Wishful Thinking

An absolutely true story by J.A. Miller

It was the weekend preceding the 2004 Pennsylvania whitetail rifle season, which opened that Monday, November 29th. Most of the crew had arrived at our camp in upstate PA early in the weekend, so there’d be plenty of time to relax and socialize, enjoying the camaraderie that a close knit hunting camp has to offer. As usually happens, my dad and I headed out to scout our hunting areas. This was mostly just a formality though, because we both knew exactly where we were going to be come Monday morning. Mostly, it was just a time to get out in the woods and catch up on life, and enjoy time together and what Mother Nature has to offer.
I had an antlerless deer tag to go along with my regular antlered deer tag, and since we were there for the entire first week of the season, it would not have been impossible to end up with multiple tags filled. I was so excited about the upcoming week that I began to shoot my mouth off a bit, and exclaimed how cool I thought it would be if I could fill my buck tag, and my doe tag, before lunch time on Monday. Given the amount of deer I had seen in the last couple of years on opening day, I believed there was some possibility that this could happen, but more than likely it was just wishful thinking.
Monday morning, 0:dark:thirty comes, and we all gather around the table for breakfast before everyone gets geared up and heads off to their respective hunting spots. Dad and I jump in the truck and head down the road to our normal parking spot. Cool, looks like we’re the first ones here. That’s a good sign. The moon was full, so the landscape was absolutely beautiful, and so well lit that we didn’t even use our flashlights. We began the hike up the steep first part of our route and soon we were at our turning point. It was an old overgrown logging road that led straight to my stand, and then continued a few hundred yards around the side of the ridge to where Dad usually sits. We stopped here to catch our breath a bit, take in the scenery, and also to load our rifles before continuing to our spots, using only the moonlight, I began to push several of my trusty Federal .270 Win cartridges one by one into the magazine of my Model 70. Little did I know just how big a mistake this would turn out to be.
A short time later I was settled into my stand, waiting for the sun to rise and the rest of the days’ events to unfold. The tall pine I’m leaning against has served as my backrest for several years now, and the pile of rocks strategically stacked at its base still making a good seat for me. Around 8:30, I catch some movement off to my right, just a few minutes after I heard some shots much further down over the hill. Looks like a couple of does coming. They were moving pretty quickly, but finally stopped for a minute or two. As I checked them out in my scope, they began moving again. They stopped one more time, just at the edge of some thick cover that would have had them completely hidden from me had they taken one more bound. I had the scope on one of the does, and had a clean shot at her shoulder. Figuring I had a good bit of time, I moved the scope to the other deer, checking to see if it was maybe a slightly larger doe. It was a larger deer, but where it stopped moving, a tree concealed its head, so I couldn’t be 100 percent sure it was a doe. Just as I was getting ready to shift my crosshairs back to the smaller of the two, they decided it was time to move on, and in one quick leap, they were gone. “I should have just went with the sure thing when I had the chance”, I told myself. Again, I was completely unaware of just what implications this mistake would hold later in the morning. I figured it would be ok…as it was still early, and traditionally I’ve seen quite a few deer at different times of the day, so naturally I assumed I’d get another chance.
As the excitement of the previous incident started to wear off, I got comfortable again, and prepared for a long day in the woods. About 10:30, I caught some movement over my right shoulder. There was a deer moving quietly out of some thick cover, and up onto the logging road that runs past my tree. I thought to myself, “What the heck is that on it’s head?” Of course I knew what it was, and the adrenaline started to flow heavily as I realized this appeared to be a legal whitetail buck. My next problem however, was how I was going to stand up and get myself turned in the correct direction. Somehow, amid the violent shaking from the combination of the cold and the adrenaline, I managed to do just that. I was now standing, with my rifle raised to my shoulder, watching this buck through the scope. He continued to move up the rise, but was just inside the edge of some brush. I could still see him, but it wasn’t where I wanted to take the shot. I thought, “That’s ok, he’s going to be clear of that brush in another few steps, and I’ll have a perfect broadside shot.” Just before he was to be in the open, he did an about face and began backtracking his steps. This anticipation was absolutely killing me, and was doing nothing to help calm the shaking I was doing. Good old buck fever rears its ugly head once again. He continued back down the small rise, on his original track, until he got to the logging road. This is where it got interesting. He turned and kept walking slowly, but he was heading right towards me! I’m looking at his rack as he is closing the distance, completely unaware of my presence. Finally, I was able to count the last point I needed to see to in order to call him legal. I moved the crosshairs down to his brisket, and clicked my safety off. He’s still coming slowly; probably about 25 or 30 yards is all that separated him from me. I got the sight picture I wanted, and began to slowly squeeze the trigger. “Let it surprise me” I reminded myself, and finally it broke. Suddenly, I realized that all I heard was a deafening metallic “click” from the firing pin, which was not followed by the usual loud report and the smell of smokeless powder in the air. I thought to myself “This cannot have possibly happened to me, could it?” And during the same period of time that these thoughts were racing through my head, the nice 6-point buck had realized I was there. I cracked open the bolt on my rifle to confirm my suspicions, and in the very same split second where I saw for sure that there had not been a round in the chamber, the buck took one leap and was gone. Indeed, it did happen to me.
So my day seems to have begun with several mistakes. Loading my rifle in the dark, and not taking the first shot opportunity I had. Had I used my flashlight to load my rifle, I’d have caught the fact that I didn’t quite have the bolt open far enough to catch the lip on the first round, situation averted. Or, had I decided to take the first shot I had at the doe, I’d have realized then that there was nothing in the chamber. And with them as far away as they were, I probably could have gotten away with working the action and chambering a round. And even if I didn’t get away with it, and getting a shot off at the doe, at least there’d have been a round in the chamber later when that buck showed up.
Perhaps my biggest mistake was not in what happened Monday morning. Quite possibly, it was the day before, when I decided to speak aloud my wishes of taking both deer before lunchtime on Monday, instead of just keeping my wishful thinking to myself.

- Jim Miller