THE MASTER WILDWOOD SPORT 
THE TRUE HUNTER OF THE WHITETAIL DEER WILL FOREGO EVERY 
OTHER OUTDOOR SPORT IN ORDER TO PURSUE A MANY-SEASONED BUCK 
By ARCHIBALD RUTLEDGE 
S OME men cruise the sea under a 
white sail; and some cruise_ the 
woods after a white tail. It is of 
these latter that I wish to give some 
account, discussing them, their ways and 
the object of all their desires. They have 
an overmastering passion for the old 
masters; and by then; I mean those 
woodland wearers of kingly crowns. A 
true hunter of the white tail will forego 
every other pleasure on earth for that 
rarest one of pursuing and taking an old 
rough-shod, long-flanked, many-seasoned 
buck, whose antlers, as he moves, are 
likely to make an amateur hunter im- 
agine that the woods have suddenly been 
set in motion. 
It was as a lad of nine on a Carolina 
plantation that I had my first encounter 
with a buck; and let me add that these 
first meetings are liable to be concus- 
sions. If a man is ever in danger of 
being attacked by acute mania, it is when 
his initial stag heads his way. The 
negroes in the South have an expression 
which they apply to any unaccountable 
and fatal sickness; they call it “the take- 
off.” That is what buck-fever is. 
A brief account of this hunt may be in 
order because it illustrates many of the 
changes and chances of deer hunting in 
general. After all, a wise old stag, find 
him where you will, is the same wildly 
intelligent and crafty creature. 
T he business happened on my home 
plantation, more than thirty years 
ago. For a long time I had been pleading 
with my father to take me deer hunting, 
and when he consented I was almost 
overcome by my responsibility. I im- 
agined that if I let a deer pass me the 
end of the world would be a natural and 
speedy consequence. The weapon with 
which I was armed was not designed for 
big game. It was a little single-barreled 
shotgun, with no sight, and with a de- 
cided bend in the barrel. One day, while 
crawling after some doves in the corn- 
HERE is no other big -game 
animal which is notv so wide- 
ly distributed over the continent 
of North America as the whitetail 
deer, and for that reason it holds 
the attention of a great many 
sportsmen. 
From an experience of many 
years among the wild deer of the 
United States and Canada, Mr. 
Rutledge has given the readers of 
Forest and Stream a comprehen- 
sive description of hunting meth- 
ods throughout the country . — 
[Editors.] 
field, I had by mischance thrust the 
muzzle in the earth and, without know- 
ing that it was choked, had fired it, 
bursting it badly. The plantation black- 
A Pennsylvania stag head with 24 
points and a spread of 27 inches 
smith had filed the end smooth and I 
had learned, when sighting, to make due 
allowance for the twist and the list. 
As I stood on my first deer-stand, every 
sight and sound, every flash and shadow 
that varies the light of the woodland was 
vividly alive to me. I looked so hard at 
the drive that the trees in it seemed to 
come up to me. I saw tiny warblers 
busily searching in the giant pines for 
their fairy fare. The towhee hopping 
about in the thicket-edge and rustling 
the dead leaves, the cautious crows, caw- 
ing at me persistently from a safe dis- 
tance, the insolent sharp-shinned hawk, 
circling high above the murmuring pines 
— each in turn caught my attention but 
failed to hold my interest. I was after 
deer; but of deer I saw no sign. After a 
while I heard our skilful negro driver 
whistle to the hounds. Soon one hound 
struck what might ha^•e been a mazy fox- 
trail, and my heart began a very exalted 
beating. My eyes were fixed with the 
utmost intentness on the head of the 
drive. 
Suddenly, three hundred yards away, 
and straight ahead of me, the bay-bushes 
silently parted; there stood a splendid 
buck, his great antlers towering in the 
pale winter sunshine. His chest looked 
shaggy and dark. A moment later the 
dogs opened in full cry, and the buck 
with a single bound cleared the thicket 
and headed for me. As he broke cover, 
he disclosed behind him a smaller deer 
with peg-horns. 
The chorus of the hounds rose high ; 
the cautious crows left their perches and 
flew away, cawing discordantly. On 
came the two splendid creatures of the 
wild, and I was the only obstacle in 
their path — I and my little twisted gun. 
My father had warned me never to fol- 
low a deer with my gun, but rather to 
pick an open space between two pines 
and to pull down on the trigger the 
moment the deer darkened it. It was 
sound advice to a youngster on a broad- 
Contents copyrighted by Forest and Stream Pub. Co. 
