Lunkers on the 4 Weight

                                                           Lunkers on the 4 Weight 

                                                                       3/12/25

 The clouds in the sky looked like a bunch of puzzle pieces spread out on a powder blue table cloth. The morning air was still on the chilly side when I stepped out of my truck onto the parking area. There were already quite a few cars, which I expected, in the parking lot. The state had stocked the Delayed Harvest creek two weekends before and the shop just stocked Lunkers last Saturday with the donations from a fund jar they keep on the shop counter. The day was suppose to warm up to 50+ degrees around noon and sunny. I’m sure the  fisher people couldn’t wait to get out and do some casting after the cold, freezing weather of winter blues. I had fished the week before but wasn’t going to wait any longer for another outing.

 I decided to piece together my 4 weight Douglas 9’ fast action fly rod for todays session. I attached my Cheeky Reel with WF5F line. I knotted on a fas-snap to the tapered leader and snapped on a Woolly Bugger. I know some fishermen claim the fas-snaps don’t let the streamers move significantly but I catch many a fish using them and can change patterns quickly without shortening my tippet. Of course I don’t use them when I use nymphs or dry flies but using streamers I don’t usually do without.

 I put on my chest waders and felt wading boots. I put on my Eddie Bauer fishing jacket, grabbed a few cigars and headed to the creek to catch me some of those Lunkers.

 Guys were lined up along the creek. They were spaced out enough for casting room but I didn’t want to crowd anyone. Besides they were all nymph fishing with the rhythmic flow of casting upstream, following their indicators with their rod tips as the line flows downstream. Then with a high hefty roll cast upstream begin the process all over again till some one catches a fish of one decides to knot on another offering. If they ever have synchronized nymph fishing in a fly fishing competition I bet some of these groups of guys would come in the top three places in the event. 

 Being that I would be casting buggers and streamers I stayed up creek from these nymphers for room for my buggers to swing down creek. This left me starting in the faster riffles as the other guys were fishing the slower flow below. No matter, I was sure there were fish spread out along the creek. 

 I stepped into the water and immediately felt the coldness of the water around my ankles and legs. I waded out a couple of yards for casting room behind me and tossed my bugger midstream in front of me and let it swing. I added a little weight to my tapered leader to get the bugger down further below the moving current. I started to catch a couple of smaller rainbows on the bugger before I got a good test on the 4 weight.

 I casted across the flow near the far bank a little upstream. I lowered the rod and let the bugger swing beneath the current. I felt a hard tug and that was all I needed to feel! I whipped the rod up and back pulling fly line towards me. The fly line shot up from the surface water and the tapered leader tightened under the strength of a healthy rainbow. While battling the rainbow in the quick current wasn’t an easy task. He was wild and strong. I kept a tight line on him but I wasn’t controlling his whereabouts. He tugged and yanked as he swam about. When he surfaced, at times, he yanked harder like a Doberman trying to yank his favorite toy from the owners grasp. My 4 weight flexed so deep at times I was worried so I had to let line out and even loosened the drag. Time again I had him coming towards me and he would just forcefully pull away taking line. Not that I finally convinced him to come in quietly but I was able to scoop him up in my net. He was surely one of the Lunkers that had just been stocked within the past 2 weekends.  

 By the fresh bruise on his lip I imagine he had been caught before. Maybe he got away from the last person and thought he’d get away again. He was wrong. I tilted the net into the water and he swam free. 

 After that ordeal and rod performance I was thinking that I should go back and get a 5 weight with heavier backbone? I didn’t want to lose my place and I figured what was the odds of catching more Lunkers? As time went on and fishermen moved out I made my way down creek to slower current. Sticking with the Woolly Bugger I was doing all right catching a trout now and then among the nymph fishermen. I noticed, except for one Lunker, most of the nymph guys were catching average size trout in the 8” to 10” range. No one else was using streamers so I just figured the bigger trout wanted more meat, than little morsels, so my streamers were effective with bigger trout.

  By noon and there after the sun brought warmth. Along with it its rays reflected off the water like light reflecting off high grade diamonds in a well lit showcase. The glare was pretty much unbearable I suppose if one wasn’t wearing polarized lenses. About 1:00 a small hatch of stoneflies started to emerge. The slight breeze was helping them scoot upon the water towards the far bank. Trout began to rise and me and a fisherman on my right were in the right spot to cast drys to the surface feeders. After he saw me catch a couple of the feeders he too began to fish drys. 

 As more stoneflies blew and winged themselves across the water more trout were feeding. Most within a couple of yards from the far bank. There was a couple fish feeding just under overhanging thin branches. I made a sidearm cast and my cast dropped my stonefly dry just under the overhang. This put my line straight across from me and with that a nice easy drag free drift into a feeding zone. 

 The thought process that goes through my mind with what I think is a perfect cast and presentation is kind of nerve racking. Will the trout take it? I’m oblivious to anything around me. I can hear the trout caught by the nymph fisherman to my left splashing but I dare not look. I see the splash, in the corner of my vision, of the dry fly the fisherman to my right just casted out but I’m not concerned in the least. I watch the elk hair wing, of my dry, slowly drifting on the surface. My fly line pinched between my left hand fingers with my right hand gripped around the cork handle waiting any second to yank the long length of line back to set the hook on the first take. A fish splashes at my dry and I yank back spontaneously! The long length of line tightens and a swirl appears on the water just a moment before a trout rises to the surface splashing wildly. By the arc in the rod and strength I feel within my grip I got a feeling that this catch isn’t the average size we’ve been catching. He swims towards me and upstream tugging and shaking. I wind in some line keeping the rod up though the top section bows and flexes down towards the fighting trout. He turns down creek, still swimming towards me, and I pull in more line. A 1/3 of away, the creek width, he decides to turn and swim towards the far bank. There’s no stopping or slowing him down. Line peels off the reel, through my tensioning fingers, through the rod eyes and out through the tip top. The guy beside me notices the arcing rod and comments I have a good trout. 

 Being the current is calmer than up in the faster current earlier, I’m quite more relieved about not over stressing my 4 wight. He put up a good cross current fight and battled all the way to the net. Another fine Lunker rainbow lays in my net. I notice he’s a bit chubbier than the last few. A quick picture for my blog and I let the rainbow swim free. 

 After a few more smaller trout catches, with my dry flies, the stonefly hatch peters out. I decide to wade down creek a little while before heading home.

 Further down below I’m casting Woolly Buggers in a deeper section of water before the flow enters upon shallower riffles. There had been other fishermen fishing this small section of water earlier and catching a few trout. I lit up another cigar and was just casting out to nowhere in particular. In fact my mind was far off thinking about the long drive home and what I was going to do afterwords. I felt a hearty tug as my bugger was about at the end of the swing. Instinctively I pulled line and twitched my rod upward. After I felt the rod arc again and the weight of my catch I pulled back the rod with a little more force to make sure the hook penetrated. Another tough battle followed. He surged in different directions throughout the small deeper section he was in. It was almost as if he was looking for a way out of a circus ring. Shallow water was upstream and the creek shallowed below the deep section he was in. He had nowhere to go but to try and free himself or give up and let me net him. He finally succumbed to the pressure and let me net him. 

  With that I called it a day and headed for the truck. There were still a few guys enjoying the warm weather casting and fishing. One such fisherman was doing pretty well catching fish while the others were trying their best. 

 Back at the truck I changed into driving clothes and headed out. I was planning on meeting my son Thursday at this same place. I already determined on using a 5 weight instead of the 4 weight. If there isn’t much of a wind, maybe I’ll take out my 5 weight G2 Scott rod?

 

~doubletaper

Medalist

Medalist

3/05/25

 It was a gloomy morning here in PA. Though it’s winter season the temperature was already 50 degrees when I left to go fish’n in the morning and supposed to be close to 60 degrees just afternoon. Oh, with a possible shower. It looked like a good day to go fish’n.

 I headed to Volant to the Delayed Harvest Area of Neshannock Creek. They had just float stocked trout the past Saturday and I was going to catch me some. After buying a pair of felt wading boots, at the Orvis shop, I parked the truck in the big parking lot and got my fishing uniform on. Let’s face it. You know a cop, a fireman or a soldier by the uniform they wear so I imagine it’s no different than a fisherman. With our waders, boots, fishing hat, vest and dark sunglasses who could mistake us for anything else? 

 I assembled my Scott SAS 5 weight, grabbed a few cigars and the rest of my fishing attire and headed to the creek. Just off the bank I saw a fisherman catch and net a nice golden trout. The water was a dark limestone gray color a bit on the high side by my standards. The shop guy said there was 2’ visibility but I wasn’t quite sure after looking at the water. I was able to see some boulders beneath the surface out in the middle but couldn’t see bottom. There was good current flow though so the conditions weren’t bad. I stepped off the bank into the water, with my new wading boots, and carefully waded knee deep in the oncoming current testing my footing. All was good. 

 Casting out a Woolly Bugger in the middle of the creek it didn’t take too long to hook up with my first trout. I netted a small rainbow who squirmed around in my net. That deserved my first cigar. As usual I doin’t smoke my first cigar until I catch my first fish.

 I continued on casting toward the middle and far side of the stream. It came to be known to me that the rainbows liked my Popcorn Woolly Bugger but the brown trout were interested in my Olive Buggers.  

 One such brown grabbed the bugger on the swing. It was just a soft take that I felt the take, between my fingers pinching the fly line, just before my fly line stopped its swing. I reared back and immediately the top section, of my 2-piece rod, arced towards the take as the line shot up from the water. I knew this wasn’t some small rainbow. I bit down on the cigar between my teeth a little harder cause I figured this was going to be a good fight. The trout stayed low not wanting to rise off the bottom without quick body maneuvers like a rainbow. It used its weight and tugs while we battled for superior control. I knew it had to be a brown trout. Once close enough I was able to net the hefty brown. I had him backed into the net like a fire truck carefully backing into the firehouse garage.

 Continuing to cast buggers in the grayish water I would pick off a trout now and then. I noticed  a few other fishermen were doing the same whether they were fly fishing or using spinning gear. It wasn’t like we were catching trout one after another but with patience we’d hook into one.

 Switching colors now and then my observation got more truth than fiction. The rainbows liked the Popcorn Bugger. 

 One rainbow took the bugger with a healthy grab at the end of the swing. It was if he was waiting for the bugger to stop its arc and settle down beneath the current. He swiped at it and I was Jerry on the spot and pulled back for the hook set. Right off I could tell it was a rainbow by the way it fought with tugs, head shakes and twists as it fought the line. It rose just shy of the surface shaking its head trying to throw the hook. Its silvery body displayed a pink stripe down its side like a sportsmen jersey. I finally got him settled down enough to get him to the net. A nice fat rainbow laid in the net with a Popcorn Bugger snack in its jaw.

  After that the bite started to peter out with just a couple of small rainbows teasing my bugger offerings. I tried nymph fishing but didn’t attract any hits. A few more fishermen showed up as the gloomy weather cleared and warmth finally was felt as the wind, carrying dampness, quit all together. I went around the fishermen fishing the big pool of water and headed down creek. In a shallow riffle, maybe knee deep at the most, I casted out toward the far bank and let the bugger drift in the discolored water. I was only about a couple of yards off the bank in the knee deep water. I let the bugger drift all the way straight below me about the same, a yard or so from the bank. I felt a tug and reared back. The rod arced good again and I had another good weighty trout.  Another brown fought in the knee high water right to my net. 

 My next brown was a doozy also. I was down creek a bit further to the next deeper hole I’ve caught fish before. I caught a smaller rainbow on my Popcorn Bugger before switching over to my Olive Bugger. I made a cast midstream and let the bugger drift as if I was nymph fishing with my rod following the drift down creek. I stopped my rod and let the bugger drift further on. The line all of a sudden sagged as if something grabbed the bugger on its way upstream. It surprised me at first but I quickly took in line with my left hand while raising the rod as high as I could to tighten the line and set the hook. The line straightened and I gave a hearty tug upwards to make sure the hook penetrated. Evidently the trout didn’t like being fooled. With a bugger in its mouth, and tight lined, he took off towards the far bank like a thief escaping the cops, putting distance between me and him pulling line off the tensioned reel. He then took line down creek in a hurry. With a couple of forceful tugs he turned and swam upstream 3/4 across the creek. Staying deep, I watched the fly line cutting the surface water as if not able to cut the surface as fast as the fish darted up through the undercurrent. I raised the rod high hoping to cut down on the surface drag the fish was putting on the long length of line. The trout tugged a bit more, flexing the 8’ 6” rod without much trouble before it swam down creek pass me. The water had cleared up some so I was able to see the football sized object pass me like an otter chasing something downstream. Down creek it pulled and tugged. I waded down some reeling in line while he fought the taut line. After a bit I had him coming nearer with my rod high in the air. He just about reached the surface when he dove back down like a dropped anchor that I had to let him take line fearing a bad mishap. The trout took off downstream again and line slipped through my fingers. We battled longer than I expected. He wasn’t giving up too quickly as he swam around, out from me, like he was looking for a place to hide. I played along being patient though I was afraid the longer we were attached the better chance he had to unattach us. I finally got him towards me and had my net ready. With my rod hand holding the line, pinched against the cork grip, I began trying to guide him towards the net. It wasn’t easy by any means. I could feel my wrist quivering with the arcing rod and force of the brown trout just within reach. He surfaced shaking and twisting. I reached out the net as I backed the rod behind my head. He slowly came near and I scooped him up. Wow, what a fish and a nice weighty brown. 

  After dropping the net and letting him swim away I felt like that was in need of a reward. I hooked the bugger to the hook keeper and reached in my jacket and pulled out an A. B. Medalist cigar. If they were giving out awards today, as if in a contest for most big trout, I’m sure I would have been in the running for a medal. 

  I didn’t catch anymore trout where I was so I headed back up to where I started. I kept swinging the buggers changing colors as I slowly waded down creek again. I caught one more decent size rainbow that wanted his picture taken, like a soldier at attention, as it laid still in the bottom of my net.

 He actually liked the Olive Bugger I was tossing out.

 The sky began to turn grayer up above and the wind started to stir in different directions. I looked up and it looked like rain was coming. I made my last cast without a strike, waded out and headed for the truck. By the time I got to the truck it started to rain. I took off my chest waders and put them in the truck with my new wading boots. All this time it started to rain harder and coming down sideways with the wind. I didn’t even have time to reel in all the line before it poured down like a fireman’s water hose. I quickly separated the 2 piece rod and slipped it on the back seat safely with the rest of my fishing gear. Kinda of wet, from the rain, I hopped in the front drivers seat and relaxed a moment before taking off. 

 It turned out to be a better day than I expected. I’m not sure those browns were recently stocked though they looked like they’ve grown up in the creek for some time!

~doubletaper

Little Wintry Fishing

 Little Wintry Fishing

2/26/25

 It was a cold foggy wintry morning. The cool water vapors, off the lying snow, rises into the warmer outside temps creates the foggy morning at 34 degrees. I packed the truck with my fishing gear and headed out to go fishing. When I got to the area, of the Delayed Harvest creek, I drove over the snowy ice covered parking lot and looked at the truck thermometer. It read 40 degrees. 

 I put on my hip waders, being this creek is a somewhat shallow creek, and cleated wading boots. Felt soles might clog up with snow and slide on the snowy ice covered banks so cleated soles are a must. I don’t think my hip waders shrunk over winter but lifting them to my waste they fit like a tight fitting corset! (Not that I really know what one wears like but I do watch old westerns.) I assembled the 4 sections of my 3 weight short Hardy Demon rod for the confined conditions I’d be fishing through. I fitted a new 5x 7’6” tapered leader to the fly line and knotted on a fas-snap. I grabbed a few cigars and put them in my Gortex fishing coat and headed to the creek. 

 The sky was a sheet of light blue gray shade with no sign of the sun to appear. There was no breeze so the 40 degree weather probably will stick around that temperature throughout my outing. Leafless forest tree limbs and branches hung over sections of the small creek like a horror movie picture. Their twisted thin twigs looked as if they would reach out and snag my casts if not careful. Because of the last couple days of snow melt the creek rose and with good grayish color to boot. It looked like ideal conditions. I noticed old boot prints in the snow and dog tracks. Maybe someone had fished the creek within the last couple of days or just walked their dog enjoying the wintry scenery?

 I walked upstream and down to the creek. I started with a Woolly Bugger slow and easy as I figured the cold water wasn’t going to get any trout real active to chase a fast moving streamer. I slowly fished my way down creek stopping at times in deeper water to drift a nymph or San Juan worm. For quite a while I couldn’t get a strike. I was pretty sure there had to be some brook trout somewhere? Either they weren’t hungry or just too spooky if they were fished the day before? The water was in my favor with the discoloration but not enough they wouldn’t be able to see or find my offerings. I wasn’t discouraged though as I really didn’t expect much participation but at least a tug would of made me feel a lot better. Even so, the peacefulness of my surroundings and puffing on a good cigar kept me in high spirits. I knew sooner or later I’d find a hungry trout. It was good practice thus far roll casting and placing my offering where I wanted it.

 I was pretty far down creek when I decided to return up to where I started. I waded out and through the forest upon the snow covered ground. By now my feet were cold and it felt like I was walking barefoot on a cold cement garage floor. I made my way to my truck and got a good gulp of cold water. I decided to just cast out Wooly Buggers and hope for the best. I wasn’t sure it had gotten any warmer but just maybe the trout were finally hungry for breakfast. I was pretty much where I started earlier and was offering olive, brown and popcorn color Woolly Buggers. I even tried a Triple Threat steamer but nothing was getting attention enough for a strike. They say in dark stained water to use dark color streamers. I decided, since none of the other colors worked, I’d try a pure white bead head bugger. There were stream improvements along the banks in sections for the trout to hide in shallower times. I was just drifting the white bugger near the log improvements not too far down creek from where I stood on the bank. I felt a bump and wristed the short rod for a hook set. It wasn’t like the trout grabbed the bugger like it was attacking it before it got away. It felt more like an easy take as if it was taking a slow drifting worm. Anyhow I had the trout and dipped the net into the water as I brought it towards the bank. A nice healthy brookie struggled in the net. After a quick picture I dipped the net back into the water and watched her swim away. I felt a lot better and hoped that the trout were going to be more enthusiastic about feeding. 

Hey, I thought, maybe white is the best color for the day!

  Walking upstream, and stopping now and then upon the bank, I’d cast the white bugger out reaching the far bank. I’d watch my fly line arc with the current until it straightened down creek. I would wait a bit, letting the bugger sway in the current before slowly stripping it towards me. 

Each time casting out I would watch my fly line with my left hand holding the fly line off the reel. My fingers pinched the line would give me notice if anything grabs my bugger no matter how light the take is before my line straightens. There was a flat big boulder 3/4th the way across creek. I roll casted a big loop placing my bugger upstream and beyond the flat boulder risking a snag. I kept the rod high to make sure the line didn’t catch the boulder. My idea is, that if the trout were holding cross creek this my get a sluggish trout to follow the bugger downstream until the bugger stops swinging. Then it will grab the bugger while swaying in the on coming current where it’s easier for the sluggish trout to grab it. Once the drift got around the boulder I lowered the rod tip and let the bugger drift deep under the waving surface water. The fly line continued to arc as the bugger drifted into the slower current. I was looking downstream for my white bugger when I saw the flash of a following fish. Once the bugger stopped drifting in an arc the line strained down creek and I held it there momentarily. I felt the take like the trout ambushed it with a sweeping grab. I reared back on the rod and my second trout was pulling and tugging on the other end. I stepped into the water to net the frisky trout. Another nice brook trout came to the net. 

  Fishing pretty far upstream the creek got wider and shallower. The water was clearing up. I decided to fish my way back towards the truck. I covered the water pretty good with the white bugger on the way up so I decided to cast out an olive bugger on my way back down. I made long cast towards the far bank, as I made my way, and let it drift in an arc down creek. I maneuvered my rod, as the bugger drifted, so my offering would flow between boulders. I missed a trout as it flashed and swiped at my bugger. I felt it strike the bugger but must have grabbed the marabou tail. I casted out again and again it swiped at the bugger but not nearly enough to reach the hook. I gave it a couple more drifts in the same area but he must of figured it was a trap and didn’t go after it anymore. 

 Continuing downstream, in the same manner, I got a good swift hard take as the bugger was drifting. I reared back the rod and felt the resistance. This trout was a little more aggressive and tugged to get loose. Nearer to me I dipped the net and scooped up a healthy brown trout. 

“Not bad” I thought. 

The olive Woolly Bugger was neatly pierced in its lip. 

 After letting the brownie go I continued on till I got close to where I parked without another strike. I waded out, hooked the bugger to the hook keeper and walked upon the snow to my truck. 

 Changing into street clothes I looked and it was 3:10. I was surprised it was that late in the afternoon. I started fishing around 10:00am. I guess time flies when you’re having fun. I put my gear away and finished off puffing on the stogie on the way home. 

It was a nice, though cold, outing. It’s nice to have a cutter while I’m fishing so the butt end of cigars don’t fray and come apart.

 ~doubletaper

 

4 Seasons and a Rainbow

                                                      4 Seasons and a Rainbow

                                                                     2/24/25

                                                       

  “Here in Pennsylvania we have the true meaning of all 4 seasons. We have snowy cold winters, the aromas of early Spring, heat of summers and colorful Autumn. Some days we get these 4 seasons, it seems, all in one day.”

 

 Snow still lays on the ground as light brightens the early morning with freezing, below 32 degree, temperatures. As the morning progresses, I walk outside of my house, the temperature rises to above freezing. Not fishing for over a month because of the fridged temperatures and snowy/icy conditions I decided to go fishing with the promise of warmer noon time temperatures. 

 As I reach the parking area I step outside in the 40+ degree weather. I could smell, as if spring is in the air, as the pines, laurel and foliage fill the air with pleasant aromas. As I put on my fishing attire the sun shines down from above like a summer time ball of orange. I can feel it’s heat penetrating through my layers of clothes. I assembled my ‘poor conditions’ fly rod, my Scott SAS 8’6” 5 weight. It’s not that it’s in poor condition it’s just that when the weather is unkind I like using the older rod in conditions like today. I walk to the trout stream and I look across the water. Some oak trees still hang on to their lifeless looking fragile leaves as if not wanting to let them go during the Autumn season. Snow covers the banks assuring that it is still winter in Pennsylvania with ice forms along the waterline.

  I step into the coldness of the moving water and in no time at all I feel the chilling water swarm around my stocking foot chest waders. I cast out into the open water as I watch and listen to the easy rippling water as it tumbles over the shallow rocks and boulders upstream. In time I fish nymphs and Woolly Buggers without a strike while I puff on a cigar. I try using an indicator to detect any subtle strike that never comes. Time ticks away, pleasantly, as I slowly wade my way fishing downstream. 

 I’m able to cross the stream and start fishing, hoping to maybe get a better presentation, on the far side of the creek. I still have no results, thus far, and decide to knot on a Triple Threat Streamer. The first two colors I try doesn’t appear to have anymore appeal to encourage a strike. I knot on another shade and cast it out into the riffling water and let it drift, in an arc, into the deeper outflow. It’s just a little tug but I’m pretty sure it’s a strike and I wrist the rod back for the hook set. Sure enough the line rises off the water and tightens to a struggling fish. He’s not too aggressive in the chilled water so bringing him in and netting him is not too strenuous. A nice rainbow lays in the bottom of my net that survived the freezing winter.

  

 I fish for another hour or so changing offerings often without a strike. Afternoon I call it a day and head to my truck in the snowy, icy parking lot. I change into my driving clothes, wipe my fly rod dry and put away my fishing gear. The sun still shines down but the air seems to get a little colder. I head home relieving my urge to get out and fish. 

~doubletaper

An 8 Point at 8:06

 

An 8 Point at 8:06

11/30/2024

  I set up my camper for deer season Wednesday in the ANF along a trout stream. It was suppose to get into freezing weather come Saturday and below 32° 24 hours a day into next week. Turkey Thursday and Friday morning it had snowed some.

 

 Around 10:00am Friday morning I decided to take a walk in the woods to look for recent deer sign in the fresh snow. I also had trimmed some pine kindling and took it with me on my way to where I was going to sit for Saturday. Being it was suppose to be below 32° I figured I just may want a fire to stay out in the frigid weather all day or at least till I get a deer. I didn’t find any fresh deer sign but I did gather up some dry wood for a fire Saturday. 

 My son Giddeon arrived at the camper Friday evening around 6:00pm. We talked about where we were going to sit come Saturday. We decided what time to wake up in the morning and start our climb up the mountainside. He wasn’t hunting very close to me but I gave him a walkie-talkie anyhow should we be in range to communicate. We packed sandwiches and food Friday night and put them in our packs with water and needed supplies.

  Saturday morning we had breakfast and he drove down the road to where he was going to park and enter the woods. I got my stuff on and walked down the road to where I was going to enter the forest. It was well below 32° so we both were dressed warm and I brought extra clothes in my sling pack.

  I found my way to the gas line with the help of my headlamp. As I walked up the lane and by the time I got to where I wanted to start up the hill I didn’t need my headlamp on. With the help of the slight snow covered ground I made my way up the mountainside in the dim morning light. I have posted in the same place each deer season for the first day for years so I pretty much knew how to get there without decorating the trees with ribbons. I slowly walked along trying to be as quiet as possible and slow going as not to sweat. The forest floor was covered with dried fallen leaves so trying to be quiet wasn’t all that successful. Anyhow I got to my deer post where I wanted to hunt from and settled down for the time being.

 As light started to make the wooded forest more visible I looked around my surrounding. It was as cold as I figured it would be. I hadn’t hunted in cold weather, below freezing, for sometime in the past few years during deer seasons. Gusts of wind would blow through now and then bringing chilling coldness. With the gusts it was hard to hear anything that would be sneaking through the young tree sapling which still had leaves on their thin branches. As the morning got somewhat brighter a wood pecker started to knock on a tree near by. It wasn’t long after he started another came along and they both made it sound like a bunch of Amish pounding nails while constructing a wooden barn. It was if they were trying to see who could make the noisiest pecker noise just to annoy me! Other then them, and a gust of chilling wind, it was pretty quiet as the morning ticked on. I heard some shots far off in the distance but nothing close by to get excited about. I took turns moving my hot seat to look either downhill or uphill. I always kept an eye on the bunch of saplings down to my left, looking down hill, as I have saw deer come through them in the past years. I had got one buck that came out of the sapling cover some years back so I always kept that within my vision.

 I was sitting, looking into the wind, when I saw my first sight of movement up the hill to my left. The deer walked as if it was spooked. It was pretty far away and moving so even trying to scope it out wasn’t easy. I couldn’t tell if it was a buck or not but it was too far for a decent shot at a moving deer anyhow. That deer did give me an indication which way other deer would be traveling.

  I was more interested in shooting a buck though I did have an anterless deer tag. I still had venison in the chest freezer at home so I really didn’t need 2 deer. If the situation came up in the morning, should I see a doe within shooting range, I’m not sure if I would take the shot. I was more interested in a buck. 

 I was sitting, watching down the mountainside, when I saw a deer hide slowly walk out of the sapling heading down at an angle across from me about 90 yards or so. I could see antlers but it was a dark rack and not very easy to see how many points with the forest and sapling background. He wasn’t looking my way but I could tell he was suspicious. Once his head got behind a wide width tree I shouldered my rifle for a better look. He took a couple steps forward and I was able to see at least 3 up tines on his right antler, legal where I was hunting. I slid the safe off the lever and pointed the cross-hairs on his front shoulder. A couple more steps and I would be able to get a shot behind his shoulder that was still behind the large tree. I doubt he knew it but he gave me that opportunity with a step or two. With the cross-hairs now aimed for a mortal hit I said good-bye and pulled the trigger. The 300 Savage boomed to life. The buck jumped, I swear at least 3 feet off the ground, came down on all fours and took off in the direction he was headed. He ran like old nitro funny cars on a drag strip. I watched him till he disappeared down the hill about another hundred yards or more. I listened as I heard him run upon the noisy forest floor till it sounded as if he crashed down somewhere below. It sounded like a bunch of kids jumping in a pile of dried raked leaves. I was pretty sure that was his last urge of life. I stood and waited a few minutes listening to any other movement and kept my eyes peeled over the hillside where I could see beyond where I thought he may have ran. It was silent. I must have scared the hell out of the woodpeckers as I didn’t hear a peck out of them after the shot.

 After 5 minutes or so I clipped my hot seat to my belt. I put my water bottle back in my sling pack and slung it over my shoulder. I picked up the 300 casing and put it in my pocket. I made sure the lever action rifle was on safe and kept it ready within my grip. I Stepped a few steps at a time towards where the buck disappeared down the hill. Each step, on the dried forest leaves, sounded like elementary children opening their crinkled paper lunch bags at lunch time. Getting close to the hillside I looked for blood but didn’t see any on the snow cover. I looked down the hill to where I thought he would of ran but didn’t see any sign of him. I decided to walk back to where I figured he was when I shot. Back up there I found fresh deer tracks. I tied a piece of TP on a branch and began to slowly follow the fresh deer tracks in the overturned leaves and powdered snow. There was still no sign of blood but I was sure he was hit. He didn’t make it very easy following his tracks and without the snow I’m sure it would have been harder to follow.

  Once I got to the hillside I was able to overlook the complete ground below me. I didn’t see the deer anywhere in the distance I thought where he ran. I looked down and saw his tracks. He had turned and went straight down the hill. Still not seeing blood I turned my head and followed the tracks with my eyes. Within 40 yards there laid my quarry. I walked up to him and saw three tines on his left beam of his dark bone colored rack. I lifted his head and saw the brow tine and the 4 points on his right beam. Another 8 point, I thought. I looked at my phone and it was 8:06am. I’m sure this was the earliest I ever got a buck in the morning. I guess I didn’t have to spend time getting cold enough to start that fire which was all right by me. 

 

  I drug him over to a level place to field dress him. I took off my orange parka and put it over my rifle I leaned against a tree. I took off my brown button down, exposing my orange ‘T’ shirt, and stuffed it in the back pouch of my parka before field dressing the buck. I saw where the bullet entered behind his right shoulder and exited behind his left. After field dressing him I cleaned the liver off and put it in a big zip lock for a future liver and onion meal. While I was filling out the ear tag I heard rustling leaves up above me. I looked and saw a bone white racked buck slowly moving, as if with caution, through the trees. I was pretty sure he had walked pretty close to where I was sitting this morning. He looked to be an 8 point, like the one I shot, only with a much whiter rack.

  Three years ago I was hunting in the same place. I saw 4 different bucks but they were all illegal to shoot. Two were just Y’s without brow tines and they were with a spike. Later on another spike came down the hill. I hunted the following year hoping that they would visit this area again but I never saw them. I wondered if these two bucks were a couple of ones I saw three years ago that grew up? 

 I roped my buck, gathered my parka and equipment and drug him down to the gas line. From there I drug him upon the gas line lane to where I entered the ANF. I left him lay while I walked the road up to get my truck. After driving back I had to wait about 10 minutes before help arrived to help me get the buck on the back of my truck bed.

  Back at the campsite I got him hung up with my Gambrel. I ate the two sandwiches I had packed with a cup of hot tea. After that I looked at my watch and I was just in time for my 2:00 nap.

  Being bitter cold, and really not needing another deer, I stuck around camp and stayed inside most of the time. My son Giddeon didn’t see or get a shot at any bucks that he hunted on Saturday or Sunday till noon.

As I pulled out, with camper in tow Sunday, I lit up a RP Number 6 for the drive home.

 

 Coincidentally, I was born, raised and lived at 806 Park Ave. until I got married. The same time ‘8:06’ when I got this buck. Sometimes I think my grandfather and dad look down upon me from above. My grandfather tests my hunting ability. My dad on the other hand leaves subtle signs to jog my memory…

~doubletaper