In Western Massachusetts the deer grow beefy. However, for as large as they are, they can be few and far in-between. A hunter can find signs of them everywhere but can't always find the big prize.
As archery shifted to shotgun season, then shotgun season turned to black powder, a burning sensation of dread began to overtake me. I worried that this could be the third season in a row without a deer.
Two years prior I had seen more deer in one season than ever before. Over time landscape constantly changes and the animals with it. The following season I didn’t see a single deer. My methods had not changed.
Therein lies the problem. As I had gotten used to the deer’s habits, the deer had got used to mine. This season I was certain they changed their routes to go around areas where I had sat the year prior.
I didn't have proof until the snow finally fell and I could see where their tracks went. It’s given me some good ideas of where to set up for next year's rut. However, for the remainder of this season I decided to just leave the area all together.
In the eastern part of my state, there are antlerless deer tags for purchase. I had done so in September and was eager to fill it. I headed east and as I crossed the Taunton River my thoughts drifted toward the impressive history of the area and to those who had crossed before me. Roughly three-hundred and fifty years ago Chief Metacomet paddled these waters during the opening shots of King Philip's war. Just like him I was armed with a muzzleloader. However, unlike Metacomet mines was a.50 caliber inline Thompson Center Omega with a 4-power scope.
The focus of my hunt was a large expanse of public land outside of town. A mix of state forest and WMA land with fire lanes cut through it. The landscape itself was varied. Some areas consisted of scrub oak and pitch pine with grassland mixed in between. Others were dominated by towering white pine. In the lower swampy zones, medium-sized white and red oaks grew in the spacious bottomland.
When I arrived, I quickly found that the areas with white pine would be near impossible to hunt due to the dense cover. I would have to skirt the edges of the fire lanes if I wanted a clear shot at anything.
That's how I hunted that first evening. I waited patiently until darkness drew near but left my hunting spot without seeing a deer.
I slowly walked back to the truck, deep in thought. I had only been to this place a handful of times previously and was unsure as to where to set up for tomorrow. I just knew I wanted to cover a lot of ground. This place was huge, it would be impossible to effectively scout in one day, but that's all I had left. It was all a bit intimidating. Scouting for all my previous hunts had been close to home and with the guidance of my father.
This was all unfamiliar and new. I was on my own. My success or failure would solely, be my own. As I wracked my mind as to my next move, the woods began its loud chorus, brought on by the setting of the sun. The shadows flowed slowly until the world was flooded in darkness. My only guiding light, the moonlight on the thin snow ahead.
The next day I started out at about noon. My goal was to cover ground till I found signs of deer, or better yet live, deer. I had already come across two carcasses, thoroughly stripped of meat, down by the trail head. These probably drew in the coyotes the night. before.
Heading up the fire lanes, I quickly cut into the pines. Even though the sun was shining bright and warm. In the pine thickets it was dark and foreboding. Mature trees blotted out the sky above and the young trees hung like a curtain to shield whatever lay beyond. This was the perfect place for bedding deer, but poor for shooting deer.
The pines then faded to hardwood and the trail split several times. My goal was to stay parallel to the fire lane, it was my exit strategy, so I chose my directions accordingly. Eventually, I came across a large fallen pine that lay across the trail.
After passing a yellow gate I found myself on a dirt road. If I shot anything too large to drag out myself. Perhaps I could get my truck up here? Good, I thought, one potential problem solved. Down the road aways was another yellow gate with a sign denoting public land lay past it.
The first few steps beyond the gate were like stepping into a different world. I was used to the hilly terrain of back home, where cold streams full of brook trout lay hidden beneath the hemlocks.
Here the land was flat and soft under my boots. Sand lay everywhere with mats of leaves and grasses covering it. Dominating the landscape where short trees barely twenty feet tall. Scrub oak and pitch pine scattered about. Best of all it was open, with shooting lanes of thirty yards or more.
I proceeded slowly and quietly, the sand muffling my every step forward. I was just waiting for tails to flare. Gradually, I came upon a low expanse of frozen swamp with a stream running through it. The type of place you just knew was choked in skunk cabbage come spring. A strange pool adjacent the brook caught my attention. It was lined with flat stones to hold back the earth. Perhaps it there had been a water wheel here in days past or maybe it had been a drinking trough for horses. I looked up and saw an opening in the trees just to the left of the path ahead.
I pressed forward and then stopped.
As I stopped the head of a doe darted from the left and stopped to my ten o'clock about twenty-five yards away. Another doe did the same, only she was larger. Quickly I raised my muzzleloader and took aim. I lost track of the first deer and focused on the second larger deer. All I could see was her head and neck because tall grass reached up and obstructed my view of her vitals.
Still, I couldn't pass up the opportunity and I shot where I believed her heart to be. She paused for a second then ran off to my right. She appeared unharmed.
Fueled by curiosity, I crept forward up the path to inspect the area for blood. When I reached the place where she had crossed, I looked left into the opening. To my amazement there stood the smaller deer just ten-yards away. Its head down and to its left. It didn't see me, so I once again steadied my aim. My 295gr power-belt struck just behind the shoulder. The animal took off like a rocket but didn’t go far, maybe 50 yards tops.
After a short blood trail, I found my prize. Excitedly, I took a few photos, using my backpack as a stand and gave a quick prayer of thanks. This deer was mine. Everything that had led up to this point I had done all on my own. For the first time in my life I felt like I could call myself a true deer hunter.
She was small, I guessed no more than seventy to eighty pounds. I’ve shot bigger, my biggest being a hundred-ninety-six pounds dressed. Yet, I was prouder of this small doe. I truly felt like I earned this one. However, something was off. I felt two bumps on the top of its head buried in the fur and I realized I’d scored a button buck.
I finished up and started dragging. After checking my watch, I realized I had a half an hour till sunset, and then another half hour of light afterwards. Dragging would have been easier if I hadn’t brought so much gear. My backpack was filled to the seams. I was on my own though, so I didn't want to risk being under-prepared. Really all I ended up needing was a knife, rope, ammo, and the gun. The rest of my gear could have been left in the truck; the backpack included.
At least it was a straight shot down the power lines to my vehicle. Unfortunately, several hills lay before me. They were not steep but rather long and gradual, wearing me down over a longer stretch. I had to make frequent stops to rest myself. On one such occasion I looked up and saw 6 or 7 deer spring from the middle of the fire lane about 60 yards ahead. I raised my gun and centered my scope on the one deer that didn't immediately bolt. I saw it was not a buck so I couldn't shoot. It felt so unnatural to not pull the trigger, but I only bought one surplus antlerless tag.
No matter, I was already struggling enough as it was with one small deer. I didn’t need to go making things harder for myself. Onward I went steadfast, eventually reaching the truck just after sundown.
The night was calm and cold. The moon didn’t shine yet. My tires made cracking and popping sounds as it rolled over rock and ice. I was exhausted, kept awake only by the adrenaline coursing through my veins. This was it though, I could finally relax. The anxiety of going another season empty handed was gone. In a way, this hunt felt like my very first successful deer hunt. Both literally and metaphorically. My first deer had been a doe shot on the last day of the season. It too was the result of a quick snap-shot of my .50 caliber muzzleloader and left me feeling on top of the world.