A mist was hanging over the valley as Jim reached his favorite spot. The raw wind rattled the trees, and the gray clouds were moving quickly overhead. The brush would provide some shelter, but if it started raining he’d have to go back early. Staying still was difficult enough, but it was even harder to stay awake this early in the morning. And keeping motionless when he was wet and cold was usually more than he could manage.
Jim unfolded his hunting stool and sat down, carefully placing his shotgun across his lap. Taking his slugs from his pocket, he loaded his weapon as quietly as he could, wincing every time he pumped the gun to add another round. The cold sound of metal carried a long way in the cold air, and by the time he was done every deer in the county would probably know his exact whereabouts. Of course, he could have loaded his ammunition back at the car, but he’d convinced himself that it was safer not to tromp through the woods in the dark with a loaded gun.
Well, his wife had convinced him, he admitted. And after all, he had promised. Of course, she’d never know the difference, but she always seemed to know when he had something to hide. Usually, it was easier just to let her have her way. And at least it gave him an excuse for coming home empty-handed.
Not that he really needed an excuse, he thought: he rarely saw a deer, and was a terrible shot. At least that’s what all his hunting buddies told him. But he still liked the solitude of sitting by himself, communing with the woods. That’s what was important, he always told himself.
On the other hand, communing with the woods had yet to fill his freezer with venison. That task usually fell to his brother, the Mighty Hunter sitting two fields over, who never failed to have more venison than he knew what to do with.
Shifting in his stool, Jim looked at his watch: it was nearly sunrise; the animals should be stirring any time now. A crackling noise made Jim spin around, his heart beating wildly. Looking through the dim light, he could see a small rustling in the branches of a nearby downed tree. Obviously a squirrel or chipmunk, scurrying about in its morning quest for food. He took a deep breath and relaxed, and broke off a few twigs and branches that impeded his line of fire.
To the east, Jim could see the glow of the rising sun through the fog; to the west, the dark sky suggested that the weatherman’s prediction of rain for the day was probably on the money. Straight ahead, he had a wide field of fire across the farm field, where the winter wheat was beginning to peek through the moist ground. The dense woods on the other side provided cover for the deer who, judging from their tracks, often ventured into the field to graze, on their way to the nearby creek. It would be a great spot for a better hunter, he smiled; for himself, he was happy just to see the occasional deer.
A soft breeze tickled his face and started rattling the branches throughout the tree line, and Jim caught the first whiff of the coming rain. Pulling his coat tighter around him, he heard the first pattering of raindrops in the branches overhead. Casting his eyes toward the woods, he could see little but the dark shadows; he heard nothing but the wind dancing through the trees. Even the squirrel had decided to take a break, he smiled. Reaching down for his thermos, he poured himself a cup of hot coffee, and took a deep breath. After all, he smiled, you can’t hurry the deer.
There was nothing to do but wait.
As he waited, raindrops started plopping into his makeshift blind. The wind gusted as the front began making its way through the countryside, and the fog began to lift with the changing weather. As Jim reached into his pack to retrieve his rain gear, he saw movement across the field, in the tall grass edging the woods. Chiding himself for leaving his binoculars in the car, he was squinting for a better look when he saw them.
Four of them.
Four does, bounding out of the woods and heading right towards him, silent as ghosts in the mist.
His heart racing, Jim let his poncho fall silently to the ground and slowly lifted his shotgun from his lap.
Easy, he told himself: you always hurry everything. It’s why you always miss. Just calm down and relax. Don’t force the shot; let them come to you. And don’t be in such a rush to shoot the damn gun. You might even score this time, if you’re not too impatient to wait for the right shot.
Half-way through the field the animals slowed and looked behind them. One of them, the biggest female, sniffed the air. Turning briskly, she began trotting across the field, leading the others behind her. Jim raised the shotgun to his shoulder and took aim; silently, he turned off his safety and concentrated on following the big doe as she moved. Taking and holding a deep breath, he was about to fire when the four animals broke into a dead run, darting across the field at flank speed before he could react.
Damning his luck, Jim was about to lower his weapon when he saw something else.
Something that sent his racing heart into overdrive.
It was another deer.
A buck.
A majestic, ten-point buck.
More than two-hundred pounds if he was an ounce, a veritable freezer-full of venison, it was the biggest animal Jim had ever seen in the woods.
Slowly, the animal crept forward, his nose low to the ground and snorting as he moved, following the trail left by the does. Impervious to danger, caring for nothing but tracking the scent of the females he was pursing, the deer looked driven, angry, almost possessed. Forty yards from the blind it stopped for a moment to sniff the air, exposing its large broadside. Pushing aside all doubts about his abilities as a hunter, Jim felt his heartbeat slow and his mind clear. Everything came into focus, and Jim felt an unfamiliar calm flow over him.
Taking aim just above the foreleg, Jim pulled the trigger and fired. A torrent of flame erupted from the gun barrel. He felt the stiff recoil of his gun, and heard the explosion of gunpowder penetrating his ears.
Immediately, he saw the slug’s impact --- twenty yards past the damn deer, raising a pile of dirt on the far side of the field. Startled, the buck broke into a dead run, hurtling toward the creek and disappearing into the tree line before Jim could rack his gun for another shot.
He took a deep breath and swore at himself for being such a miserable excuse for a hunter. But despite his disappointment, Jim was surprised to find himself laughing. As he did most years, he’d had his chance and blown it. But this time, he didn’t feel as bad as he usually did.
The animal was just too good for the likes of him, he thought.
Too beautiful to be brought low by the worst shot in the family.
And too lucky not to have a chance at the females waiting down by the creek.