Patience, persistence and a little luck help me overcome hunting mistakes

By Pete Warner

I sat on a flat rock along a small ridge, overlooking a depression cluttered with small beech trees. A shallow brook trickled below.

The sun was shining brightly and a steady breeze blew into my face. I had still-hunted to the spot, near where two days earlier, with an inch or so of snow on the ground, I had caught a glimpse of a deer running away from me.

I had been careless, not taking appropriate care to stop and scan for movement. Like so many times before, I paid the price.

It was the latest mistake in what had been a challenging and frustrating fall in the woods. On consecutive days earlier in the season, two opportunities went by the boards because of my lack of attention to detail.

First, a buck appeared on my trail camera during daylight hours for what would be the only time this season. Nine minutes into legal shooting time, it walked into the open within 30 yards of my ground blind.

The problem was, I wasn’t there. I had decided in advance not to hunt on that particular Monday. Disgusted, and figuring that I would never see that buck again, I opted the next day to visit another property to which the generous landowner had provided access.

I took a circuitous route along a snowmobile trail in order to hunt back into the breeze coming out of the north. As I rounded a corner near a fork in the trail, I stopped momentarily to check my GPS.

I pulled it out of my pocket, but before I could click on the app, I noticed movement. I looked up to see the large hind end of a deer walking slowly across the trail not 20 yards in front of me.

I stuffed the phone back into my pocket and crept quickly up the trail, but the deer’s path took it into a significant stand of small fir trees that blocked my view.

I pursued carefully and quietly, but never saw or heard the deer again.

After that, I figured that not only would I not get any other opportunities, I didn’t deserve any. Even so, I continued to hunt.

Fast forward to Friday of the final week of firearms season. I was determined to be deliberate and attentive and hunt a small piece of woods between two small ridges.

It took me almost an hour to make my way to the edge of the south ridge. My thoughts drifted to the following day, when I was planning to drive up north and brave the chilling cold to try tracking a buck in the snow.

I was thrust back into the moment when I heard the sound of approaching vehicles. I watched the hunters drive in and park up the hill, barely out of sight.

Given the proximity to the main road, and the availability of another parking spot, it seemed unnecessary to disturb the hunting area that way, but there was nothing I could do.

The three hunters walked downwind, back along the same grassy road, chatting as they quickly disappeared from sight. I contemplated abandoning my position and relocating to the opposite end of the property.

But something told me to stay put. I decided to hang tight in the hope that, just maybe, the hunters would push a deer in my direction.

More than a half hour passed and I grew increasingly restless. My ground blind was only a few hundred yards away. Maybe I should move over there, I thought.

Minutes later, a deer came running into the hollow from my right. It clearly was startled, but wasn’t bounding. I raised my Savage .30-06 and pushed off the safety.

The deer disappeared briefly behind some beeches, so I focused on the next opening in the hope it would continue on the same course. A few seconds later, it reappeared, stopped broadside and turned to look behind it.

With an antlerless permit in hand and the season almost over, I was pretty much in “if it’s brown, it’s down” mode. It was a healthy looking adult doe.

I don’t even remember squeezing the trigger, but the deer leapt into the air when I shot. It wheeled and headed toward me, crossing the brook and moving up the ridge to my left.

I tried to jack in another cartridge, but my planned follow-up shot did not materialize. The doe made it only about another 20 yards before going down within my sight.

It all happened in the span of about 15 seconds.

Not having seen a buck, or a coyote, following the doe, I presumed that the late-arriving hunters might have bumped it in my direction. My decision to remain patient had paid off.

I was somehow surprised at the thrill of harvesting a doe, which was my first. It was gratifying to enjoy a successful hunt after having spent so much time in the woods — and despite failing to capitalize on the other opportunities.

It was a short, 50-yard drag to the road where, after retrieving my Subaru, I loaded the deer into my Jet Sled, hoisted it into the back, and headed for Orcutt’s Variety in Dixmont to register the animal.

The doe weighed 106 pounds (I had guessed considerably higher). I was happy and grateful for the opportunity to end the season on a positive note.