When Vince Quillman retired he wanted out of the city, away from the noise and bustle of metropolitan areas. After discovering Smethport he fell in love with the town and its picturesque location, taking his hard earned savings and purchasing an old farm just off Route 6.
The areas hills, valleys, the nearby Allegheny River and numerous trout streams were just what he wished to escape to and he set to work updating the house getting acquainted with the area and his new neighbors. His retirement dream had become a reality at last.
Since hunting was at the top of his list he planted several food plots and set about studying the wildlife surrounding him. He was primarily interested in deer and spring gobbler hunting. His farm had both, but he soon discovered just how difficult it can be to bag either.
But Vince is a very persistent individual, spending the time necessary afield. Hunting, like any other endeavor, is a learning process and Vince was putting his time in.
He purchased a blind and erected couple tree stands in promising areas. Then he spent large blocks of time waiting, watching and observing. His quest had begun.
He soon discovered that gobblers and bucks are anything but predictable and likely to change their habits at any time. Gobblers would come out in a field like clockwork, he’d move his blind and they’d come out someplace else, most likely the exact spot he just left. Deer did the same thing. The bigger the buck the less predictable they were and he found there were bucks on his land that remained unseen for years at a time, the only evidence they existed was their shed antlers.
Having your own land, food plots, spending hours, days and weeks afield guaranteed nothing at all. You needed to be smart, persistent and most importantly, have a large dose of Lady Luck sitting on your shoulder. Yes, hunting has no guarantees.
This year deer season was especially frustrating. Fall and the cooler weather it brings was very slow in coming. In fact, there were leaves on the trees this year one month longer than I have seen in my entire life. Usually the first or second week of October is the height of beautifully colored fall foliage, but the leaves were still green this year. It wasn’t until the beginning of November that the hills became bare at last. All of nature seemed confused and in limbo by this unusual and unprecedented weather pattern.
Vince spent hour after hour hunting and saw bucks, but again the luck he needed just never materialized, something always intervened to frustrate him. Many hunters were experiencing the same difficulties, but hunters cannot predict what might take place and when; you must keep hunting, when things happen they usually happen quickly and you have to be in your stand when a buck walks by.
Rifle season began with terrible weather conditions. High winds, hard, driving rain with cold temperatures made things miserable. When 20 and 30 mile per hour gusts are whistling around your dripping ears, hunting seems like the last thing you want to be doing. The second day was better, but the wind was miserable and frigid. You had to be tough to even be out.
Wednesday dawned and conditions improved somewhat. The wind dropped and the rain and snow ceased. Vince dutifully made his way to his stand on foot not caring to risk driving the side by side alerting any deer in the areas. Does often pay little attention, but bucks don’t miss a trick.
The morning drug by, then a few does appeared and slowly fed off. At noon he ate a sandwich and sighed. Things were slow, but he was used to waiting and his stand, high on a hill offered a great view of the countryside.
At 1 p.m. a few yelps cut the air and turning his head he saw flicks of motion through the trees. Soon he was surrounded by over 50 turkeys and immediately entertained as the big birds fed all around him, a large bunch of jakes fighting, pushing each other, jumping around like the clowns they are.
Ever vigilant, he looked carefully around the stand yet again and his jaw dropped in shock. There in the field stood a big buck, just as if he appeared out of thin air. The buck was facing him and, heart pounding, Vince waited for him to turn. Time dragged, finally the buck took a few steps and offered a quartering shot. Vince aimed the .243 at the point of the shoulder, told himself to squeeze and fired.
The buck whirled, showing no sign of being hit and ran 50 yards disappearing over the crest of the hill. Vince was shaking, had he hit him? He waited several minutes, climbed down and followed the tracks. No hair, no blood. How had he missed?
He walked to the crest and looked carefully over. To his great joy there lay a big 9-point buck, his beautiful antlers sticking up out of the snow! He’d made a perfect shot, the 95 grain Nosler Ballistic Tip destroying the boiler room.
Vince admired his biggest buck ever, filled with gratitude and joy for this wonderful trophy. He’d earned him, spent the time and effort necessary and now he could enjoy this special retirement reward.
