Dawn was slow to break as dark clouds were draped across the sky. A mist filled the air. It was cool and damp _ a perfect morning to hunt.
With the rut on, I knew the deer would be moving. So, I headed down into the creek bottom and found a spot along a well-used deer trail to wait. It would only be a short time before something came along.
I knew the spot well, taking several bucks there in the past. Maybe that nice six-pointer I saw in the meadow the other day would be chasing a doe past my watch.
I waited impatiently. I always get excited on the first day of the hunt.
As the woods brightened, I thought it was odd that I didn't hear some shots in the distance. There's always a lot of shooting on opening morning.
As time drifted by, I couldn't figure why no one else was in the woods. It was the quietest opening day I could remember. Then I realized why. I was a week early.
Not to make light of last week's column, but as most of you know by now, I got the opening day of gun season wrong. That resulted in roughly 75 phone calls and 50 e-mails telling me that gun season actually opens this Saturday (not last Saturday).
I still can't figure out what happened, but for some reason, I was convinced that the regular deer and bear seasons were supposed to open last week. Maybe I got a little too excited.
Thanks to all of you, I didn't go hunting last weekend. Some readers even reminded me that hunting a week before the season starts can get you arrested. I guess I deserved that.
You know, there just doesn't seem to be the same excitement that there used to be. I would hunt every weekend up north and couldn't fall asleep the night before the season opened in the Southern Tier.
Deer hunting used to be a passion. I always had the urge to track down those big-antlered bucks. I'd wander the mountaintops and heavily wooded swamps of the north country for weeks on end searching for one of those old monsters.
Maybe I've mellowed with age, but you know what? You can admire giant antlers on the wall over the years, but those old-timers really taste terrible. A nice, young deer makes for the best eating.
I shot the biggest deer of my life several years ago in the Adirondacks. It was an eight-pointer that weighed 254 pounds on official scales after hanging for five days. It took two of us more than five hours to get him off of Dug Mountain in knee-deep snow.
That old mountain monarch was nearly 6 years old and in full rut when I shot him. That deer also was so tough you couldn't chew the gravy. The meat had a strong, wild taste that hit you as soon as you put it into the frying pan. It was so bad, even the dog hesitated.
Sure, it's nice to shoot a big wall-hanger, but for a tasty meal, I really prefer a nice, fat, corn-fed doe. In fact, I wouldn't mind having a thick, venison steak on the grill right now.
Remember, if you aren't going to eat all the deer you take, why not donate it to those in need? Certainly there are plenty of people who would enjoy it, especially in these bad economic times.
Deer can be taken to Don's Meat Shop in Laurens, Brandon's Deer Processing in Davenport or Robinson's Deer Processing in Walton. The cost of the processing is covered by the Conservation Alliance of New York. In recent years, more than 100,000 meals have been provided to those in need.
So, why not help them out?
Rick Brockway writes a weekly outdoors column for The Daily Star. E-mail him at robrockway@hotmail.com.
