Oct 15, 2020 5 min read

I know Eileen has been gone for quite a while and yet I miss her presence more than usual at this time of year. Perhaps it is the change in temperature or the brightly colored leaves, but it is just as deeply felt as I prepare for the upcoming deer season. Both the yellow and reds of the trees and the excitement of getting ready for the two weeks that will soon be upon us remind me of her. If I were to draw a picture of what deer season has meant to me over the years, it could not be complete without my late wife and deer hunting has not been the same without her.

Deer hunting has been a passion with me since I had a big buck stand in the middle of Linnwood Road challenging me over that small piece of land before departing the scene. Why I was on Linnwood Road in Eighty Four at that moment forever changed my life. I was headed to visit the prettiest girl I had ever seen up that then-gravel road. Two meetings that were to be the highlights of my future life, in one day.

Eileen loved to be out among the brightly colored leaves, bow in hand, and it didn’t bother her if she sat for hours and saw nothing. She certainly had the patience of Job and knew what she was looking for. I well remember the year when we had two examples of trophy bucks running around on the farm and getting fat in the corn fields. The farme’rs solution to his deer problem was to plant some extra rows with the hope the deer would be satisfied to stay on the edge of the cornfields.

We watched these wall hangers all late summer as they grew longer points covered with velvet and finally, just before the season, became a bone-colored yellow. The season progressed into the second week and the biggest of the two had already made a fool out of me, when he appeared about 10 yards behind me while all of his girlfriends fed in front of my ground stand.

At that range I could count the ticks on him, but I couldn’t shoot. It wasn’t the growth between us but the growth right where I was that prevented the shot. I just couldn’t hold that bow in the vertical position. I had expected the buck to appear with the does and I could shoot easily in that direction, but I hadn’t paid attention to where I would shoot in the other direction.

As the buck fed so close, I could smell him I tried every position I could think of to no avail. He just walked away. If anyone would have seen me, they would have thought I was bonkers for I even tried laying down. Now, I was mad.

The next evening found us heading to the farm again. I was going to get a shot at him with my compound bow or bust a gut trying. To get to this field I wanted to watch, I had to pass along the edge of another field. Halfway across the first field my wife and I separated. I was determined to sit along the edge where I had seen him the night before. Eileen left me there heading for an island of cover that was about 200 yards from where I was heading. While I couldn’t see her from my stand, my path out would take me along the edge of the field where she would be watching and waiting. In plain English she would see me walking out and when she spotted me, she would cross the field to join me as we headed for the car.

Eileen never would hunt with the compound bow, using nothing more than what we would call a stick bow, which in truth was a recurve made by Bear. The draw weight was only 40 pounds and it was the only hunting tool she ever used during the archery season. I have many rifles and bows but the little lady only used her Ruger 270 and a 40-pound recurve to keep her happy in the field.

That evening, as I walked out to meet her and head for home, I broke out of the small piece of cover separating those two open expanses only to be surprised by what I saw. Eileen was moving slowly around the small saplings. Behind her with his nose to the ground was Mr. Buck. I didn’t want to yell at her to turn around, so I waved frantically at her. Finally, she did look back and that movement startled both the hunter and the deer. It is the evenings like that I miss the most.

The leaves are changing again and with them comes the hunt. Memories of my best friend and favorite hunts come up too.

• I received word of a great little lady in Washington. Liliana Capo shot an 8-point on Oct. 3. I believe she is 9 years old. That is quite an accomplishment. Congratulations.