It is deer season in many parts of the country....a time of adventure, a family
tradition of being in the woods...a time to bring young hunters into the exciting
realm of bagging that buck. But with the adventure comes the possibility of
accident, a physical dilemma of some sort...and worse; a chance of being lost
out there. This is a true story...and it is possible that it has happened to you
or to someone you know. Take a look, at A Hunter's Panic... story number
13 in Tales Unleashed., it might actually give you a chill.
The Hunter’s Panic
It was a cold day in late November. Deer hunting had arrived in the Northeast, and today would be like so many others over the last forty years. The early rise at 5:00 AM, a quick bite to eat, packing some lunch and a thermos in the backpack, and joking with family members about why such foolishness was attempted year after year! It was more about a family tradition maybe then actually putting meat in the freezer. One often thought how much more fun it could be if were just a bit warmer than the twenty degrees that was now showing on the thermometer.
At twenty degrees, you couldn’t sit for long. And if the temperature was accompanied by a brisk wind and some snow, it was a whole lot less attractive than sitting at home by the fire. Brothers Steve and Ron had been hunting together just shy of four decades. The oldest, Ron, seem to garner the most luck, usually pulling the trigger within hours on the first day . . . then blowing the whistle in his pocket to indicate it was time to come and drag it out.
As the pair left the house to head to their popular spot, Steve immediately noticed the black sky to the west, indicating probably a good snow was in store for the day. It was still dark, and the twenty degrees harsh, as the duo made their way from the parked car and into the woods, agreeing ahead of time on a plan to rendezvous within a couple of hours and to compare notes on what had been seen. A wave of the hand to each other and the hunt was on. It would be another forty minutes before the hunting began at 7:00, and faint light was just starting to creep into the top of the giant pines which lined Steve’s route into his spot. Within minutes, he had settled into a small clump of hemlocks very near a little creek which was now frozen over.
He quickly took inventory of his backpack, pulled out the thermos, and tucked it into his top coat. He knew he’d be needing it soon today. Sitting on a log with his back to a tree, he looked over the 12-gauge and eased the five slugs into the gun, chambering one, and setting the safety as quietly as he could. Now he was ready. Let the fun begin.
He and his brother had been to this spot to many times over the years. It was a block of woods, maybe a quarter to half mile square, with a neighbor’s fences bordering on three sides and a county road on the fourth. The number of deer and turkey was usually very plentiful, and Steve knew the chances of success would be high today.
The only challenge for the moment was keeping warm. He had three layers of clothing on, heavy hunting pants, high boots with double socks, and a hat that tied down over the ears to keep the wind from freezing soft tissues.
The quiet of the moment was astounding. As the morning light continued to drift into his sight, a light snow started to develop from the west, no doubt from the storm clouds he had seen earlier. The waiting game had begun . . . listening, watching, slightly shifting the head from side to side, trying to soak in anything that might be within his view. Within a few minutes, the stillness of the woods made his eye lids heavy, and he lowered his head. He thought a quick nap would be interrupted if a deer came charging his way.
The invasive nature of the twenty-degree chill had found its way inside his sleeves and around his back, and Steve came to attention quickly, his eyes now focusing on full daylight and a pounding snow storm. How long had he dozed? Looking at his watch, it was now 8:10! How could he have slept so soundly in this cold? He shook himself of the two to three inches of snow that had engulfed him, his pack, and his shotgun. It was dry snow and brushed off easily. As he scanned the woods, his sight was only ten to twenty feet away as the snow was coming in heavy amounts now. This was going to be a tough hunt today. With heavy snow and no visibility, you could walk by a deer and not even see it, and the deer would probably bed down and not be moving at all.
It was time to go find his brother. Steve stood up, put on his backpack and headed out. The snow was falling heavier by the minute and the west wind started to kick in, making it almost impossible to watch where you were stepping. Pulling his hat brim down further to help his vision, Steve continued on for a few minutes, heading for the spot where his brother usually sat. But things were looking odd today. The snow had melded things together and the landscape did not look familiar at all. Steve stopped to collect his thoughts. The wind had increased, driving the snow deep into his neck and crevices of his gun. He turned a full 360 degrees, looking for a tree, land contour—anything that looked familiar, but there was nothing that seemed right.
Steve continued to walk, stopping only for a moment behind two large oaks, out of the wind, the catch his breath. The sky was dark and ominous, the snow relentless, and the wind had shifted now from the north.
Steve decided to go back from where he had started, but his tracks were very faint, and within a hundred yards, they had been engulfed by new snow. Steve was not one to panic, but this place in time took him back to a year when he was a kid, and he had been lost for a few hours while at a scout camp in the Catskills. The only difference of that day and this one was the weather.
Steve started to have a panic attack. His breathing was quick and shallow, his eyes and ears straining for something that would give him a clue as to where he was. The whistle! Steve reached into his side pocket, pulled out the whistle attached to the silver chain, and gave two long bursts on it. But his brother would never hear the sound. It was muffled by the heavy snow and strong wind, which he now estimated at least twenty miles an hour. He stuffed it back in his pocket. His panic attack made him perspire . . . the worst thing that could happen in this kind of storm.
Steve moved to get under a small group of pines on a slight incline. Sitting on his pack, he reached for his thermos—but it was gone. Somehow in his quick movements through the snow it must have dislodged. His breathing rate increased, and he tried to settle himself down, knowing that now, he was his own worst enemy. Settle down now, he thought to himself. This parcel you are hunting in is no bigger than a half mile square. If you don’t walk in a circle, eventually you will walk out of it.
He had never been lost before. Well—maybe once. But he marveled at how Mother Nature could totally consume you with her fury, scrambling all of your senses into a total feeling of despair. Trying to calm himself, he thought about his father and his grandfather, and wondered if they had ever been in this situation before.
He would wait it out. The day that started out as a tradition of being with a loved brother, maybe shooting a nice ten-point, and enjoying the outdoors had turned into a whole lot less. His mind had made him panic, the cold had taken its toll on his good spirit, and now Steve just wanted to go home.
As he sat under the pines watching he snow continually piling up on itself, he saw a shadow starting to emerge through the storm. It was a man for sure, but the clothing he did not recognize. It looked like the abominable snowman making its way toward him. Covered in snow and moving slowly, the figure continued the trek up the slight slope. When the figure came within ten yards, the right hand rose and gave a wave in his direction. It was his brother.
Giving a yell, Steve waved back, gesturing his brother to come to his location.
Ron approached brushing the snow from his form. “Quite a day,” he said. “You okay? You look a little flushed.”
Steve let out a big breath. “Yeah, okay, I’m getting a bit cold, and somehow I lost my thermos.”
“Let’s see if we can find our way out of here. We’ll head back to the car, get warmed up, and see if the weather breaks for later.”
The two headed out. Steve knew that even in the toughest times, the big brother was there to save the day. Within just two hours, Steve had been lost, been panicked, and been found. He wondered if his brother might have suspected such, but there was no need to even consider it.
There was no deer shot that day, but it really didn’t matter. The end of the day brought safety, hot food, and brotherly love in abundance. That in itself was more than ample.
