A Place on the Wall
Posted on February 2, 2014 by bob in OffTheBeatenPath
He sat quietly in his study, teeth clenched, a knot growing in his stomach. He glanced from computer screen to wall to floor, replaying the afternoon’s events in his mind. With the intensity of a forensic scientist pouring over a crime scene, he analyzed every nuance, every minor detail he could recall. What had gone wrong? 
When the buck stepped from the brush into the fire lane he couldn’t believe it. He’d tracked this buck for several seasons via game camera photos. Many afternoons in the stand he’d watched the deer, even had him in the cross hairs once. With good genes and plenty of year-round forage, he didn’t think the buck had yet reached his full potential. But when harvest day did come, the buck had a spot saved for him on the wall.
Dubbed Bullwinkle, the deer had first caught his eye as an abnormally wide-beamed eight-point in his third year. The next year Bullwinkle grew considerably, a definite shooter on any other property but this one. He showed up again the next fall, his antlers a sight to behold. But as the rut approached, Bullwinkle was nowhere to be seen, even on nocturnal camera photos. He’d become a ghost.
No one saw Bullwinkle the next year, either. Like all deer hunters who’ve watched a trophy buck over several seasons only to have him disappear, the fear crept into his mind that Bullwinkle had been taken. When word spread that a massive buck was harvested on the property down the road, he closed the file on Bullwinkle.
As work and family life grew busier, there was little time to think about deer. After Bullwinkle’s disappearance the year before, he’d all but hung it up, his wall already full of other trophies. The last day of the season his wife encouraged him to go, reminding him he hadn’t been hunting all year.
Sitting in the familiar box stand on the fire lane, he read for a while, but his thoughts drifted. What had really become of Bullwinkle? Had that undeserving old so-and-so down the road hung Bullwinkle on his own wall? The thought made him sick.
The light grew too dim to read, and he glanced up from his book and peered down the fire lane. Movement caught his eye. He strained to discern if it was a deer, or if his eyes were playing tricks in the fading light. When the buck shook its massive head he nearly came out of his seat. There, not a hundred yards away, stood Bullwinkle, more magnificent than he’d remembered.
The buck licked at a cedar branch as he slowed raised the rifle. Hands shaking, he ranged the shot twice. The scope’s light-gathering ability was superb, but no match for the growing gloom. As soon as Bullwinkle stepped from the brush he’d take the shot.
“Come on, come on,” he whispered, as night took over the sky.
When the buck cleared the brush the scope’s crosshairs found the vitals and he squeezed the trigger. At the rifle’s report Bullwinkle took off through the brush. His first impulse was to jump from the stand and go after him, but he knew a wounded, pressured animal would keep running as long as possible, making tracking more difficult. Better to wait it out, let him expire naturally. He waited for the crash. And waited. And waited.
When he could no longer see he fumbled for the headlamp and shimmied down the ladder. He found no sign where the buck had stood — no blood, no spoor, no tufts of hair. Slowly an old familiar feeling took over. He circled the spot for an hour on hands and knees, searching for sign, but found nothing. In his mind it didn’t end like this; there were photos, congratulations, and a startled taxidermist.
He arrived home disgusted and retreated to his study. He looked at the vacant spot on the wall. When his wife came to say goodnight, he sheepishly admitted he’d missed a shot at Bullwinkle.
“You actually saw him again?!” she exclaimed.
In his sullen mood he hadn’t reflected on the now-resolved mystery that had haunted his thoughts for more than a year. The bozo down the road hadn’t taken his trophy, and Bullwinkle was even bigger than the last time he’d been seen.
“That’s okay,” his wife said, “you’ll get him next year.”
He leaned back in his chair, a smile spreading across his face.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I will.”
Niko Corley spends his free time hunting, fishing and enjoying the outdoors. He can be contacted at cootfootoutfitters@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter@cootfootoutfitters.
