To finally be part of that fraternity of successful hunters.

I let out my breath as I gently pulled the trigger. The trigger barely moved before I heard the firing cap explode. I couldn’t believe what was happening. The dang powder in the chamber didn’t fire. But a delayed fire was not an uncommon occurrence with muzzle loaders. So I focused my attention to hold the rifle still and remain on target as I waited for the gun to fire.

Well the gun never fired and if it had of, I am sure that the bullet would have missed its target by a country mile. As soon as I realized that it wasn’t going to fire, I noticed that the small bang emitted from the discharge of the firing cap had not frightened the deer.

As carefully and as quietly as possible, I reached into my coat pocket and retrieved the small brass tin. Not wanting to take my eyes off of the deer, I fumbled to remove the old firing cap and replace it with a new one. Finally successful. I returned to my shooting position. Cocked the hammer, pulled set trigger, made sure I had the deer sighted in again, pulled the trigger, pop.

Now I was getting mad, frustrated, discouraged. You name it, I was feeling it. But I wasn’t ready to give up yet. So I tried to repeat the earlier process. But for some strange, twisted reason, the firing cap would not come free from the nipple. In some degree of panic, I reached for my hunting knife and used it to pry the cap free. Finally ready again, I took another deep breath, cocked the rifle, fired. And heard only the sound of the hammer striking the dead firing cap.

I honestly believe that if the deer had been close enough, I would have taken my hunting knife in hand, climbed to the edge of the tree stand, and with a blood curdling scream, did a Tarzan leap in attempt to take my first deer. But instead I used the knife to pry the worthless cap free.

When I went to place a new cap on the nipple, I couldn’t believe it, the brass tin was empty. So then I dug into my pack, making all kinds of noise until I found the new tin. With shaking hands, I pulled the top off, sending at least half of the caps to the forest floor. For a few seconds it sounded like a hail storm at the base of the tree.

But the deer stayed right where he was. Not paying me the slightest bit of attention. Finally I got cap on. Tried again, pop but no bang. I knew that I only had one other option. I hadn’t tried it before because I knew that it would take the longest. By all rights that deer should have bolted when it heard the first cap fire. Quickly grabbing the small nipple wrench from my bag, I worked at a fast pace to remove it. Then I grabbed my powder horn and tipped it toward the opening. I believe that enough powder missed my target that the Cival War could have used that amount to fight at least another week or two.

As I placed the powder horn back in the bag, I saw the deer casually moving away. This only made my fumbling fingers fumble a little worse. Finally getting the threads lined up correctly, I was able to tighten the nipple and add another firing cap.

I raised the gun and quickly found the deer in its sights. But there was no way that I could take that shot. It had finally started to move, and was in line with where I thought that my brother and nephew were hunting. Thankfully the deer started moving more quickly at this point and was soon out of sight. At least I didn’t have to look at any longer.
I leaned against the rough bark of the tree, shaking my head. I couldn’t believe it. I had finally found that suicidal deer and still couldn’t get the job done. And it wouldn’t have mattered if a ten point Buck walked right under my tree. I wouldn’t have seen it.

It didn’t take me long to get a grip though. As the thought came to me that it might possibly swing around again. So I repositioned myself, looking like a hunter once again. Then I heard the shot, followed by excited yells from my brother and nephew.

Only two minutes had passed since the deer moved out of my shooting lane. I quietly tied the rope to my rifle and lowered it to the ground. I then followed right after. It didn’t take me long to find my brother. I could see his grin a mile away.

As I approached the deer I saw the excellent shot that he had made. He told me that his son had grown restless and had been

climbing up and down a small embankment. After talking with my brother,we were able to determine that his son had made enough noise that it caused to deer to change its path. My brother sighted the deer in as it started to run. He squeezed the trigger and dropped the deer. A shot that Davey Crockett would have been proud of.

Now you want to talk about a roller coaster ride filled with intense emotion. Well that is exactly what I was feeling. On one hand, I was very excited for my brother. I know that he wanted to be successful, just like I did. But then there was the feeling of utter disappointment. Knowing that if my rifle had worked properly, I would have been the one filling his deer tag.

But with many things in life, it doesn’t always work out perfectly. I had two choices; I could be bummed or I could be happy for my brother. So I put a smile on my face, gave him a high five as I asked him to tell me again about how he made the shot.

As I look back on it now. I realize that if I had made that shot; this story wouldn’t be half as interesting as it is now. So there is a price for everything. And what I paid for this story, in a very odd way, was well worth the price.