Gary Akin

If you’ve hunted the Big Woods long enough it will become apparent that opportunities to down a big buck don’t happen very often. In fact, these chances rarely present themselves. Hard work, persistence, knowledge, and yes luck all come into play. You could follow a track for miles, do everything correctly, play “the end game” to perfection and have it all fall apart due a swirl of the wind at the most critical time… or a dry twig on the forest floor, hidden under the leaves just as you make that final step to the tree you intend to brace yourself against for your shot! I’ve had these events happen. They hurt. But this is a story of a day that occured over thirty five years ago. It is burned into my being! There was no bad luck that day. In fact, probably all luck involved was good. It is a story of inexperience and decisions. In hindsight, which is always perfect, nearly every decision I made that day was one I regret to this day.

I’d grown up in the southern tier of New York. My Dad had gotten my brothers and me started down the hunting path. I’d learned to hunt as he’d done in that area which consisted of smaller woodlots mixed with agricultural fields, orchards, wetlands, etc… Find the runs the deer used to travel between their feeding and bedding areas. Sit and wait. Find the cover the deer escaped to when pressured after “Opening Day”. Sit and wait.

I didn’t have much experience hunting the “Big Woods”. In fact, I hadn’t done much deer hunting at all for a few years. I’d been stationed in the Air Force and deer hunting opportunities weren’t existent. I had done quite a bit of partridge hunting with my buddy Dave and trout fishing whenever I could. My time in the big woods was usually following a trail into a fishing spot.

I’d travelled to my Dad’s camp in the southern Adirondacks. When I was ready to turn in that night to sleep, I went outside for my last pee off the corner of the porch. It was about 10 pm. The air was getting colder and a very fine drizzle of rain could be heard hitting the leaves on the ground. I smiled, knowing tomorrow would be a fun day for creeping. I can remember being a little nervous. This was before the days of GPS. I planned to ‘get back in there’ utilizing a familiar state trail which ended at a trout pond, a bit over a mile in. But I intended to break from the trail and head toward a high ridge up on the side of a higher mountain. I’d been in there a time or two and I knew I could see the pond from up there (if it was clear). I had 2 compasses and a topo map in my small pack. I could make my way down to the pond later, and walk the trail out. The forecast said it may transition into snow in the higher elevations, but not get bitterly cold. The woods would be quiet. I might even have a background of white to aid me.

I awoke as I usually do about 3:30 am. When I went out on the porch for my early morning relief from the corner of the porch, it was quiet. No rain, but my flashlight beam revealed snowflakes drifting down. The ground was still brown but it wouldn’t be daylight for several hours yet. I went back inside to try to get a bit more sleep… It might be a good day…

An hour and a half later I awoke ready for breakfast and a good day in the woods. My glance through the window revealed about an inch of snow was on the ground. I knew there’d probably be a little bit more where I was heading. A quick bite to eat, double check of my pack to be sure I had my snack, compass, map, knife, etc. I’d already determined that if I got “turned around” in there, use the compass and head northwest. This would get me to the road. ANY other direction and I could possibly be walking for days!

After about a 10 minute drive to the trailhead, the falling snow had basically ended. I was on my way “in”. I stayed on the trail for about a mile, all uphill, then broke to the right continuing uphill. I hadn’t cut a single deer track yet. After a steep climb of about 200 yards I was up on the ridge where I wanted to be. It was about 8 am. I sat there for about a half hour. I was relaxed, my breathing and heart rate had slowed to a more normal level and I’d started to cool down so I now buttoned my shirt, but still left my jacket open. Time to start creepin’ & peepin’! Today’s gonna be “The Day!”

My intention was to slowly work along the top of this ridge in a zig zag fashion. I had about a half mile before it would end and start going up again. This ridgetop was about 300 yards wide. However, I’d only gone perhaps 50 yards when I spotted the first one. A scrape! As I crept towards it I saw the tracks. They’d come up from down below and from my left. After putting down the scrape the buck had turned and was now moving in the same direction I wanted to go. I stopped and worked the woods hard, scanning everything in front of me. Looking down the the staggered slots in the snow, I already spotted another scrape! This buck is right in front of me! There hadn’t been any snow on the ground at all just 4 hours ago. These tracks were through the snow with no snow in them. When I came to the scrape my breath was taken away. It was violent. Pawed down hard through the snow and leaves, exposing dark Adirondack soil. Dirt and leaves had been kicked back a full 10-15 feet behind the scrape. Against the totally clean white snowy canvas, the dirt and leaves made it appear as if a dirt bomb had left its debris here!

I followed those tracks slowly, stopping looking move repeat, for the length of the ridge top. That buck was moving steadily, yet pausing every 30-40 yards to put down another scrape. Every one was as violent as the first. On some I found dirt stuck to the trees, occasionally as far as at least 10 feet behind the scrape. All of this was new for me. Yes, I’d followed tracks before, but in the southern tier, parcels ‘might’ get to over a hundred acres.. and then usually less than half would be woods. Property lines would end the walk. Tracks usually would simply be an indication that yes there’s deer around, or, wow!, “do you think that’s a buck?”. I was inexperienced enough to not even really comprehend the opportunity in front of me that day. With the direction this buck was taking me, I didn’t have a property line in front of me for perhaps 30 miles! It was only about 8:30 am.

I reached the end of the ridge and now the terrain sloped steeply up. The buck continued straight up the slope. Still putting scrapes down regularly, now because of the slope, its weight was on his front shoulders when he pawed the ground. With the ground dropping so quickly behind him, the dirt and leaves on the snow would be my first indication that I was approaching another scrape, sometimes still 20 YARDS above me! I could finally see a break in the climb approaching. I’d been climbing steadily for a couple hours now and I could see the trout pond far below and behind me. I was above most of the other mountains. Slowly… my head crested the edge. In front of me was an almost flat area of almost an acre or two. There were scrapes in the snow EVERYWHERE! I froze. Even with my inexperience I recognized that I had gained a lot of time and distance… Just my head was above the precipice and I tried to pick everything in front of me apart. I remember it was difficult just standing where I was. My feet were on a steep grade falling back behind me. I was afraid to move. He’s got to be right here! I’d been moving more or less steadily, and to tear this area up that buck had to have been here for awhile.

Finally… I was satisfied the buck was not here. I eased up over the edge onto the flat. Ahhh, relief to my aching legs! Again I remained motionless except for my eyes which were taking in my surroundings. For the first time today HE wasn’t travelling in a straight line. He’d meandered all about putting down scrapes. Lots of them. I more or less followed his track around till I finally found where he’d simply walked off the flat, more or less turning left and going around the top of the mountain, even down slightly. His new path had him pointed toward an area I’d heard about from a few of my Dad’s buddies who’d hunted there. The “Duck” ponds. “Don’t go to the “Duck” ponds!” I’d been told of tough country, dense evergreens, lots of swamps and water. Tough to get into, tough to get out of. (remember this is before cell phones or GPS devices)

And then I hesitated. I lost my confidence. It wasn’t even noon yet. I really couldn’t get lost, I’d been putting down boot tracks! I still had 5 hours of daylight in front of me, a buck RIGHT in front of me… and I invented a reason to call it off! Just prior I’d read a story in a national magazine about hunting big woods bucks. It stated that it was foolish to walk away from good deer sign because of what they called “dead zones”. “Find a ‘core area’ and hunt it.” So… here I am, with a buck that I’d been gaining on all morning,.. with smokin’ tracks, in fresh snow that wasn’t even here a few hours ago,.. a buck that I hadn’t alarmed yet into running… and I sat down to watch a CORE ZONE?!!

There are six million acres in the Adirondacks. I had a buck, probably a very big buck within a few hundred yards of me. I am as sure of that now, as I could possibly be.. A buck I hadn’t alarmed yet. His tracks told me he was walking directly away from me. I had a solid 5 hours of daylight ahead and I sat down, got comfortable, and hoped that a deer that was walking directly away from me… in 6 million acres of woods… would return this one acre before the sun went down! Oh how I wish I had that day back! At least I can say my two and a half mile walk back to the truck was mostly downhill. I am haunted by that day. I wish I’d at least stuck with it to have seen just how big HE was.. I now have grandchildren who are older than my own boys were back on that day. I remember all those details. The would’ves, could’ves, and should’ves… But you know what? Because of THAT day I’ve had quite a few very good days in the big woods. I was inspired to make several trips to northern Maine. Most times I didn’t get my buck. But I often did find out was beyond the next ridge. A feeding area that I wouldn’t have discovered. A scrape line that proved itself to be rewarding. I even discovered a trout pond while hunting with my brother Tom that probably wouldn’t have been found if we didn’t continue putting one foot in front of the other and moving on! For that I am truly thankful…

Still… That doesn’t mean my memories don’t hold a few scars!

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