The Annual trip I look forward to each year – Whitetails in the Mountains with the Muzzleloader
The older one becomes, the earlier 2:30 AM becomes. With the excitement that emanates with the beginning of every new adventure, I skipped the snooze button and hit the road before sun up. Once on the highway, the hum of the tires and the monotone voice of the overnight radio talk show host got the best of me. The eyelids got heavy.
And this is where my annual fall mountain deer hunt hit the first hiccup. For years, I’ve been stopping for a quick 15 minutes of eye resting time while on the road. But this time, the normal 15 to 30 minute rest turned into a two hour delay. With the truck seat reclined and the eyes closed, I was out for a solid 2 hours. There went being in the woods at first light.
Muzzleloader Deer Hunt Plan A
The sun was up on the warm fall day in Garrett County, MD when I finally parked the truck, donned my favorite hunting boots, loaded the powder and ball into the muzzleloader and swung on my day pack. The plan was to check out an area I felt pretty good about holding deer. The recently reclaimed strip mine had been planted with clover, a favorite food source for the local deer. My plan was to walk around in the morning and if I liked what I saw, set camp in a little half acre meadow hidden in the woods and hunt the surrounding area. I wanted to park the truck and not have to drive again until it was time to head home in four days.
What I find is a cable across the trail and a “no trespassing” sign. Apparently there is some dispute as to where the property line is exactly on the mountain ridge. The line of posted signs do not match the map I have of the lease, but I’m not willing to cross a line someone felt so strongly to post signs and hang cable across the trails. Plan A is a bust.
Muzzleloader Deer hunt Plan B
Remembering last year’s hunt, the apple trees at the old water tank come to mind. If the trees are dropping apples again like last year, it should be a good place to start the hunt. So, I get back into the truck and drive the 15 minutes towards plan B. I drive by the apple trees at the old depot. They still have a few apples. I smile. Topping the mountain, I pull onto the dirt road leading to the old water tanks. The tree limbs droop from a season of the heavy apple load, but not one apple or leaf remains on the limbs. No sign of deer anywhere. Plan B is a bust.
Muzzleloader Deer hunt Plan C
The morning sun is giving way to afternoon clouds by this time. I’m out of ideas for the moment. Doing what I had not wanted to do on this trip, I begin to drive the trails on the 3,300 acres. Plan C has become the search for acorn trees. The branches pin stripe the paint on the truck, the new Cooper Mud tires toss mud on the once clean truck. I’m trying to come up my next move.
Muzzleloader Deer hunt Plan D
Then I remember the spot where Lawrence had shot a buck a few years earlier while I was bear hunting. It was during the same time in October. Plan D is now in effect. Plan D has its’ perks. I can set up camp and hunt within walking distance of camp. It is close to two ponds I hoped might hold a few ducks, as duck season is open. I’ve used the clearing before as camp. I enjoy the night view of the moon and stars from that camp and the nightly howling of the local coyotes adds style to the camp.
The morning hunt is long gone. First order of business is to set camp and cut firewood. I cut and stack plenty of wood before hiking up the mountain. Signs of passing deer litter the forest floor under my proposed treestand location. One major problem, the tree is now too large for my treestand. The straps do not reach around the tree. Finding another tree, I adjust plan D, just slightly.
Another obstacle presents itself. A branch too large for my pruning shears blocks my climb at about ten feet up the tree. Not a problem with the folding saw in my pack. Oh yea, it is sitting with the fresh stack of fire wood back at camp. I make do with the low hanging stand and sit, watching the fall afternoon pass. Instead of deer, dark rain clouds fill my vision. The heavy winds bring the rain. As the sun fades in the west, the rain begins to fall.
Back at camp, I am greeted with tree bending winds and a torrential down pour. A quarter mile up the old railroad grade road is a pavilion. I resort to cooking under the roof my dinner of venison chili made from a deer I killed earlier this year. The fire wood in soaking wet. The tent holds out the rain but shakes violently in the wind.
At 7:00 PM, I slide into my sleeping bag planning to read. Instead, I turn off my headlamp and fall off to sleep.
The next morning is a perfect fall mountain morning. With a slight orange eastern sky, I cook breakfast on the truck’s tailgate. The sausage is only half cooked when the stove runs out of propane. The firewood is soaking wet. Ham and cheese sandwich is what’s for breakfast.
Remembering the saw, I cut the low hanging branch. The view is beautiful. A doe and two fawns walk by within shooting distance. I hold my shot. This is still a buck hunt.
After the morning hunt, I drive to Oakland, visiting the Wal-Mart getting propane and cough drops. It seems I am developing a slight sore throat. There is a lot of driving for trip where there was planned to be none.
Each time I pass the ponds, I look for ducks, finding none.
On the evening hunt, I explore the hemlocks along the beginnings of the Potomac River. I post on a trail filled with deer tracks crossing the stream. Half hour before dark, I hear a bear growl, huff and run off. Two minutes later another hunter unzips his ground blind hidden in a maze of fallen pine tree branches 70 yards from my location. Neither of us was aware of the other.
The morning of the last day of the hunt is glistening with a heavy frost. I sit and watch the start of the day from my treestand perch. The fall colors brighten fringed with the white frost. No deer appear. After lunch, I pack up camp.
The October early muzzleloader season is my favorite time to deer hunt the mountains of western Maryland. It cannot be for the large bucks I kill. I cannot recall ever killing a buck on one of these trips. There is just something about the mountain woods during this time of the year.
Not all adventures end with a buck hanging from the meat pole, and not all adventures go as planned. Heck, sometimes you can end up on plan D or E, adjusting to what comes your way. But I guess that is what makes an adventure an adventure. And I would not have it any other way. OK, so maybe, I would like to kill a buck every once in a while.
