I've always loved the woods, but have only recently become interested in hunting. Years ago, I viewed hunting as both brutal and simple. Over the past few years, though, I became curious. Two friends whom I respect immensely began sending stories and images of their experiences hunting elk and pronghorn in Montana. I was intrigued both by the adventure, the opportunity to fill my freezer, and the conservation intersect. This fall, I accompanied a friend for a weekend of deer hunting in Pennsylvania. After years of intrigue, I would finally get to experience the sport.
We arrived on an overcast Saturday afternoon. After raining all morning, Pennsylvania was wet, raw and beautiful. The fall foliage was nearly peak, but muted in the dampness. I threw on three pairs of long-underwear pants and a rain shell...no camo for this newbie.
Pennsylvania deer country
I followed my friend to his favorite double tree-stand. This first night, my job was observe, not to hunt. After getting comfortable in the tree, the waiting began. Just before dusk, we simultaneously spotted a doe. She walked toward us. With each careful step, my heart pounded harder. My friend tensed with his bow. She paused, sniffed the air, and causally did a U-turn and walked out of sight. My first education in a whitetail's uncanny survival instinct.
Next, we tried a buck snort call. A week out from peak rut, we were hoping a rival buck would hear the call and come looking for a fight. Not two minutes later, a spunky young male came running down the hill, pausing directly under our tree stand. Bow raised...heart pounding again. Bow lowered. Our buck was a bit too young...four cumulative antler points instead of the legal minimum of five. We walked back to the cabin by headlamp, stoked on our close calls.
No legal hunting in Pennsylvania on Sundays, so the next day was training day. I learned how to spot deer trails and the "rubs" where bucks scratch their scent into the dirt. We built and hung tree stands in promising spots. Finally, I learned how to safely use the crossbow.
Sunday workday
Monday was my day to hunt. I woke up a 5:30am and crept silently into a ground blind -- sort of a camouflaged tent. This was my first time making decisions on my own...when to make a buck snort, where to look...potentially when to touch the trigger. I didn't see a thing all morning, but did learn that a plastic bucket becomes an uncomfortable seat after four hours.
Peering out from the ground blind
That night was my second solo-outing, this time back in the double stand. As I settled into the tree, I reflected on how far I'd come in just two days. From a wide-eyed observer, to something closer to a careful, intentional hunter. Several hours in, a brief but cold rain began. My focus shifted from spotting deer to keeping warm, and I almost missed three deer walking off my left shoulder.
Fighting adrenaline, I slowly raised my bow and took aim at a doe. I sent an arrow flying. She ran, potentially hit, but the buck stayed. He snorted in my direction, and pawed the earth angrily. I looked around my stand for another arrow, quickly realizing I'd made an amateur mistake. My arrows and cocking mechanism were stashed under a jacket. I thought for sure the buck would run as I loudly fumbled to re-arm my bow. After what seemed like an eternity, I was ready, and the buck was still there. I shot. He ran.
I spoke to myself, out-loud, to force a slow, safe climb out of the tree. I ran to the spot of the doe, and found my arrow lodged in a rotten log. No blood. I'd missed her cleanly. After a second search, it became clear I'd missed the buck as well.
At that moment, and for hours after, I experienced an avalanche of ranging emotions. Intense excitement, at having taken shots on my first weekend hunting. Crushing defeat, at having come so close to success. A week later, I'm still replaying my missed shots and wondering how I would have cooked my first venison dinner. And finally, relief at having missed the animals cleanly, leaving them injury-free.
As we drove home, I reflected on how I was being drawn into hunting so deeply, so quickly. Like other sports I love, experiencing the outdoors and building camaraderie with friends is fundamental.
I also keep coming back to the wide gap in how I once viewed hunting, and how I'm beginning to understand it now. This sport's lessons, morals, and ethics are complex and evasive.
I'm ready to dive in.
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