SHOULD I JUST GIVE UP?*

 "Nobody likes a quitter." The old man's words keep spiraling through my head as I sit in the tree stand, gun smoke wafting through the woods. Yet, I remember in the early 90's my career as an artist, musician, and writer in tatters, unable to get a show, a publishing or recording contract, my father admitted that he would look for other endeavors. I never quit, but I did shift gears. That's when I started hunting again and would soon buy my church and move upstate. I never looked back.

    This morning I hunted the stand above the Hassidics. With a storm coming I had high hopes for a doe. The morning started off good. A deer snorted as I walked up the hill to the stand. Good sign. Once I settled in and the sun came up I saw a small doe below me to the right. I put the scope on her. Not a shooter. Then I looked behind me. There stood a nice mature doe. She had me. So I slowly moved back behind the tree and tried to keep my good eye on her. She turned and headed right for my shooting lane to my left. I shifted in my seat, put the barrel on a rest, cocked the hammer and settled the cross hairs where I hoped she would step out. She did not disappoint. 50 yards broadside in the snow in open woods......a chip shot. I shot. She bounded and stopped, looking around for the source of that loud sound. As I fumbled to reload she trotted away unscathed. I'd missed.....AGAIN!

    Fifteen minutes later I saw a large bodied deer walking towards me through the woods. For some reason bucks walk different than does. I knew this was a buck. Then he disappeared in a bunch of dead falls. Twenty minutes later he reappeared walking towards me. At about 150 yards I could see horns. It wasn't Biggers or Golden Boy, but a nice solid eight, a definite shooter this late in the season. I got the gun steadied on a shooting stick and waited. Just before the woods opened up he stopped facing me at 100 yards and then ducked behind a tree. In years past I could've made that shot. But after missing the doe I had no confidence so I held my fire. Then he turned and walked back into the woods.

   Torn up over another miss I still hoped to get one before this snow storm hit. At 11:00 another doe came through behind me. I put the gun on the rest, bleated her stopped and settled the crosshairs on her vitals. BANG! She lurched but didn't drop. She looked hit, but I couldn't be sure. I lost sight of her as she crossed the ridge. I got down to look for blood. At first I found nothing.  Then doubling back to the spot where I thought she was standing I found a few tiny drops of red in the snow. I was elated. My happiness soon passed. That was the only blood I found. I spent the next two hours criss-crossing that ridge in search of blood or a body. To no avail. My morning went from good to bad to worse. I've always said I'd hunt until I couldn't anymore. I thought that point would be far in the future when my legs, heart or endurance gave out. Honestly I have no idea what's happening to me. Bad as my eye is I can still hit the target. Why can't I kill a deer? The two bucks I missed were fast long shots. These does were gimmes. I don't want to admit that the time may have come for me to hang up my guns. But after this morning I may be doing more harm than good in the woods. I wish I had some answers. 

* I came home and cried on Shewho's  shoulder (on the phone). She always has the best advice. "Get something to eat and get back out there." As depressed as I was I followed her advice. I still hunted back to my stand at 2:00 pm. As I went I looked for blood or a dead doe. Nothing. Then as I entered the woods at the end of the extension road I almost stepped on the deer I had shot laying dead in the snow. I had hit her perfectly, double-lunged. She had run about 150 yards with no blood trail. I was never so happy to walk up on a dead deer. If I had waited the snow storm would've covered up all traces of her until the crows and coyotes discovered her. I don't really believe in a guiding higher power, but something led me to that spot. In the name of the father. In the name of the mother. In the name of the Little Green Man. I couldn't be more thankful.  My confidence is back.