Pennsylvania Game News - February 2022 - Cover2

before daybreak. After parking the
station wagon at a wide spot in the
dirt road, I crossed the broad field at
the bottom, jumping the narrow creek
that divided it, and worked my way up
the old logging road toward the top.
From one place I could look back. It
wasn't light enough to distinguish
individual trees in the bottom, but
a stack of peeled posts near the road
shone dully when a set of car lights
came around a curve and moved past.
A layer of dark clouds had gathered,
blotting out the pale stars, and a gust
of wind moved through the trees, then
died. For several minutes the loudest
sound was my own breathing. Then
the dull boom of a single rifle shot
drifted across the hills. Someone's getting
his early, I thought, for the season
wouldn't officially open for another
fifteen or twenty minutes.
EER HUNTING is just that: an
intriguing challenge. In attempting
to take a buck on his own terms and
his own environment, one must play by
the quarry's rules. Obviously, the odds
are not in your favor. I have had many
thrilling deer hunts, but I never before
encountered such a nerve-racking experience
as last year's.
D
My only thought for almost two
weeks of persistent hunting was that I
could disprove the observation that a
buck rarely gives you more than one opportunity.
I couldn't think of anything
else, except that I had been tormented
twice already by the same animal.
A Third Chance?
It was December the second, my
birthday. I had left State College about
five-thirty and drove north to Route
220, then up a hollow I had spotted
in bear season. It was good-looking
country. A number of small ridges
separated hollows which led from the
edge of farm country to the bigger hills
and I thought they would be natural
runways for deer. My hopes were high
as I shoved the magazine full of handloads
and moved toward the woods.
d in the December 1966 Game News
he buck. He
d the flank
d, head and
choppings,
n the bright
e with him,
w the crossray-brown
er
- just as
he dropped into the old logging road
which wandered through the area. My
bullet went high and I jerked the bolt
open and slammed another round into
the chamber, oblivious to the recoil,
not even hearing the report, concentrating
only on catching that buck in
the scope again and connecting . . .
I had been on the ridge since
Would I get another chance? I felt
as though I were being driven by some
irresistible force. I had to return every
day, always with the hope that, maybe
today, if I were patient enough, he'd try
me once more in our battle of wits.
I teach in the small town of Spangler
in western Pennsylvania. This, in itself,
should explain why I don't get as much
time as I would like to be in the woods.
Our school system gives us a holiday
the first day of antlered deer season, and
if you do not bag a buck that day, you
have to do what most of the kids do -
hunt after school. That's what I did last
season, for I didn't connect on Monday.
Luckily, I live in prime deer country
and can be in the woods by 3:30 p.m.
Only Once Before
Be nice if I got another one on my
birthday, I thought. I had done it only
once, just ten years previously. That
one had been a large symmetrical
eight-point, and although I'd killed
a number of others since then, none
equaled it in size or appearance. There
are hundreds of thousands of deer in
Pennsylvania, and many of them have
I Had to Meet the Challenge of . . .
By Joseph F. Frontino
Published in the December 1967 Game News
This gives me about one and one-half
hours of good hunting.
I went out after school on Tuesday
afternoon. I was driving unconcernedly
along an old dirt road when I spotted
two does and a buck just off the road
in the woods. I stepped out of the car
and slipped into the woods, loading one
shell into the rifle. After a moment, I
located the deer, put the crosshairs on
the buck's front shoulder and squeezed
the trigger. Nothing happened. By the
time I figured out that I had forgotten to
move the safety off, the deer were gone.
I was so disgusted with myself that I just
sat down on a log, muttering to myself
and trying to realize how I could have
done such a stupid thing.
It Was a Buck
I finally came to my senses when two
hunters appeared. I knew them both,
and when they saw me, one of them said,
" You're too late; the deer just crossed.
We pushed them out of the bottom. "
I told them I had seen the deer and
that one of them was a buck. I reluctantly
(for the fear of ridicule) proceeded to
tell them what had happened, and one
of the men said, " Don't feel bad, Joe,
I've made the same mistake myself. "
Anyway, they left because they both
had to work the night shift at the coal
mine. They had showered and dressed
that morning after finishing a shift the
previous night. Neither one had had any
59
53
I watched for what seemed a long
time, but still couldn't see a rack. My
arms were getting tired and the crosshairs
wobbled all over the shoulder
area. I closed my eyes for a moment
and breathed deeply, trying to make
the rifle settle down. Maybe I've got
buck fever, I thought. I'd never had
it before, so wasn't sure what it was
like. Then suddenly the deer lifted
its head and I saw the rack. It wasn't
particularly large, but the main beam
came around, gleaming like dull ivory
in the scope, and I thought it was an
eight-point. The crosshairs were still
moving, but they stayed on the shoulders
and I was putting pressure on the
trigger when the thought suddenly hit
me: It's not seven o'clock yet!
My finger froze automatically. It's
close enough, I thought. It can't be
more than a couple of minutes. That
other fellow shot fifteen minutes ago.
That isn't you, I answered myself.
Then, during these few moments of
indecision, the deer took several steps
Pushed Out by Hunters
beautiful racks, but getting one of
these is almost pure luck. You usually
take what you can get and are grateful
for it. But Centre County had one of
the biggest buck kills in the state the
year before, so I figured my chances
of getting some shooting were good.
I turned and moved across the
almost flat ridge top, boots silent on
the pine needles, eyes searching the
semi-darkness. I had gone less than
a quarter of a mile when I caught a
glimpse of movement in a small clearing
about one hundred and twentyfive
yards away. I had to put the scope
on it to be certain it was a deer, but I
couldn't see its head, for it was feeding.
I H
D
EER
intri
ing to take
his own en
the quarry
are not in y
thrilling dee
encountered
perience as l
My only
weeks of pers
could disprov
buck rarely giv
portunity. I co
else, except th
twice already b
A Th
92
58
Would I get
as though I were
irresistible force.
day, always with
today, if I were pat
me once more in o
I teach in the sm
in western Pennsyl
should explain why
time as I would like
Our school system
the first day of antlere
if you do not bag a b
have to do what mos
hunt after school. Tha
season, for I didn't con
Luckily, I live in pri
and can be in the woo
143
I Had to Meet the Challenge of . . .
Editor's Note . . . GAME NEWS is proud to present this story by Raymond E.
Miller describing how he bagged the highest scoring typical white-tailed deer ever taken
in Pennsylvania. Mr. Miller was honored at the Awards Banquet of the Pennsylvania
Deer Records Program on September 25, 1965, in Harrisburg.
By Raymond E. Miller
By Joseph F. Frontino
Published in the December 1967 Game News
Published in the December 2005 Game News
148
58
OWN he went, hard, and I knew
I had him! But I worked the bolt
to chamber another cartridge just to be
sure. The fired shell wouldn't come out!
I kept my eyes glued on the downed
buck hoping that he wouldn't try to
get up again, for my gun was out of
commission . . . .
It was the second day of the 1957
buck season and plans for this hunt
had been made the night before. My
father, Dick Miller, and my older
brother, John (Bud) Miller, were to
be at my place at 6:00 a.m. The hunt
would take place in the Pigeon Hills
area of Bedford County. I told my dad
that we would leave the house early,
because we wanted to be at our stands
before daybreak. I was up this morning
at 4:30. This gave me time to eat a good
breakfast and pack my lunch, while I
waited for them.
A Third Chance?
a book. I used to refer to this part of
Pigeon Hills as a hunter's paradise.
That was before the timber was cut
off. For many years I hunted squirrels
in that section of the Hills called New
Comer Hollow. This experience taught
me the habits of the deer in that area
and their movement pattern while
traveling from their feeding ground
there this morning.
e this morning, the
t camp. A trace of
Bill's lips as his
etknife sporting
ade. With it we
-dressing job,
on when the
After tagging
n the steep
ere the car
Bill several
the road.
eart was
hen she
he car.
n our
Pennason
ke!
BICENTENNIAL
GIFTS
I
Had to Meet the Challenge of . . .
EER HUNTING is just that: an
intriguing challenge. In attempting
to take a buck on his own terms and
his own environment, one must play by
the quarry's rules. Obviously, the odds
are not in your favor. I have had many
thrilling deer hunts, but I never before
encountered such a nerve-racking experience
as last year's.
D
My only thought for almost two
weeks of persistent hunting was that I
could disprove the observation th
buck rarely gives you m
portunity. I c
else
Would I get another chance? I felt
as though I were being driven by some
irresistible force. I had to return every
day, always with the hope that, maybe
today, if I were patient enough, he'd try
me once more in our battle of wits.
I teach in the small town of Spangler
in western Pennsylvania. This, in itself,
should explain why I don't get as much
time as I would like to be in the woods.
Our school system gives us a holiday
the first day of antlered deer season, and
if you do not bag a buck that day, you
have to do what most of the kids do -
hunt after school. That's what I did last
season, for I didn't connect on Monday.
Luckily, I live in prime deer country
and can be in the woods by 3:30 p.m.
The territory I hunt on I know like
D
EER HUNTING is just that: an
intriguing challenge. In attempting
to take a buck on his own terms and
his own environment, one must play by
the quarry's rules. Obviously, the odds
are not in your favor. I have had many
thrilling deer hunts, but I never before
encountered such a nerve-racking experience
as last year's.
My only thought for almost two
weeks of persistent hunting was that I
could disprove the observation that a
buck rarely gives you more than one opportunity.
I couldn't think of anything
else, except that I had been tormented
twice already by the same animal.
D
Published in the December 1965 Game News
This gives me about one and one-half
hours of good hunting.
to the bedding-down spots. It was the
usual thing to see deer moving up the
hollow during the morning between
8:30 and 9:30. This was a favorite
route for the deer of Pigeon Hills. It
always seemed that when they came
to this spot they would play around
and act a little foolish. This section of
the woods also has a water hole near
a sumac thicket. The balance of the
woods consisted of red and black oak,
sugar maple, ash, hickory and a few old
dead chestnut snags. To me this was a
hunter's dream - a place I always like
to hunt, for I had killed other deer in
this hollow years before. I really felt bad
after the timber was taken off.
After tucking away a good breakfast
I climbed into my hunting clothes. A
temperature check proved it was about
20 degrees outside and the forecast did
not call for much change during the
day. I carried my lunch and Thermos
bottle to the truck. The rifle went in
next. It was a .270 Model 721 and was
still equipped with the standard factory
sights. It wasn't long until the rest of
the hunters arrived. I was happy to see
that they made it five minutes early. I
always leave at 6:00 a.m. and wait for
no one if they are late. From my house
we started out the Ridge Road. We
Pushed Out by Hunters
I finally came to my senses when two
hunters appeared. I knew them both,
and when they saw me, one of them said,
" You're too late; the deer just crossed.
We pushed them out of the bottom. "
I told them I had seen the deer and
that one of them was a buck. I reluctantly
(for the fear of ridicule) proceeded to
tell them what had happened, and one
of the men said, " Don't feel bad, Joe,
I've made the same mistake myself. "
Anyway, they left because they both
had to work the night shift at the coal
mine. They had showered and dressed
that morning after finishing a shift the
previous night. Neither one had had any
47
59
By Joseph F. Frontino
Published in the December 1967 Game News
This gives me about one and one-half
hours of good hunting.
I went out after school on Tuesday
afternoon. I was driving unconcernedly
along an old dirt road when I spotted
two does and a buck just off the road
in the woods. I stepped out of the car
and slipped into the woods, load
shell into the rifle Af
located th d
th
I went out after school on Tuesday
afternoon. I was driving unconcernedly
along an old dirt road when I spotted
two does and a buck just off the road
in the woods. I stepped out of the car
and slipped into the woods, loading one
shell into the rifle. After a moment, I
located the deer, put the crosshairs on
the buck's front shoulder and squeezed
the trigger. Nothing happened. By the
time I figured out that I had forgotten to
move the safety off, the deer were gone.
I was so disgusted with myself that I just
sat down on a log, muttering to myself
and trying to realize how I could have
done such a stupid thing.
I Had to Meet the Challenge of . . .
By Joseph F. Frontino
Published in the December 1967 Game News
EER HUNTING is just that: an
intriguing challenge. In attempting
to take a buck on his own terms and
his own environment, one must play by
the quarry's rules. Obviously, the odds
are not in your favor. I have had many
thrilling deer hunts, but I never before
encountered such a nerve-racking experience
as last year's.
D
My only thought for almost two
weeks of persistent hunting was that I
could disprove the observation that a
buck rarely gives you more than one opportunity.
I couldn't think of anything
else, except that I had been tormented
twice already by the same animal.
A Third Chance?
Would I get another chance? I felt
as though I were being driven by some
irresistible force. I had to return every
day, always with the hope that, maybe
today, if I were patient enough, he'd try
me once more in our battle of wits.
I teach in the small town of Spangler
in western Pennsylvania. This, in itself,
should explain why I don't get as much
time as I would like to be in the woods.
Our school system gives us a holiday
the first day of antlered deer season, and
if you do not bag a buck that day, you
have to do what most of the kids do -
hunt after school. That's what I did last
season, for I didn't connect on Monday.
Luckily, I live in prime deer country
and can be in the woods by 3:30 p.m.
58
This gives me about one and one-half
hours of good hunting.
I went out after school on Tuesday
afternoon. I was driving unconcernedly
along an old dirt road when I spotted
two does and a buck just off the road
in the woods. I stepped out of the car
and slipped into the woods, loading one
shell into the rifle. After a moment,
located the deer, put the crosshairs o
the buck's front shoulder and squeez
the trigger. Nothing happened. By
time I figured out that I had forgotte
move the safety off, the deer were g
I was so disgusted with myself that
sat down on a log, muttering to
and trying to realize how I coul
done such a stupid thing.
Pushed Out by Hunte
I finally came to my senses
hunters appeared. I knew th
and when they saw me, one o
" You're too late; the deer j
We pushed them out of th
I told them I had seen
that one of them was a bu
ly (for the fear of ridicule
tell them what had hap
of the men said, " Don
I've made the same
Anyway, they left b
had to work the nigh
mine. They had sho
that morning after
previous night. Nei
Classic
$15.50
plus shipping,
plus PA sales tax
58
104
Visit " HuntFishPA " at
www.pgc.pa.gov
Or order by telephone
1-888-888-3459
reads
time and nicked stock representing
many memories.
A brown streak running directly at
me from across the field jolted me from
my reminiscing. It was a buck with a
high rack with thick main beams and
points jutting in every direction. I
steadied my rifle against the tree and
watched as it bounded effortlessly over
row after row of fallen corn stalks. I
found the crosshairs in the simple scope
and slid the gun's safety off, judging the
yardage - 80, 60, 40 and then 30. Amazingly,
the deer didn't alter its course
other than to turn slightly broadside
and offer a perfect shot no more than
10 yards away.
I don't remember pulling the trigger,
the thunderous shot or the force of
the stock recoiling into my shoulder.
The buck collapsed just a few yards
short of the tree line and expired just
as the echo from the shot dissipated.
Moments earlier the deer was exerting
every muscle in its body to reach the
safety of a destination known only by
instinct; now it was lifeless. I admired
its 11-point rack. I found the bullet's
entry hole just a few inches below the
deer's massive shoulder. Then I knew
it wasn't me who pulled the trigger on
the .308. A feeling I couldn't place told
me it was my grandfather redeeming
himself for that shot years before. 
I Had to Meet the Challenge of . . .
By Joseph F. Frontino
Published in the December 1967 Game News
EER HUNTING is just that: an
intriguing challenge. In attempting
to take a buck on his own terms and
his own environment, one must play by
the quarry's rules. Obviously, the odds
are not in your favor. I have had many
thrilling deer hunts, but I never before
encountered such a nerve-racking experience
as last year's.
D
Last Shot for Pap?
My only thought for almost two
weeks of persistent hunting was that I
could disprove the observation that a
buck rarely gives you more than one opportunity.
I couldn't think of anything
else, except that I had been tormented
i already by the same animal.
artwork by dana bellis
the September 2012 Game News
By Dave Barker
This gives me about one and one-half
hours of good hunting.
I went out after school on Tuesday
afternoon. I was driving unconcernedly
along an old dirt road when I spotted
two does and a buck just off the roa
in the woods. I stepped out of the ca
and slipped into the woods, loading on
shell into the rifle. After a moment
located the deer, put the crosshairs
the buck's front shoulder and squee
the trigger. Nothing happened. By
time I figured out that I had forgotten
move the safety off, the deer were go
I was so disgusted with myself that I
sat down on a log, muttering to m
and trying to realize how I could
h tpid thing.
h from
Pennsylvania deer hunting Through the Pages of Game News
Frantz
http://www.pgc.pa.gov
Pennsylvania Game News - February 2022

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Pennsylvania Game News - February 2022
