One of my passions as a young man was Deer hunting. This is about the Deer I didn’t shoot.

Every Fall I would drag out my WWII British Enfield .303, which had been reposing in my Gun Cabinet since last hunting season. I really liked that old Rifle, it was well balanced, had plenty of power with a minimum kick. Besides, it had some history. I imagined it going through the war in some Soldiers hands. What a story it could tell. It was still being used, albeit for a more peaceful purpose. I would clean and oil it, check the ammo and a couple of weeks before Deer Season opener, head out into the woods with one of my friends, or my sons and my daughter when they became old enough to hunt. We would locate a likely looking site to set up a stand, mark the trail so we could find it in the dark.

One year I needed to purchase some ammo, so I went to a backcountry Gun Shop, which happened to have reloads for half the price of new. After my purchase we headed for a gravel pit to sight in our rifles. The first shot with my new ammo mis-fired, but I continued to shoot emptying a clip, and everything seemed to go well. We were ready for the hunt.

This particular year there were only two of us, my hunting partner Wendell, and myself. We had picked out our spot in the Beauty Lake area of Pillsbury State Forest. We had hunted there before so we were fairly familiar with the terrain. A few years ago a Tornado had wiped out many acres of trees. One hill, near where we hunt was a complete disaster, trees uprooted, torn apart and scattered across the hillside. A sad sight.

The weather was very mild for the first part of November, probably around thirty degrees during the day. Early in the morning we found our stands, and waited for the “Big Buck”, the Legend of Pillsbury Woods. Around ten o’clock we decided he wasn’t coming, so we went looking for him, leaving our stands we began to quietly stalk our game. There had been a little snow the night before, just enough to show the tracks of the deer. We found lots of sign, it being rutting season, the Bucks had left their marks all over the place. We just had to find where they were hiding.

I took a small side trail for about a half a mile, following some tracks. I suddenly realized
I was no longer on a trail; I was smack up against the windfalls. I should have retraced my steps back to the main trail, but we don’t always do the smart thing. I figured if the Deer could find a way through, I could to. Bad move! After about a hundred yards or so, making enough noise to scare anything within a mile, I decided to turn back. Turn back to where? I had been twisting and turning, climbing over some downers, and generally stumbling around, now I didn’t know where back was. I was lost! It was a cloudy day, so I couldn’t use the Sun to guide me. But what the heck good would that do? The Sun is so far south in the winter I could never decide which was true east or west, unless it was when the sun was actually rising. Of course! My compass. But everybody knows a compass doesn’t work right when you’re lost. But I checked it anyway. Sure enough it was wrong.

I knew north was that way, but the compass didn’t agree. I looked for moss on the trees, but they were so twisted a turned around I couldn’t tell which side it was on. Now, I know a lot people are taught that when they have a problem they should prayer for help. I have no problem with that, but my philosophy is; if I get into trouble because of my own stupidity, I should get out the best way I can. If I ask God for help and He does, it’s like getting a loan from the Bank, I have to pay it back somehow. If He does it without my asking, it’s like a Grant, so I could do some good with it, but I don’t have to. I heard about a guy who got lost. He prayed and said, “If you show me how to get out of here, I’ll give twenty percent of my income to charity.” He turned around and there was the trail out. He closed his eyes and said, ”never mind, I found it myself.” Well, I did find it myself. (I think). I must have come full circle, because I recognized the trail, almost back to my stand. Just between you and me, I did thank God anyway. That’s like putting money in the Bank.

My partner and I had agreed to eat lunch in a clearing near my stand, so I headed in that direction. I stepped around a large Pine tree, and there, not twenty feet away was the biggest Buck I had ever seen, standing broadside to me. He turned his head and looked me straight in the eye, as if he was saying, “go ahead, take your best shot.” I slowly unslung my Rifle, aimed and pulled the trigger, and missed. I couldn’t believe he still stood there, I swear he was grinning at me. I took aim and fired again. I missed. That old Buck shook his head, snorted in disgust and sauntered off into the woods. If God was looking out for anyone that day, it wasn’t me. I didn’t have the heart to hunt anymore that day.

The moral of the story: When it comes to purchasing ammunition, don’t do it on the cheap. If you want to use reloads, do them yourself. The next day I took my Rifle to a Gun Smith. Sure enough the reloads were defective, damaging the barrel at the point of discharge. I hope that Buck waits until next year.

Don R. Wilkins

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