I had woken up that Friday morning in a sour mood. The forecast was showing rain all day until dark, spoiling any hope that I had of going out hunting after work. So, I went to school to teach my Mooresville Pioneers as much chemistry as I could. It was getting later in the day and my students were diligently working so I decided to check the forecast one last time, because we all know they never get the weather right.
There it was, an opening! For an hour before dark there was only going to be brief scattered rain before picking up again that night. With my mood elevating I decided I was going to give it a shot! I would have to walk in the rain, sit in the rain, and daydream in the rain, but at least I would get a chance to hunt!
As soon as school was out I hopped into my car and zipped out to my brother’s place. Behind his house there are two fields bordered by fence rows (the type that seem to be disappearing from across the country), a creek on one side, and a small woods on the other. That fence row, creek and the fields are the only places where I have managed to get permission to hunt. The woods is considered off limits.
Once at my brother’s, I have to decide the appropriate attire, as it is currently pouring and my normal attire would be soaked in minutes. So, after poking around my brother’s garage I manage to find a rain jacket and pants. I don those over my school attire and then dig my muzzleloader out of its hiding spot at my brother’s. I have to leave it there as it is the only way to hunt after school, because I can’t leave it in my car while on school grounds or I’d be in major trouble.
Yes, you caught that right, I was hunting with a muzzleloader in a rainstorm. I couldn’t wait for that 1-hour window to head out as that would be too close to prime time, so I would have to walk with it through the pouring rain. Wishing I had one of those rubber things to cover the barrel with (you know the one your dad forgot to use when you were made), I set out into the tempest. Usually I make this mile-long walk with my gun on a strap over my shoulder, but this time I had to carry it barrel down in order to ensure that as little water as possible reached the gunpowder.
As I was walking I mentally repeated to myself over and over that if my gunpowder gets damp or wet it may have a delay in shooting, so I need to hold my aim longer than normal after pulling the trigger. I also kept patting my pocket over and over to double check I had plenty of firing caps in case of a misfire.
Sloshing through the mud puddles and sliding down the rows of corn I eventually reached the first fence row. This was where I added my usual squirt of fox pee to my boots to try and mask my scent from whatever deer take that fence row. I then had to cross a bean field where I would be completely exposed to any deer at the creek or the woods that were looking, but this was my only option. Trying to pretend to be invisible and silent I trekked all the way over to the next fence row and crossed it as quickly as I could, which put me at my spot.
I was sitting about 50 yards from the woods on a small hill line that was along the creek and fence row. I could see out into both fields and had a large mature cedar covering my view from the woods but had clear line of sights with cover in all other directions. So, I placed my bucket down and flipped my seat cushion over to the dry side and took a seat. Placing my hand over the firing cap area I attempted to keep my gun as dry as possible.
After 30 minutes of sitting in the rain while hunting one starts to ask questions. Why would a deer be moving in this? Why should I be in this? My powder has to be soaked, so will it even fire? All I have seen this year is two young ones, is there even a buck around? Am I insane for being out here? But eventually I start to take stock of my surroundings in the rain. I notice how quiet the woods feels. The scent of the wet cedar tree starts to get stronger and crisper and overwhelms me. And a light mist starts to rise from the ground giving an eerie sensation to the outdoors. All of this makes me realize that even if I’m soaked and don’t even see those two fawns, it was still worth coming out.
Eventually the rain starts to fizzle out and I am thankful that at least the meteorologist got that right. Over the fields the mist starts to get thicker, not enough to block vision, but enough to give a hazy look to distant objects. As I turn over my shoulder to bask in the beautiful, wet outdoors, I see a deer trotting across the field right toward me.
I guess from its shape and movements that this is a buck even though I can’t see his antlers yet. I spin around on the bucket so I am more aligned with the direction he is traveling. I move my stock to my shoulder and wait. As the gap starts to diminish I finally can see his rack, and smile to myself as I realize my hunch is correct as its for sure a buck and a shooter at that.
For a second my heart stops as I realize he is going to go right over my path. Thankfully, I must have been sitting in the rain long enough that any trace of human scent has washed away, because he doesn’t even hesitate as he crosses my trail. After that brief panic I finally realize I may get an actual chance. I lift gun to a likely shooting lane and wait.
The buck keeps trotting oblivious to my movement. When he gets to 75 yards I let out a lite grunt to no avail. So, I increase my volume and grunt one more time. The buck comes to a halt almost perfectly broadside. This was my chance and all I had to do was not mess up the shot.
All thoughts of rain are gone. My heartbeat is up and all else in the world seems to go out of focus. Without a thought to a possible delayed shot I put him in the crosshair and pull the trigger … BANG … Then a cloud of smoke blocks my view.
As the cloud of smoke dissipates I see him running toward the woods and out of view. The only thought that crosses my mind is that I missed as I try my best to reload with shaky hands. Getting off my bucket I climb down the hill and cross the fence row again. I go out to where I shot him and struggle to find a single drop of blood as all the leaves and bean stubble are reflective from the rain. Finally, convinced I missed, I look down the field in the direction he ran, and 100 yards down I see him on the ground dead.
As I reflect on this hunt I am ecstatic as I never thought I would see a deer in the rain let a lone a buck where I hadn’t seen one all year. I can’t but think how lucky I am to have the picture of a buck emerging from the haze forever engrained in my mind and to have a muzzleloader that works in the pouring rain.
