This year was turning out like last year. With a hectic work schedule, compounded by family and social commitments, my deer firearms season was going to be limited to a single Saturday morning on the last weekend.

The telephone call from deer camp wasn’t very encouraging, as Bill and Pete Barker and Maynard Eikman reported seeing fewer deer than they could remember in years past. Even fewer bucks were spotted, and it was rumored the area lost a lot of deer with EHD during the summer months. Some of the guys were holding out for a nice buck, but the score was only a single doe taken so far.
What the heck – the worst day deer hunting beats the best day at work, and deer camp is always a good time.

I pulled into the Switzerland County camp well before dawn to find the circle of camper trailers brightly lighted as the group was going about the chore of fixing breakfast. Pete was frying sausage, Bill was baking biscuits and Maynard was putting the finishing touches on a skillet full of fried potatoes and eggs.

As the grub hit the table, Sam Eikman and I loaded our plates to the sounds of what could be the next hit movie: “Grumpy Old Men Do Deer Camp.”

Breakfast is a friendly gathering with comments like, “Those eggs and potatoes aren’t fit to eat,” “What did you fry the sausage in … motor oil?” and “Your biscuits would make dang good hockey pucks.” The humor-riddled remarks are not limited to just the food.
I’m the only guy at camp who shoots a 45-caliber in-line muzzleloader as the rest of my hunting buddies shoot 50-caliber guns. Pete said it was only right I hunt with the smallest gun, as I am always the one to kill the smallest deer. I hate to admit it, but deer season to deer season, Pete’s comment does hold a lot of truth.

He gave me the title Suitcase Shooter, as my deer are so small you can tie the feet together and carry them out of the woods like a suitcase. In Pete’s own words, “Jack’s little gun he uses for hunting little deer.”

Bill dropped me off at the stand a full half hour before first light. As I made the climb and settled into the stand, the sky showed just the faintest promise of coming light. It was still, and the temperature was hovering around 29 degrees. Under the faint beam from a small penlight, I shoved a primer cap into the gun and settled back to wait for daylight.

Before the light of dawn, the woods are a place of colorless shades of black and dark gray. Even the bright hunter orange jacket I wore looked to be just another colorless shade of gray among the black shadows of tree limbs.

As light began to pour into the forest, the challenging call of two gobblers echoed through the valley as two flocks of turkeys flew down from their roosts. In the distance, I could hear the cluck and purr of one group as they began to feed and travel down the hollow.

It is amazing what you can hear in the early hours. With the woods absolutely still, the scamper of a ground squirrel sounds like a black bear breaking through a thicket.

I was caught off-guard by the flutter of wings and a deafening “BANG BANG BANG” as a woodpecker landed within three feet of my head and attacked the grubs hiding in a honey locust limb. Almost 80 feet away, I could hear the grinding of a red squirrel’s teeth as it shelled a walnut.

Slowly the morning passed as Mother Nature put on a show worthy of watching. I waited until almost 10 o’clock before I risked pouring a cup of coffee. I watched the steam from the cup as it slowly swept from the deer stand towards the huge, deep hollow behind me. The scent rode high and the wind direction was perfect for the tree stand setup.

As the morning hours passed, I heard only four shots fired – three from the ridge to the east and one from the ridge on the north. It truly was a slow day in Switzerland County. But, I resigned myself to hunt until noon and stayed in my stand.

Glancing at my watch, it read 11:25; only 35 minutes left of my deer season. As I looked up, I saw a doe and yearling break through the cover at a fast trot, moving on a quartering direction in front of the stand.

The doe was too fast and made cover, but the crosshairs of the scope on the muzzleloader settled on the button buck at 65 yards. I touched off the shot.

Through the smoke I saw the button buck leap forward and the doe break from cover. The two circled and the button buck fell as the doe dashed back down the hollow.

As I was reloading, the doe reappeared from the gorge about 80 yards away and headed back up the hill. Ramming the Powerbelt bullet home and shoving in another primer cap, I pulled the gun up as the doe disappeared into thick cover.

I caught a glimpse of the doe along the ridge above me. Thinking it could do no harm, I bleated like a fawn three times and watched as the doe started to slowly circle around from the ridge.

The cover was so thick I could barely make out the deer’s shape as it moved closer, looking for the button buck. The terrain offered one clear shooting lane in the doe’s direction. There was a small opening in the brush visible through the Y of two huge tree limbs.
I settled the rifle in the direction of the opening and waited.
Slowly, the doe moved closer. At a distance of 95 yards, she stepped into the tiny clearing, and I squeezed the trigger. Through the cloud of smoke, I saw her go down as well.

With two deer down in 10 minutes, my hands were still shaking when the two pickup trucks with the guys pulled up in the field above me. In short order, both deer were dragged up the hill, field dressed and loaded into the truck.

Pete was grinning when he asked, “By the way old man, who shot these deer for you? I can see you shooting the little one – but the other one is a really big doe!”

The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of Farm World. Readers with questions or comments may contact Jack Spaulding by e-mail at jackspaulding@hughes.net or by writing to him in care of this publication.