The Deer Hunt

There was a time once long ago

That I did hunt for deer

I did so with my cut down bow

That once my father owned

‘Twas made of osage orange and

It had glued cow horn nocks

It was a beauty to behold

And drew just eighty pounds.

And then one day, as Dad did shoot

The bow began to split

As so he had to cut it down

Without the cow horn nocks.

It was about five foot six

Just right for me to shoot

But then I had to scrape it down

To pull at fifty pounds.

And then Rhode Island opened up

A season just for deer

This was the first since early days

But only bows allowed.

My cut-down bow was all I had

So it would have to do

I gathered my bow hunting gear

And waited for the day.

            -2-

Though I preferred to hunt alone

I almost never did

This time I took along with me

Milt Dennis and Steve Mairs

And on this season’s opener

We though that we should hunt

Around the place we often fished

In back of Breakheart Pond.

The hunt began at six o’clock

The sun was hardly up

The ice was thick upon the pond

The snow was one foot deep

It was so cold, our hands so stiff

We could not shoot our bows

And as we went our separate ways

We knew we could not hunt.

The fact that cold would not permit

Our hunting normally

Did not prevent our moving ‘round

The pond to find some tracks

For every step in this cold snow

Was made so noisily

We knew the best that we could do

Was find the tracks we sought.

            -3-

I moved around the eastern side

While Milt and Steve went west

They came upon a six-point buck

Just laying in the snow

He’d been dead for quite a while

Hit by some poacher’s shot

They knew this hunting day was done

The snow did crunch too much

They also knew I’d be there soon

And thought they’d play a prank

They propped that buck against a tree

And standing he looked real

They didn’t have time to brush the snow

Stuck to his hairy hide

They hid themselves and lay so still

They nearly froze to death.

I slowly came around the pond

Then couldn’t believe my eyes

For standing not too far from me

I saw a great big buck.

He made no move to get away

Which made me wonder why.

‘Twas then I heard two great big whoops

And knew it was a hoax.

            -4-

The buck was then reported to

The nearest officer

Who happened to be “Fish and Game”

And cussed the poachers out

They were about to bring him out

But then they thought again

If they left him right where he was

He’d feed some other game.

And so we thought we’d had enough

Our hunting day was through

The snow was crunchy under foot

The cold we could not bear.

And so we put away our bows

Then climbed into the car

To try to get our bodies warmed

Before we headed home.

            -5-

The next time that I went to hunt

I went out all alone

I had been down to Westerly

To help a client there

And because I’d pass right by

The hunting area

I brought my hunting bow with me

And also hunting clothes

I had about four hours left

Before the sun went down

And so I parked at Breakheart’s bridge

And put on my old clothes.

I started down along the stream,

Where often I had fished,

In snow about six inches deep

But this time with no crunch.

I now moved slowly thru the snow

An arrow on the bow

And watched the snow for any tracks

Made freshly by a deer.

I'd moved about a quarter mile

So slowly step by step

‘Twas then I found this great big set

Of tracks among the trees.

            -6-

This deer I knew had gone my way

And so I followed it

For just a while, the tracks then turned

And went the other way.

I looked back at the way I’d come

But nothing could I see

And so went back just off my tracks

Just following this deer.

The deer was wise to all I did

For he’d been watching me

As I went back the way I came

He’d move the other way

It now was like a game to him

For as I went one way

He’d go the other ‘til we passed

And then he’d turn again.

Four times this deer did pass me by

Until I spotted him.

All I could see was head and ears

No antlers could I see.

The distance was some thirty feet

I felt I could not miss

He was behind snow-covered brush

And I was in the clear.

            -7-

I drew my bow, the arrow flew

Right where I wanted it.

But he had stood sideways to me

And not the way I thought

Thus did my arrow miss its chest

Just plowed into the snow

Whether doe, or antler-less buck

That deer went bounding off.

But now I knew where I could find

The deer at any time

And we could track them through the snow

Wherever they would go.

And so the next day we could hunt

Was on a Saturday

Then Milt and I were right on hand

As dawn began to show.

It was not cold as it had been

The first day we went out

And so we started down the way

That ran past Breakheart Brook.

We reached the swamp that was below

The water all was ice

Which then permitted us to walk

With very little noise.

            -8-

But now my friend in eagerness

Just went way out ahead

I wanted him to stay in close

I knew he could not shoot

With rifle, shotgun or his bow

Could never hit a thing.

But off he went out in the swamp

And I was left to stew.

But then he jumped another deer,

Perhaps the one I tracked,

And though he shot his arrow wide

That deer did skid and turn

Then headed back quite close to me

And she was loping fast

But as I shot, I knew I’d missed

The arrow flying past.

We watched her go with leaping bounds

Up into the thick pines

That grew along the steeper slopes

That marked the Breakheart Brook.

So we continued with our hunt

And came across more tracks

But did not see another deer

And so called it a day.

            -9-

We had another Saturday

Before the season closed

This time I went out with a friend

Who stayed in his wheelchair

He’d been injured in the war

And could no longer stand

And so he drove me to the spot

Where I did wish to hunt.

This time we went to Escoheag

And down the Pratt Place road

We were not far from Stepstone Falls

When I first saw the deer

She crossed the road ahead of us

And went into the woods

It was a doe, but big and fat

She’d been around a while.

I had my friend continue on

Then turn and head on back.

And when he’d nearly reached the top

I had him let me out.

He’d pick me up in just one hour

He’d wait at Parris Brook

I quickly slipped into the woods

And started my approach.

            -10-

The doe had crossed ahead of us

About a quarter mile

She did not seem concerned at all

Just ambled right across.

And so I slowly started down

As softly as I could

And figured at the rate I went

It would be half an hour.

The time went by, I’d stop to watch

And then continue on

I must have been close to the spot

Where she had crossed the road.

And there she was, I saw her move

But she had seen me too

She stood and watched me from between

The forks of an old ash.

The wind was in my favor and

The deer was never sure

She’d seen a man or something else

And so I stood stock still.

She sniffed the air, then stomped a bit

And moved her ears about.

I wondered how I’d get a shot

With her behind the tree.

            -11-

I watched her as she sniffed again

Then slowly raised my bow.

The movement did not frighten her

And so I took a chance

I drew the string back to my chin

And let the arrow fly

It struck the tree, just ‘neath her throat

I’d missed a shot again.

Now when the arrow hit the tree

That deer just bolted off

I gave no thought to where she went

She had just disappeared.

And so I walked up to the tree

To pull my arrow out.

But the head was in so deep

I had to break the shaft.

I heard my buddy drive on past

Close to the road I stood.

And so I met him coming back

Then stowed away my gear

I told him all that I had done

Showed him the arrow too

We would not hunt again this year,

Our shooting days were through.

            -12-

I later learned that in the state

Only one spike horn was shot

And so I did not feel too bad

At best I’d seen three deer

And got a shot at every one

A feat not done by most

‘Twas then that I was transferred north

To draw a bow no more.

Eventide

            -1-

I often fish in early spring

When the streams are high

For trout will get in tiny brooks

That later on are dry

And here I take a fish or two

While others just ignore

The possibilities these brooks

Have for a trout or more.

But when I’m fishing in the spring

Black gnats become a scourge

They bite my ears, my face, my neck

And make the fishing hard

Mosquito dope would do no good

And so I bought a net

That went right over my brimmed hat

And tied up underneath.

But then they started on my hands

And made it difficult

To change a tippet or a fly

So often did they bite.

And when I tried to drift a fly

'Neath overhanging brush

Those black gnats made it miserable

Until I put on gloves

            -2-

But black gnats only stay around

Until the May fly hatch

Then gradually do disappear

Until they all are gone.

Then all who like to fish the streams

And I was one of them

Can fish away without the curse

Of black gnats and their bites.

I had been fishing Breakheart Brook

Just wading down the stream

Not taking anything to keep

Just letting my fly drift

Until I reached the Falls River

Combined they formed a pool

I stood in the water to my knees

And wondered what they’d take.

I had a little metal box

That was just full of flies

I could have left most of them home

And carried only three

For I had tried most of these flies

With no result at all

The three I used were “mosquito,”

“Silver doctor” and “black gnat.”

            -3-

It was by then late afternoon

And shadows had begun

But then I saw the May fly hatch

And knew just what to use

I tied a silver doctor on

Then let the fly just drift

And took a trout that fought so hard

Before it came to net.

The silver doctor worked quite well

Was hit most every cast

I was right on the edge of them

These trout were rising fast

They hit that silver doctor hard

Each fought me all the way

I kept the bigger trout I caught

And just released the rest.

Now when I’d caught my final fish

The limit then was six

I stowed away my fishing gear                   

And started up the hill

I reached the crest, and then sat down

Upon an oaken stump

And as I watched the mackerel sky

The sun went slowly down.

            -4-

This sunset was the perfect way

To end my fishing day,

With golds and reds, and orange too

Amid the indigo.

I’d climbed the hill to see this sight

And felt the peace inside

That comes to me at eventide

Whenever I’m alone.

Now as the light began to fade

The shadows grew quite long

And as I watched the changing sky

I heard a wood thrush call

I listened for the Veery Thrush

And soon I heard him too,

Always trebling down the scale

This thrush is wont to do.

‘Twas almost dark and I still sat

And listened to the night

I waited for the great horned owl

To issue forth its hoot

But only heard the swishing of

A night hawk swooping low.

And as I sat, I thought about

How Dad would love this so.

            -5-

But finally, ‘twas almost dark,

When I arose to go

In silence I went down the hill

Until I reached the road

I’d hoped to see a deer or fox

Or anything at all

This night had been a peaceful one

I left reluctantly.

I had my trout, enough for all

My evening was complete

My time spent out upon the stream,

The sunset and the dark

Each gave to me a peacefulness

That I remember still

For I had listened to the night

And found my God anew.

Wood River

Up at the Wickaboxet Farms

There stands the Wickaboxet Lodge

And ‘cross the road from this old inn

Lies lily padded Hazard Pond

And from this pond a stream does flow

Known as Falls River on our maps.

It crosses Liberty Hill Road

And flows just right, not fast, not slow.

But when it reaches Step Stone Falls

It there becomes a noisy stream

It roars and tears along, then makes

A frenzied, frothy downhill plunge

Thru rocks and logs, then starts to slow

With darkened eddies here and there

That hide in back of rocks or logs

And make great hideaways for trout.

But soon it meets with Breakheart Brook

And these two waters do combine

To form a larger, slower stream

We call Wood River, and it flows

From Exeter, where it begins

Thru miles of wooded land it runs

Twisting, turning as rivers will

Until it meets the Pawcatuck.

            -2-

Now there’s another pond I know

Off to the east of Falls River

This pond is known as Breakheart Pond

And from it flows the Breakheart Brook.

‘Twas here I learned to fish for trout

Taught to me by an older friend

Who often fished the stream alone

But wanted company that day.

I must have been about fifteen

When first I saw this wondrous stream

And learned my casting rod was not

The best for catching wary trout.

Get a fly rod, he said to me

And then you can stand out of sight.

It lets you float your bait downstream

To catch those trout behind the rocks.

And so I took him at his word,

I bought a fly rod as he said

Then got a fly reel with fly line

Along with net and wooden creel.

And then I learned the way to fish

And ever since that time of old

I’ve fished the Breakheart all the way

Until it met that other stream

And as Wood River now is known.

            -3-

These are the trout streams that I loved

All in the town of Exeter

And these, Beach Pond and Escoheag,

Are where my summer days were spent

And later on as I grew up

I’d be found on Breakheart Brook

Fishing, often by myself,

For fishing is a way of peace.

Or maybe on Falls River where

I’d find a quiet place to fish

Then let a fly with current drift

A silver doctor or a black gnat

Until I saw the swirling rise

That bigger trout would often make

When taking flies they thought were real

They mostly ended in my net.

But then some days I’d move around

And try Wood River for a change

For here there was a tangle thick

Of trees blown down in thirty-eight

A hurricane that left a mess

But to the trout was heaven sent

For now they’d hide most anywhere

And let the fisherman beware.

            -4-

For often in late afternoon

And when the sun was getting low

I’d go across the Ten Rod Road

And slip into Wood River, where

The tangle left by hurricane

Had then become a paradise

For trout that hid beneath the logs

Of trees blown over in the past.

It’s not the fishing that I liked

For logs and brush so tangled up

Leave little room to drop a fly

And then it must be done with care

So trout won’t see from whence it came

And fish thus hooked will always try

To tangle line around a log

Before the net has brought them in.

This type of fishing’s difficult

And climbing over logs a chore

For though the trout are always there

The logs and brush are oft’ too much

And only those who love to fish

Will take the time and effort make

To reach infrequent open spots

Where it’s a joy just to be there.

            -5-

So time did pass, I took a wife

And though I did not fish as much

I usually did make the first day

But that was just a hassle too

For good fishing would never start

Until Mayflies began their hatch

But then ‘twas difficult for me

To fish, for I had growing kids.

I stayed at home until the kids

Were grown enough so we could take

Them out to picnic at a spot

On Falls River where they could watch

As dad once more tried fly casting

So in I went, then waded down

And while they watched, I’d take a trout

Much to their joy and my delight.

And when my boys were old enough

I’d take them out to camp with me

We’d eat a meal near Step Stone Falls

Then drift down to the stream to see

If anyone was fishing there

Then back again to spend the night

In Beach Pond Park, where whip-poor-wills

And crickets put us all to sleep.

            -6-

I love the memories of these streams

Of fishing them in spring and fall

Of using worms when just a boy

But when I grew to manhood then

I’d try the many flies I had

Until I found the one trout liked

Then I’d fish ‘til the sun went down

And then just watched as darkness neared.

Now in my elder years I wish

My boys had found that same desire

To take up fishing as a way

To find that inner peace we seek

By watching sunsets in the west

And listening to the evening birds

And all the sounds of coming night

Thus coming closer to their god.

Pool at Wood River