Rich Akin

This year’s hunting season had not been going well for “The Little Green Camp”. The season had started off way back in mid-October during the initial black powder hunt. The group referred to internally as “The Regulars” had come to the camp as they do each year to kick off the season. Though I’m good friends with this group and also kin to two of them, their “name” was not one of my ideas! They are all good folks and campmates who usually add to the antler collection on the camp’s wall each season. I’ve had the pleasure of sharing good times with them all, enjoying both their company on the hunt as well as their comradeship around camp. But, “Regular”. I won’t go there unless you’re talking about their daily use of the outhouse!

After having a weekend of seeing few deer, they had headed home with higher expectations on the annual week hunt during the second week of rifle season. I joined them this time and with the leaves still being up on most of the trees, seeing deer in the woods on watch was still pretty difficult. We had a great time as we always do, but the new game pole that my brother Gary had erected the previous summer was yet to be decorated. After being two weekends deep into the season remarks were starting to be made about how else we could use that pole!

The following weekend Gary had hunted alone at camp and although he hunted hard and managed to see a bear, a spike horn was the only buck sighted and he let him walk on. By now, it was time for the next group to arrive at camp. “The Grumpy Old Men”, see them on the web site. Along with them, were my cousins, Bird and Mag. Another hard week of hunting came and went, and yet, there was still “nothing hangin”.

Gary broke camp and headed up to Maine for a week-long hunt. My plan at that time was to leave myself for Maine the following Wednesday, giving me three days of hunting with him up there. He ended up taking a huge nine pointer on the first day out while hunting during a heavy snow. With a nice buck already taken, it wasn’t worth waiting for three more days for me to get there, so he headed home. I often think about the thoughts and feelings he must have had going through his head as he drove back to New York with that awesome buck in the back of his truck. Though I wasn’t there, because of the time we had put in the previous year in Maine, I’m sure my thoughts are not that far off.

Now, because he was back several days earlier than anticipated, we quickly worked out a plan to hunt together the weekend coming up at the camp. Now it was the second to last weekend of the season, we were determined to put something on that new pole. It turned out to be another great weekend, but unfortunately, we just didn’t see any horns. We had a few cold ones that night and talked about the season, this was to be Gary’s last night at camp for the year.

Thanksgiving weekend, which was now closing in, was one that I always managed to see more deer on. As I loaded up the gear and left after the evening turkey, I was happy to know the forecast was calling for snow for the next three days. I arrived at camp after a long ride north through the snow. My hopes were extremely high for the weekend, and I really wanted to take a buck, our camp had never been shut out for the year. This would be the last weekend of the season and I was determined to hunt hard in the fresh falling snow.

It was very cold when we finally unpacked, started the kerosene heater and got the woodstove going. The snow that had been falling for the past several hours was piling up on top of what was already on the ground. Everything seemed to be looking perfect, a couple days again at camp, new snow with more on the way and as always, some good company. I wished Gary could have been there with us. This was like one of those times that “R.G.” talks about when he says, “you hope your daughter isn’t getting married or your wife isn’t in the delivery room” when the forecast is like this! We stayed up late that night as we anticipated the morning watch and who was going where. Waking up to nearly 10 inches of powder now on the ground, I can tell you this, despite the late night “planning”, coffee was indeed optional!

The woods looked new and freshly painted. The hemlocks it seemed caught every flake, there was only a slight breeze as the snow continued to fall. I had decided the night before to still hunt the entire morning and hopefully along the way, cut a track and go with it. As I headed out of camp into the winter wonderland, it took only a couple hundred yards and several sets of tracks to realize that the deer were already on the move! I crept silently in and out of hardwoods and beech trees and skirted the hemlocks, peering in as often as possible. Although I kept crossing tracks from deer, it seemed like nothing else was even alive. No squirrels or blue-jays, geese on the wing or even an adrenaline producing partridge flush. Yet, the further I trekked, the more at peace I became with myself, my thoughts, and the snow covered woods that surrounded me.

Hunting in a direction that allowed the breeze and snow to angle from left to right out in front of me, was giving me a good feeling. It was only a matter of time I thought, before I’d finally get a glimpse at what was making these fresh tracks in the snow. As I moved along my silent journey, I began to get that feeling of just knowing that you’re getting into a great area. It’s hard to describe this feeling to someone who isn’t a hunter. It also happens while trout fishing as you ease your way up or down the stream and you see the perfect stretch of water that swirls around that boulder. You just know there’s a nice brown laying out there waiting. As you make your perfect cast and your lure lands exactly where you wanted it to, your arms are tense and you’re totally focused on that strike you know you’re going to get! This section of woods was doing just that to me, slow down, focus more, alert on high! As I proceeded to creep up a slight incline, each step forward opened up a bigger section of hardwoods that I could see bordered a stand of hemlocks. Freeze…

Movement … there it is again! It’s a deer… with horns that I could easily see at this distance through the falling snow! He was making his way toward me, slightly angling to my left and had no idea I was already ON him. I slowly dropped to one knee and leaned against a tree, never taking my eye off him. As he walked behind a big tree that was on the ground, I watched him blend in with the thick tangle of branches that were bent over and holding the fallen snow. For a moment I had a shot through a small opening and had all I could do to hold off for a better offering. Just relax I told myself, he’s not even aware of my presence. He moved up ten yards further and the branches opened up. This time I saw what I was looking for and squeezed. The .270 sent out a roar that pierced the eerily silent snow laden woods. There would be no tracking needed this time, for he dropped right where he had last stood. I quickly chambered another round and began to slowly make my way to my buck that I already knew was carrying a nice rack.

I walked up to him with almost a tear in my eye as I quickly realized that without a doubt, this was not only one of the nicest bucks I had ever shot, the hunt itself, by far was my best ever. I sat down next to him and my thoughts began to wander as the snow immediately began to cover us both up. I was overcome with joy, but most importantly I was extremely thankful. Thankful for this day, thankful for my Dad who had instilled the desire to hunt these great animals, to my brother and best hunting partner Gary, and to my family and two wonderful kids who accept and support the fact that each November I’ll be at “The Little Green Camp”.

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