It was a perfect fall afternoon except that it wasn’t. The woods were a canvas painted in reds and oranges against a background of green pine. Perhaps past peak, but still glorious like a woman of a certain age who would be said to be past her prime. But on knowing her, no, not past at all. Not that I am any expert on woman – my wife left me two years ago. Still can’t say why.

The wind was blowing gently from the southwest which suited me well since I expected from past seasons that the buck would be coming out of the west and I would be downwind. The woods were quiet except for the occasional rustling of leaves kicked up by a curious squirrel. It was the end of October and the rut should be in full swing. It was getting close to sunset and it looked like I was running out of time.

I was getting ready to admit the woods had defeated me this day. It would not be the first time. In fact, the last several years had been lean ones. My hunting buddies and I were convinced the deer had abandoned the woods around here. Last year, we didn’t see any deer. The year before I didn’t see any bucks, just an occasional doe. Mountain lions had moved into our Connecticut woods. Maybe they were the cause. I hadn’t seen one yet, and that was okay with me, if you know what I mean. Maybe the bears were the cause. More and more of them have been spotted around here, people say. I saw one last week for the first time. A black bear with three cubs. Three cubs are a lot, so those bears must be doing pretty well. Not so good for the deer then. The bears came up to my tree and fortunately took a left turn at the last moment, seeming not to sense me. Wind was in my favor. But, believe me, my rifle was ready. Don’t want to surprise a bear when she is with her cubs.

I was getting ready to climb down from my treestand when suddenly there was a thunderous commotion over the hill to the right. Under the sleeves of my wool jacket, the hairs on my arms stood on end. And just like that a yearling runs out the thicket and arrives ten yards in front of my treestand. The yearling was clearly spooked by something. It braked to a stop, neck craning around to where it had just come from. Ears cocked. Ready to run again. Coyote? Some get big as wolves in these woods. Bear? They will go after a young deer. Mountain lion? My hands were clenched tightly around the stock of my 30‐30.

After a few minutes, no snarling predator flew out of the thicket. The yearling had turned around at this point and was staring straight back where she came from. I started getting a little relaxed and feeling a little bit cheated by these woods. I was hoping for a little genuine excitement to run out of that thicket. The yearling moved a little further to the left behind a tree and now was out of sight. It was getting darker. Maybe I should get out of the stand. Who cares about the yearling? Then, I thought, let’s give it a minute or two more. Maybe I’ll take a bead on the yearling, a doe, I think, for practice. Maybe I better stay up here. Maybe that mountain lion will show and then I’ll be on the ground face to face with a foe that really could and would kill me. They leap thirty feet onto prey in one bound. It would be on me before my rifle was even swung in its general direction.

My ruminations quickly came to a halt. Out of the corner of my eye, back towards the thicket, it was… not a mountain lion. I spied two grown does, munching quietly on some bushes. OK, I’ve been to this show before – a few does wandering around my property. Maybe these were the same ones I saw two year ago. In fact, I saw them a bunch of times. It was getting to the point where I was so sick of seeing them and no bucks that I thought I might shoot them just so I didn’t have to see them again. An irritating reminder of how bad a season it had become.

So, maybe nothing was chasing that yearling. But then again she was making no move to join the does. Maybe they just showed up separately. Maybe some predator will join the party now that the table was set with a feast of deer. The yearling had now moved back right in front of my stand. If I moved she would sound the alert. They would all fly off. Maybe that was all right. Who cared about a bunch of does? So time to go, right? It was getting darker. Make a decision,

I thought.

I decided to wait a few more minutes. Maybe just maybe, a buck would show up. That was how it was in the old days when the woods were full of deer. The classic hunt was three does strolling through the woods, like pearls on a string, followed by a nice big buck. The does would oh so considerately make sure the woods were clear before the buck showed up. And, for me, that was a blessing and a curse. Too close to you, does in front can indeed signal an alert. But, far enough away, give you plenty of time to prepare a shot. Well, in this case, I had the yearling right in front of my stand. So, even if this mythical buck did show up what was I going to do? I lift my gun, the yearling would see me, sound the alert and they would be off like ghosts in the wind.

I’m looking at the two does and out of the corner my eye… Yes, a buck appears to my right. A good buck, a great buck, great for just showing up. But he could be a really great buck. I tried to see how many points he had on his rack. It was too dark. Yet, I could see it was a fine rack of some sort. Now what, I thought? In a few more minutes I would not be able to see him at all, darkness was falling fast. I slowly lifted the gun to get him in my crosshairs. The yearling snorted, raised her tail and started to run. Then the does followed suit.

I took my eye off the buck for a second. Damn. He was gone. I scanned around like a beacon on a lighthouse. No buck. Then, just where I last saw him – a little the left of there, I see a white tail peeking out to the side of the tree. My buck had not run but was frozen in place, hiding behind a tree. I point my gun to the other side of the tree waiting. Waiting. Waiting. In truth, it was only seconds that were being counted out in double time by my heart beat. He bolts. Damn he was fast. I shoot. He runs off away from me into the thicket I think. Too dark to tell. I

wait. You always wait after a shot. Deer almost always run after they are shot. One last blast of adrenaline. If you chase them, it seems like they find an extra shot or two of that stuff and you’ll be tracking them a while before they drop. I wait five minutes, my heart still racing.

I walk over to where I think I might have shot him. Flashlight in hand, I search the area. No blood. I widen my search. A red drop on a fallen leaf.  Ten feet further, another. But no deer.  A disturbance in the leaves carpeting the forest floor. Did he stumble here? Another drop of blood.  At this rate, it’s going to take a lot of drops before he falls. I keep walking. Drop by drop.

I was not sure how far I had walked. But there the buck finally lay. Still like an unwound clock.  A small pool of blood had accumulated on the ground beneath the hole where the bullet had hit. A hole too high on his side to be called a good shot. But, a shot that did ultimately do its job. I counted the tips of his antlers. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight points. I smiled. The bucks are back in my woods.

I stretched that buck out and unsheathed my six-inch knife, laying it gently on this fellow’s still warm belly. Just sharpened it before the hunt, as if I was going to get one. Bad luck to do that? Could be. Don’t know about those gods of hunting. But I got the buck, so maybe they took pity on me.

It was plenty dark. It would be a long walk back. Time to field dress this guy and get going. Put the rifle down on the forest floor.  Positioned the light on the buck’s belly, propping the flashlight up with a rock. Picked up the knife.  It was dead quiet. Can’t say why, but I stopped right there – holding that knife motionless in the black void. Picked up the flashlight with my left hand and swept the beam into the trees around me. Until I saw the light reflex of two large red-brown eyes suspended a couple of feet off the ground. Staring right at me. By the look of the space between those eyes, a big feline. My spine stiffened. I was not the only hunter who’d been tracking those drops of blood. No longer in my world, I was in hers.