STORY PAGE
A Friend's Old Shotgun
I had recently moved to Ithaca, New York and made new friends. I was employed at Ithaca College and had managed to get vacation
for the first week of hunting season. I was planning to hunt "rifle country" in Eastern Broome County with an old hunting buddy. Sadly, he couldn't
get time off.
The Chaplain at Ithaca College had told me that he had an old Winchester slide action 12-gauge pump that I could borrow if I
needed a shotgun. Although I did not plan to use it, I had taken it to clean and oil for the Chaplain. I had finished the cleaning and even "cold
blued" some rough spots.
Monday (the first and usually the best day) of hunting season, I completed work on the gun. I was done before 10:00 AM and I was
bored the remainder of the day. Tuesday started out boring. I think I was in the way, for my wife started pestering me to get out of the house and go
hunting. I did. On the way to the woods I checked the ammunition that came with the gun. It was birdshot, not deer slugs. I went to town, found some slugs,
and drove to a decent looking area not far from where I lived. Normally, I would not hunt an area I was unfamiliar with, but I had been told that hunting was
allowed and there were some deer there. A walk in the woods would be better than watching soaps, I could check out a few spots, and who knows.
I found an area, went in, and found a nice spot to sit. It was a beautiful sunny autumn day. I was almost asleep when I heard a
squirrel collecting his winter stash. They are noisy little buggers and make a considerable racket scurrying through the fallen dead leaves. Now I like gray
squirrel and dumplings. I also remembered that I had a few bird shot shells in my pocket. So, I removed two slugs and replaced them with two bird shot
shells. I waited.
It wasn't a squirrel at all. It was a large eight-point buck. He was swaggering towards me like he owned the entire forest. He
had not yet realized that I was there, but it wouldn't be long before he did. I had, not one, but two shells to (noisily) eject before I could fire a slug. I
also had an unfamiliar firearm. I was used to the action, but had never sighted or fired it. And as always, I
had what is called "buck fever". I calmed and thought of what I should do.
I quickly ejected the two shells of birdshot, and found the kill spot before he had decided to move. I squeezed the trigger, and
down he went. Boy was I good. I went over. It was a very large deer. I set the gun against a nearby tree and started to field dress the buck. I was thinking
of how fortunate I had just been. As I placed the tip of my blade between the hind legs, I saw two hooves, one each flying by each side of my head. If either
had connected, I would not be writing this now,
The upper part of the legs must have hit my shoulders as I was thrown back towards the tree. As the deer was getting up I
grabbed the gun, pumped another slug in the chamber and fired as the deer was turning to move. He fell once more.
This time I poked him with a stick many times before dressing him. He was dead. I then noticed that he was missing one side of
his horns. My first shot had apparently hit his antlers and knocked him unconscious. With out thinking my first shot had been a "head shot", as if
I was using my rifle. Obviously, I had aimed a little high.
It would be a good story if it ended here, but.
I connected a drag strap and started for the car. It was up hill all of the way. Did I mention it was warm? Not now. It was hot.
Did I say he was heavy? By the time I was half way I was beat. My coat was off, and my sweatshirt was wringing wet. (I guess that is why it is called a sweatshirt.)
My rest periods became longer than the time I was able to drag. Then I couldn't go on. In the center of a large clearing, was a small clump of trees. I
tossed my wet orange sweatshirt up in the trees and deposited the deer below as hidden as possible. I managed to walk to the car and headed home for help.
A neighbor was returning home from work. He agreed to help. By the time he had changed clothes, I had dropped off my gun. I also
remembered to get a flashlight as it was getting dark. I found the spot where I had parked easily. We headed in. Do you know how many clearings there are
with small clumps of trees? At least three without sweatshirts near the top. I was sure we had gone to far. We both had lights. I moved left, he moved
right, and we started back to the car. He found the clearing and called. I found him, and we carried the deer to the car.
We had tied the deer to the trunk of the car when the State Police stopped. Two guys in the dark with flashlights with a deer
could be considered "Jacking a Deer". I explained what happened. I also told the officer I didn't have a gun as I had dropped it at home. He said
he would believe my story if I had no firearm in the trunk. We untied the deer. He checked the trunk. We retied the deer and headed for home.
We hung the deer to my TV antenna, then to a tree as my dog had thoughts of grandeur and the deer was too big for the antenna.
My neighbor went home to his supper with my, "I owe you one." I didn't have supper, as I almost had time to join my bowling team that night.
I was late getting there. I told my story. I don't think they believed me.
Yes, I know it is illegal to have both birdshot and slugs with you while hunting. Remember, this is just a story.
Oh, one other thing. If you happen to be hunting West Hill and come upon a clearing with a clump of trees with an orange
sweatshirt, you can have the sweatshirt.
I just found a picture. See below.
 | |
|