Straitjackets Magazine: Shir-Ella

"> Straitjackets Magazine: Shir-Ella

page 6

short story:
by Richard Trevae
Very few hunting trips had produced so much snow. Heavy, almost wet, it clings to the trees and makes everything look like it was flocked for Christmas. Walking was difficult and I could feel the 29-degree air burning my lungs as they opened more and more to get the air I needed. I was comfortable and warm so I decided to get deeper into the woods. I knew the area well and figured on a cold, snowy day with a little wind. The really big bucks would be under heavy pine cover protected from the cold and heavy snow. I began to imagine the spots where I might see, and hopefully get a shot at the big one. A year earlier walking on a warm November day I had a huge ten-pointer standing broadside about 120 yards out, and with three well-aimed shots missed the big boy each time. After the final shot, he bolted back into the pines, finally concluding the shots falling at his feet were meant for him. I couldn’t believe it! I had killed many deer at this range and looked at my scoped 30-30 in disbelief. This time I was ready. I had re-sighted the scope just two weeks earlier and felt it was right on at one hundred yards. I stopped at the edge of an aging pine forest of tall trees with only top growth. They were majestic, if not in the perfect rows planned decades earlier. The forest floor was covered with years of fallen pine needles, and the six inches of fresh wet snow made walking quiet, if not easy. Pines were some of my favorite places to hunt. Quiet and protected from the raw weather in the open fields, it was a natural sanctuary for deer, as the fallen trees and relatively clear views between rows of trees gave deer and hunters a range of vision approaching seventy yards or so. I was feeling that I was in the right spot at the right time. My attention became more focused; I moved very slowly hoping to see them before they saw me. I felt like I blended in as I had only the minimum orange clothing to avoid being shot by another hunter, but that possibility was remote as I had seen no one, no vehicle nor any human tracks, since I entered the woods some fifty minutes ago. I never really worried about other hunters in this area as only the locals came up out to hunt and it was a vast area for the very few serious hunters that were still about late in November. I stopped and leaned against a tall pine. I could feel the slight movement in the tree as the winds high above gently moved the branches. Almost like a curtain dropping, a dusting of powder snow fell all around me and left me blind to the surroundings for about twenty seconds. As the snow settled, I scanned the area again and there at some one hundred yards out was a buck, a big one. I felt my blood flowing and my heart pounding as he scanned his surroundings. He looked right through me and didn’t distinguish me from the trees. I could see clearly that he was a mammoth deer, probably six years old, showing at least twelve points on a heavy full rack of horns. He was alone now, the rut essentially done, and his years had told him to be cautious when the loud blasts from hunter’s rifles were heard. My mood changed as I watched him slowly walk, stop, look about and then with his nose to the ground move a few a steps again. He was regal, and clearly the dominant buck in the areas for many seasons. He became more than prey, somewhat like a beautiful adversary, strong, proud, respected and dignified. His slow strut, step by step, was almost like watching a champion horse going through his paces at a competition. His ears moved randomly and seemed to catch any sound by themselves without any	conscious effort of the mind or body. I found myself frozen in his display of caution and strength as he continued to slowly move across and towards me in a right to left direction. I tried to re-gain my focus and raised my rifle slowly. He was covered momentarily by a tree trunk between us. The four-power scope found him immediately, now much bigger and more defined in my mind than through the naked eye. He had gray showing around his mouth and neck, and while still large and strong he was nearing the twilight of his life. I could only imagine how many of his offspring roamed these woods and would someday exhibit his magnificent look. He approached closer. Another wind gust dropped a curtain of soft snow on me and then moments later on him. For the next sixty seconds I could not see or hear him. My heart raced as I recalled my mission and the purpose of the hunt. I strained to see him as the falling snow subsided. He was not there. I looked everywhere, only to find trees and snow. I was perplexed and disappointed to have perhaps lost him. Had he caught my scent? I was downwind, but again it was swirling and a deer this old and smart would know how and where to escape if he smelled me. Again, I looked and there, without any movement or clue of any kind, he appeared. He was now only about fifty-five yards out offering a perfect shot with very little interference. He was looking straight at me, no movement, no flickering tail, no frosty breath, no quivering – he just remained and studied me. His back and head were covered with the snow that had just fallen, and he was almost perfectly hidden amongst the trees and snow. I could not move. I knew, from prior encounters like this, that any movement on my part would spook him and off he would go with very little chance of me getting a shot. I waited, he waited and the time dragged on. Eventually after what seemed like hours his ears moved, trying to locate a sound behind him. Moments later, he lifted his head and looked away. I raised my rifle slowly, and again found him in the scope. This time his entire front left shoulder filled my scope. I clicked the safety off and took a deep breath to calm my nerves. I waited for some reason I still can’t explain. I lowered the rifle a bit and looked at him over the scope. He turned his head my way and looked directly at me. This magnificent buck knew what I was, I sensed it, yet he was not afraid. I was fixated by the situation. Here I was in front of a trophy deer, fifty-five yards away, and he was waiting for me. I remained still, and the wind died down until it was very quiet in the woods. Then the sun broke through the white billowy clouds above the trees and streamed directly down on the buck. He straightened, still looking at me, and the sun glistened off his antlers. I could not help but feel that this was some kind of standoff. As I studied him, my thoughts were not of the shot to be taken, but of his magnificent presence. He was almost surreal. His image seemed to project in a three dimensional fashion, with the forest in his background and slowly moving further away until he was all that I could see. I lowered my rifle and felt a sense of satisfaction and achievement come over me as I watched the big buck slowly turn and walk away. The sunbeams still followed him as he moved away, and then I realized it was a very successful hunt, because I experienced vividly what I always knew but ignored, that the encounter was the real hunt and that the kill was the end of the encounter. I straightened and moved away from the pine I was hidden against. The buck stopped, looked back one last time and then proceeded to move swiftly into the denser forest. Our encounter brought a new dimension to the hunt and I now can say it was my best, and last, hunting season. End
Thomas Eurich is a businessman, entrepreneur, and consultant to senior executives. He has published newspaper and trade association articles on business valuation, mergers and acquisitions, successful management practices, and ownership transition guidelines. He has traveled extensively and has just finished a novel, "The Tarasov Solution", to be published this fall under the pen name Richard Trevae.