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One More Time at Greatness
by: Robert Muncie
The first weekend of gun season was finally here. The forecast said clear and cold. Cold was fine as long as bitter wasn’t in front of it. My father and I spent this same weekend together for the last 14 years. Firearms deer season was a time neither of us would miss. We had spent the last two years hunting a farm that produced some great deer and had potential for many more. It was still two hours before first light when we unloaded the ATV from the truck and loaded up our gear. In years past my father would never have let us drive out to our stands but this year was different. He had been diagnosed with brain cancer 8 months earlier and wasn’t able to walk the long distances he once could. This year’s hunt was special to us both for another reason. His cancer was terminal and we both knew this would be our last hunt together. We headed out on the ATV with the cold crisp November air against our faces. We had a short drive through a cut cornfield to a central location close to both our setups. The ground was crunchy under our feet as the morning frost covered everything. This was a good morning to be out. The rut was in full swing and we had a great tree stand set up for me and a fantastic ground blind for my father. We each had a short walk from the ATV and plenty of time before first light. My morning started slow with no deer sightings in the first few hours. As 9:30 neared that all changed. A group of does were making there way to me through the very same cut cornfield we had drove through earlier that morning. After watching them for a few minutes I was able to tell their direction and knew they would get no closer than 100 yards. And much to my disappointment there wasn’t a buck in tow. As much as I had hoped for a big bruiser to be following it just wasn’t in the cards this year. A mature doe was my only target. This was now an option for me since a few years earlier Indiana had opened up doe hunting with a permit and I had said permit in my pocket. I was in college and this was the only weekend I could get home so my shot at a deer was now or never. I steadied the gun on the tree and waited for the big girl in the group to step into my window. She soon did and my 870 rang out loud. She dropped in her tracks and stopped kicking a few moments later. I stepped off the distance as I went for her and it ended up being 103 yards. She was a big one too. The old matriarch was no more. I dressed her out and got her back to the ATV by 10:00am. It was still to early to check on my father so I took it easy and rested for an hour or so. Around 11:00am I headed his way. Wanting to be careful as to not sneak up on him I stayed out of his range and called for him. He answered and I walked into his blind location. He was still sitting there, with gun in hand, a legend on his last hunt. My father had taken numerous bucks up to and including a 190 plus giant. Everyone wanted to hunt with us, with my father. He could smell a buck a mile away. Sometimes I think he just knew what they were thinking and where they were going. We sat together in his blind for about 30 minutes. I talked of my doe kill and how the morning went and he listened as he had many times before. He talked of the slow morning he had and that he hadn’t seen or heard anything. I was expecting that to be the case. The tumor had limited his hearing and gave him only short distance sight. I didn’t expect him to be able to hear or see anything unless it came to within 20 yards. This hunt was not just about killing a deer it was something so much more. It was about a great hunter taking in one last breath of the cold November hunting air. This was about a legendary hunter loading his trusty 1100 one more time and wearing his camo for one last morning of hunting and that is exactly what had happened. We loaded up my deer around lunch time and headed home. My fathers health turned a few weeks later and he died that following April. I’ve not met anyone since that could track whitetails the way he could or just knew where to find them. I still talk to him while I’m hunting and just can’t understand why my setup didn’t work. I ask for his advice on what he would do. It’s more for me and about me since I know there isn’t an answer coming or maybe there is. Maybe he left the answers in me each time he called me over to teach me something or to tell me what I was looking at. I once thought that morning so many years ago was one last chance at greatness for this maverick of the woods but maybe it was really just a new beginning, a new beginning for greatness to continue. Cancer may have taken Bob Muncie’s life but it could never touch his greatness.
