Opening day had been unbelievably windy. Although I had seen a few deer they where always on the run. My eyes were tired from searching for deer through the swaying trees and underbrush. As the day came to an end I was exhausted but I relocated camp into a clearing to avoid being crushed in the night by a falling tree. As I fell asleep to the sound of the howling wind my last thought was that I hoped tomorrow would be better.
The rising sun was busy painting the morning sky but it was the winds that lay claim on another day. I felt less than optimistic as I pushed my way though the wind and into the cover of the forest. I saw a few trees crack under the pressure from the wind and branches where falling like rain. More than one hit me. After a couple hours of this stress I made my way to a trail so I could go back to camp. That is where I crossed path's with the ol' timer.
He was a friendly old guy with more layers of orange clothing than I ever saw worn before. We got to talking about hunting and before long he started telling me stories of his hunts with Fred Bear. Seems they were from the same hometown and Fred had been kind of like a bow-hunting mentor to him. As he cased his rifle and filled the trunk of his early 70's Catalina with layers of hunting clothes I thanked him for his stories and wished him luck with his season. Before I walked off down the two-track I asked him a question, "What do you think Fred would do on a windy day like today?" He said, "Well Fred would have figured if the falling trees made him nervous it would do the same to the deer. He would probably head out into the open country and try his luck there. If I was younger that's what I would do. "
Adjacent to my camp was a vast open grassland with pockets of sumac and scrub oaks. I thought of Fred as I turned my face into the wind and slowly headed into it. I hadn't gone more than 50 yards when the wind shifted and carried my scent across the first brushy area. Suddenly a doe jumped to her feet and ran up along the edge where the forest and grassland meet. The wind turned back in my favor and she slowed to walk. She was only about a hundred yards out so I carefully followed her. Since she hadn't seen me I figured I would use her as bait. And it worked.
The doe passed by another tangle of sumac on her way to a different hiding place. A buck instinctively came to his feet and started after her. That was when the instinct took over in me and in one almost unconscious movement I shouldered my .270 and squeezed the trigger. He turned 180 and ran back through the tangle towards a shallow valley. I chambered another round, safetied it, and took off running to intercept him. As I came into the valley there he lay. The bullet had passed through his heart and he was mine.
I knelt beside him and offered a prayer of thanksgiving. He was big bodied buck (dressed 182#) and would provide pleanty of venison. His antlers had seen better days though. Looked as if a bigger buck had showed him who was boss. His right beam and a few tines were broken off leaving him as a seven point. As I drug the buck out of the grassland I thought of the ol' man whose name I never asked and how I would like to tell him how he inspired me to hunt harder that day. After the buck was secured I went looking for him but he was gone.
