Archery season had been good yet tough.  Sure, I had seen my fair share of bucks, but none that had given me the opportunity or met my self imposed standards.  After years of harvesting deer with a bow, I had become somewhat of a “trophy” hunter.  Here in Pennsylvania, a “trophy” would constitute a good eight point with antlers at least as wide as his ears.  Believe me, there are a few good bucks running around where I hunt, but competing against them and all the other elements that are combined in a heavily hunted area can be tough at best.  At the close of the season, I had not harvested the big buck that I so dearly craved.

I spent some time after archery season hunting my German Shorthair for pheasants, but I could not get big bucks out of my mind.  I was consumed with where to hunt in rifle season.  Being a die hard bow hunter, I don’t find rifle as my passion but I can’t overlook the fact that rifle season is a great opportunity to harvest a good whitetail.  Year after year, you see the novice hunter in a photo standing over a whopper whitetail.  At age 34, I figured I was way overdue to be the guy in one of those pictures.  I was torn on where to hunt.  Would I hunt with my friend Brian in Greene County, or would I hunt my usual spot that I have hunted for years.  My decision was also compounded because my usual hunting spot was now a 50 yard wide gas line that had been put in over the summer months.

The fact that I was the consummate bow hunter was also a problem during rifle season.  Year after year, I couldn’t seem to stop hunting my archery spots when rifle started.  The problem with this is that the bulk of my archery spots were thick areas not conducive for a 300 Winchester Magnum.  My brother and I had discussions at length on where each of us was going to hunt on opening day but no decisions had been reached.

Before we knew it, it was the day before rifle season started and neither my brother nor I had picked a spot.  At this point, I knew that I would be hunting my normal spot around my brother’s house the only question was “where was I going to sit”?  Sunday found both of us on our Yamahas trolling the hills in search of the perfect tree.  It was at this point, maybe due to lack of time, that we both had a change in our usual mindset.  I looked at Rob and said, “I am going to hunt like a rifle hunter”.  I was going to sit on a gas line or a wide open area where I could let my 300 magnum reach its full potential.  My brother decided to do the same.  This really simplified our scouting.  My old spot that was now a huge gas line suddenly became ideal.  Another of my brother’s favorite spots had also given way to human intrusion and was now a huge gas well.  We drove the Yamahas to both spots, picked the perfect trees, installed our treestands and left the woods.  By the time I had my stand up; it was about a half hour before dark. Talk about cutting it close.

As usual, the morning brought me great anticipation.  After all, I was finally going to actually “rifle” hunt.  I navigated the hills on my Big Bear until I reached my tree.  I was relieved to see my stand hovering above me in the skylight.  Dawn was finally breaking and I could see I was not alone.  I expected company and had placed my stand accordingly.  The gas line I was hunting ran perpendicular through a deep streambed.  I sat closer to the bottom which afforded me ample shooting but afforded others only a shot at big old orange me; a shot not worth taking.  Hunters came as often as the deer.  By eight-thirty, I had seen over twenty does and at least ten different hunters.  I was starting to become discouraged.  Through years of experience, I realized that it was only going to get better.  I had not heard very many shots, and knew that people would soon become restless and start walking.  The cold temperatures were also great motivation to start moving and “get warm”.  In my tree, I was going nowhere fast.  I was well dressed and motivated to let the other hunters bring a deer to me.  I was definitely in it for the long haul.  I would sit all day if necessary.

At nine o’clock, a heard a shot ring out from where my brother Rob was sitting.  I muttered to myself that I knew that Rob just shot.  At about that time, my radio crackled to life with Rob on the other end yelling.  Sure enough, Rob had just downed a dandy eight-pointer.  I congratulated Rob and filled him in on my day’s events up until that point.  Rob decided to celebrate by eating his lunch and relaxing with his buck now that the pressure was off.  Once again, I offered Rob my congrats and he told me “don’t worry; you are definitely going to shoot a buck out of that tree”. 

I had a sandwich and a mandatory Mountain Dew, and settled back into hunting mode.  I saw more doe and more hunters.  It was nearing eleven o’clock when a hunter made his way towards me and decided to walk fifty yards in front of me and cross the gas line.  Most people would have been irritated by his actions, but I encouraged him to enter the thick woods across the line from me.  I smiled and waved to him as he passed realizing that he was nothing but an orange blobbed beagle for me.  Not two minutes after he entered the woods, deer came streaming out onto the gas line.  I counted fifteen more doe thanks to my “beagle's” efforts.  I once again scanned my head on the turret called my neck and was shocked by what I saw.  Standing one hundred yards away like a statue on the gas line was a very large buck.  This was definitely a gift.  The deer could have run, bounded or even walked.  Instead, he stood rock still with not a care in the world.  This was a big mistake.  My Ruger was already shouldered and the shot was off.  The big buck hit the ground and never moved.  In all my years of hunting I can honestly say I had never, ever been so excited.

I immediately called Rob on the radio and excitedly told him of my great fortune of taking a huge buck.  Before long, I was out of my tree and standing over the largest white tail that I had ever harvested.  I dragged the buck down to my stand and just sat there holding his antlers and giving thanks for being able to take such a great deer. 

Both mine and Rob’s bucks were both great deer for the area that we hunt.  We both decided the only reason we were both so successful was the change in direction that we took.  Thank goodness that I had that good idea to hunt like a rifle hunter.