Eastern Backwoods Hunter

He stalked along the old rugged logging road with an arrow on the taunt string of the old Browning recurve. Not many people would be this far back in this late in the season. His camp was a mile down in the bottomland near the cold mountain creek. Today was his last day and he hoped to bag a whitetail.
It was just below freezing, not cold by his standards, but "chilly". He looked down a deep hollow but couldnt see to the bottom. Slow, fat snow flakes starting falling to the cold and barren ground.
His family back home expected this; him to be away in the mountains for a day or two, doing what he does best, hunting the high ridges of Northern Pennsylvania. As he rounded a bend in the old dirt road he stopped and as he knew he was not spotted he slowly sliced through the air, moving the bow to shooting position.
He stalked forward, his footsteps almost completely muffled by the wild North winds blowing into his bearded face. The sharp broadhead on the front of the birch shaft he knew would do the job if he hit the deer right.
15 yards the deer and the woodsmen meet eyes. . .

Continued. End

He made camp at the base of a huge pine. Almost No snow was under it and it was dry and kept out some of the fierce wind. He was surviving okay. Life was hard up as high as he was and he looked forward to spring when he'd go home. He felt like these mountains and streams and cold and the brute force of nature had somewaht made him wilder but more at ease with himself.

He set to work on skinning the beaver. He had caught it last night and was too tired and cold to skin it then. His hands were freezing and he'd stop now and then to warm them under the wool mackinaw.

A warm bed and maybe a little bit of T.V. would be nice he thought. Soon enough.
(going to be adapted to a book, this was just a story thrown together.)

Continued. . .

He would miss the harley and the conviences of modern society but he would do his best to stay away from them for awhile. He traded the harley to a bike dealer in town and bought one strong mule with the cash. With the excess cash he bought a good wool coat, an old beaten .44 lever action rifle and 3 foothold traps for beaver and coyotes. Lastly he bought a cheap military sleeping bag and a hudson bay blanket where he bought the traps.


He was already into a deep wild valley when he was overcome with anxiety of how back in he was. He was walking along an ancient summer creek leading the mule looking for sign of beaver to trap come late fall. He had trapped back east but wasnt that great at it yet. He'd learn. Just like he'd learn to hunt this wesern wilderness as well as he did back east.

He loved the wild ways now but knew he'd probably trap this year then head back into civilization next come spring after the last trap was pulled.