The Curse

            Fresh snow had blanketed the foothills of northwestern Maine on the third week of the 2021 deer season. I had dropped off my son, Cam, on a fresh track at daylight. A big buck had crossed a logging road during the night. Cam figured by the track that he could catch this bruiser at some point. I wished him luck while he loaded his 30-30 Winchester. The buck was headed for the edge of a beaver bog. In the past, I had followed many bucks in this area, prompting me to bark out scenarios he would find while chasing the big footed buck. Cam nodded his head in agreement while checking his gear, then he quietly vanished in the fading night.  

            This was our week to hunt together. Truth be known, this week was the one time I look most forward to during deer season. After spending the last 25 years guiding deer hunters, I have reduced my guiding duties down to one week. The rest of the season is dedicated to hunting with my youngest son. Seems, I have lost the edge to chase bucks every waking moment of November. Age and health have made me accept limitations. The days of tracking up and down mountains and valleys are over for me. Don't be mistaken, the hunt still “calls out” to me each year.

            I hunted all morning this day. A few does crossed in front of me. While assessing them,  I heard a buck grunt a couple of times, but a wrong wind sent him running. I found his track to be that of a good size buck. I tracked him for a while. He was walking towards the only major road in the area. Logging trucks could be heard flying by, as I crept behind the buck. Movement got my eye. A deer was walking towards me. I raised my 760 carbine, putting the deer in my scope. The deer had stopped and was looking back. The buck had gnarly spikes with one brow-tine. The question was, is this the buck I'm tracking or a smaller buck. He stood for a bit, allowing me to decide: Do I shoot him or not ? I let him walk off passing by me at 30 yards. Checking the tracks, he was the buck I was following. Seems he had a deformed rack. Most likely an older deer fading with age.

            The walk to the truck, gave me time to reenact the hunt. It gave me time to reenact the hunts of the last 3 years. The buck reminded me, I have gone three seasons without hanging a deer. Oh, I have let some nice bucks walk in recent years but maybe I shouldn't be so picky now that I have grown old. Maybe my wife's plea for fresh venison and not antlers is starting to sink in. Maybe I am worthy of this curse that haunts me in recent years.

             When I met up with Cam early in the afternoon, he was showing the signs of a long tracking job with no buck. He got in the truck, peeled off some sweat drenched clothes while telling his story guzzling bottles of water. I sat back, listening to a story I have lived many times. Cam's a good a tracker and his string of 11 bucks supports this. His persistence and ability to track down bucks reminds me of a guy named Hal. After his story, he asks how my day went. Oh, I saw a spike buck and let him go. We looked at each other cracking smiles simultaneously.

            “So, the curse continues huh, Dad ?”