Hunting with Tommy: Part 2

The second time that I went hunting with my friend Tommy, we decided to set off from his farmstead in the mountains of Pennsylvania. His property borders a 200 hundred acre parcel where he can hunt. It spans a rolling hilltop and the surrounding woods. There is a combination of deciduous forest, hemlock lined wetlands, and hay fields. There are the sounds and signs of animals everywhere. I couldn’t wait to get out there. 

We had to decide where to focus our efforts. We consulted a map and made our best bet. The wooded edges of a large hay field. We walked from his house in the early afternoon and he pointed out the native black currant bushes growing on the edge of his yard. I never knew you could make wine from currants! We continued into the woods, I had my portable tree stand, and he had a small folding cushion he could place directly on the ground. Once we had walked through the trees to the edge of the field, we looked for signs. Where were the deer coming and going? How were they moving? Tommy told me how the Native Americans revered the information stored in animals’ signs. And we noticed an abundance of tracks and scat in the southwest corner and positioned ourselves along the neighboring edges. 

There was a gentle breeze moving up a small hill from the base of the field. I set up near the southeast corner in a medium sized cherry tree. Tommy was to my left, on the western edge of the field. It was cold and I had to wiggle my fingers occasionally to keep the blood flowing. We sat silently as the afternoon progressed into the evening. 

A young buck feeding on a field edge.

I alternated between scanning my peripheral vision and scanning the field with my binoculars. After an hour passed, all of a sudden, a deer emerged in the northwest corner of the field. Through my binoculars, I could see the young buck moving along the tree line at roughly 250 yards. Tommy was on the same side of the field. About 100 yards from the deer and 150 yards from me. The wind was in his favor blowing across the field in the direction of the buck’s approach. As deer do, this buck was moving slowly, inching up the field edge towards Tommy’s position. 

From my vantage point, it looked like this deer was going to run right into Tommy. I could just make out Tommy in the brush, but I couldn’t tell whether he could see the deer. The necessity of quiet and stillness prevented me from signaling in any way. And step by step the buck continued to make his way towards Tommy. I thought I saw Tommy shift, perhaps getting his crossbow into position. But I couldn’t be sure. My eyes were glued to my binoculars as I watched the scene unfold.

Closer and closer the buck came. Cautiously, like any deer in the open. I was almost certain that Tommy could see him now. From my estimates the deer was not more than 40 yards from Tommy’s spot. A few more careful and wary steps from the deer and the distance between them closed to 25 yards. I waited anxiously. The buck stood still, rigid and alert: attentive and focused directly at Tommy. Moments later he bounded across the field to the cover of the trees before Tommy managed to release a bolt from his crossbow. 

I couldn’t wait to hear what it had been like on the ground! Recounting the story of the hunt has been a tradition for at least 50 thousand years. I understand the ceremony. There is something distinctly human about recounting the tales of the hunt. And I was eager to hear exactly how the encounter unfolded from Tommy. I knew I had missed something and I was excited to hear the story from his point of view. 

After the excitement, the afternoon settled into a cold lull.  Another hour passed and the sun was making its way behind the trees to leave the field in shadow. Birds came and went. The gentle breeze was punctuated by infrequent gusts. The moon was rising in the sun’s softening glow. 

Then to my left, movement. Four does, materialized from the trees 100 yards to my left. They advanced into the field, prudently feeding and scanning their surroundings. Though they moved gingerly, they were definitely heading in Tommy’s direction. I turned my binoculars towards him, but again I couldn’t tell if he could see the deer coming.

Inching slowly along, they were about half the distance to Tommy’s hideout when they began to exhibit the tell tale signs; they smelled something. And they didn’t like what they smelled. The wind had been blowing in Tommy’s favor when the young buck approached. These deer were coming from the opposite direction and seemed unnerved. But deer always seemed unnerved and they continued to feed up the edge of the field. Another 20 yards. Then the slow deliberate stomp of the front foot. In deer language = something is not right. They all had their noses in the air. Another three steps… and as quickly as they appeared they were gone. They turned and trotted back into the woods from whence they had come. I followed them with my binoculars until they disappeared in the relative darkness of the trees. 

The hayfield we chose for our second hunt.

I couldn’t tell if Tommy had even seen them. But like the appearance of the young buck, I couldn’t wait to ask Tommy all about it. It had been an exciting afternoon and now the sun was sinking behind a distant ridge of North Mountain. The temperature was falling faster. No more deer, but an owl flew low over the field. Hunting like we were. The vanishing sun exposed the shortcomings of my night vision and I climbed down from my tree to rendezvous with Tommy.

The moon was rising higher and casting its light across the field. The perfect setting for Tommy and I to whisper (I can’t help it when I have been hunting) about the events of the afternoon. He told me of the anticipation of the buck’s advance but that the brush along the field had made a clean shot impossible. Eventually, a slight movement had revealed his location to the keen eyesight of the young deer. The does on the other hand? He had never seen them coming. They were close enough to the edge of the field that vegetation obscured them from his ground-level hideout. But even discussing the possibility of their approach with him was as thrilling as any hunt. There was no meat to bring home. But the camaraderie and excitement of the afternoon and the stunning mountain meadow left nothing to be desired.

Together our experience felt timeless. An older man and a younger man walking through the woods. Talking about hunting. Sharing knowledge, excitement and beauty together. It is an experience that humans have been enjoying for thousands of years. And like my first hunt with Tommy, I was profoundly aware of how grateful I felt to deepen my connection with the land, the animals I share it with, and the primitive tradition of hunting with a bow and arrow.