The fall foliage was bursting forth in all its glory.
The various species of maples were quickly turning red, yellow and orange, while the formerly green sumacs were swiftly changing into their startling, deep reds. Aspen and poplar groves were in full splendor, their pure yellow leaves almost startling bright in the sunshine.
The red and white oaks were stubbornly staying green for another two weeks or so, but soon, their subtly colored rich ochres and maroon-red leaves would also appear.
As the twirling leaves fell to the forest floor, their scent filled the air. A deep, earthy, vibrant, rich, intoxicating aroma so difficult to describe. It simply smelled like fall.
The late afternoon sun began to sink toward the horizon, the atmosphere subdued as the light gradually muted. It was about 3:30 when Jim Acker grabbed his crossbow and began still-hunting his way toward the stand.
A few steps, watch, wait, listen to the chipmunks scurrying through the leaves. A few gray squirrels sorted through the leaves also, heads popping upright every few seconds to search for danger.
Loud-mouthed blue jays raised a ruckus and Jim waited patiently to see what might have stirred up their ire, but whatever it was didn’t show itself.
The hill dropped away, the saplings now thick in front of him as he searched for the landmarks leading him those last 50 yards to the tree stand. There the large maple stood, 30 yards past the maple were the two, four-inch beech you could just squeeze between. The double-trunked cherry appeared next and, just behind, it he saw steps reaching upward.
He tied the crossbow to the rope and climbed upward. Once seated, he pulled up the bow, nocked an arrow and looked around.
It was so peaceful and beautiful this time of day.
The wind had dropped and the filtered afternoon sun shed a golden glow over the fall foliage. It was great just to be in the woods on such an afternoon.
He settled in to wait. Waiting patiently, hoping against hope for a big buck to appear were second nature to him. Today, it was enough just to sit and enjoy the glorious world surrounding him, fall in all its splendor.
An hour passed when a doe suddenly materialized out of the understory. She nosed about, nibbling shoots, leaves and crunching red acorns whenever she found them. Only 15 yards away, she was unaware she was under observation. Jim watched patiently, happy just to see a deer.
The doe came to a striped maple, ate a low leaf, raised her head, nibbled a higher leaf, raised her head again and grabbed another. Quite accidentally, she was staring straight up at Jim.
She stared for a startled second and then turned and bolted, running away in big, high bounds.
Jim shook his head. Usually, deer took more time to identify danger, but this old gal wasn’t taking any chances what-so-ever. He settled back to wait some more.
The sun disappeared behind the hilltop, the light fading. Looking back to his right for the thousandth time, Jim saw a deer.
Something about the size and color made him think it was a buck. As the deer moved through the saplings, he saw horns, nice horns.
This was a shooter, and he forgot about the horns and looked for an opening. Slowly, the buck moved toward him and even offered a slightly backward angling shot, but Jim knew better than to take that risk.
The buck suddenly turned to the left and stepped into an opening, offering a perfectly broadside target. Jim aimed just behind the shoulder and squeezed.
The arrow flew, there was the “Thwack” of a solid hit and the deer turned and ran directly away, the arrow showing, his big, white tail finally disappearing some 70 yards away.
Suddenly, Jim realized his heart was pounding and his hands were shaking. Despite all the years, these exciting and intense moments never lost their magic.
He reached for his phone and called his son, Jay. The more people tracking the deer, the better.
In 30 minutes, Jay appeared and, after a quick appraisal of the situation, they walked to the last spot the deer was seen. Not surprisingly, there was little blood, but the big deer’s tracks were easily followed for a distance.
A little blood here, a little there, then all signs ceased. Continuing on in the same direction, they hit a trail. No fresh tracks crossed it. The deer must be behind them.
They retraced their steps and turned on their flashlights.
“Do you smell that?” Jay asked.
“Smell what?” Jim answered.
“Deer.”
Shining his light around, Jay took a few steps, looking upwind and down a slight opening. To his great relief, the bright beams illuminated the arrow’s bright-colored fletching and the buck.
Both ran up to the site and their mouths flew open. The deer was huge with a mainframe 10-pint rack and two, one-inch stickers at the bases, making it a 12-point point.
It took both of them to drag the deer 30 feet to an opening. The buck’s massive 46-plus-inch chest showed he weighed 270 pounds, the massive neck 28-inches in diameter.
Father and son stood and hugged, basking in the glow of taking such a trophy and sharing such a unique experience. Of such things are glorious memories made.
