472 
FOREST AND STREAM 
OCTOBER, 1917 
YOUR SKILL AGAINST HIS CUNNING 
IN STILL-HUNTING, THE DEER’S OVERWEENING CURIOSITY IS MOST OFTEN 
HIS UNDOING. YOU MUST PLAY ON THIS FAILING TO BAG HIM 
S TILL-HUNTING—the phrase itself— 
does not sound very interesting. But 
for the successful still-hunter, it has 
every thrill the hunter knows. That few 
practice it, or even become interested in it, 
does not argue so much against the style 
of the sport, as against the real skill of the 
hunter. There is a wide difference between 
man and dog pitting their combined ef¬ 
forts, and the lone hunter going into the 
natural haunts of his game and matching 
his skill, against the instinct and cunning 
of the wary buck. 
Of course, still-hunting applies almost 
exclusively to deer hunting, as there is 
scarcely any other game animal or bird the 
pursuit of which permits of such a dis¬ 
tinctive method of hunting. No doubt 
there is a blare of unusual excitement in 
pumping lead at a buck that has been rout¬ 
ed out by a dog and is only hitting the 
“high places” in dodging dog and lead. 
It is exciting—long odds against slim 
chance for a hit; quick aim against quick 
motion. It is the only method to follow 
where large parties go together. But there 
is another condition: the condition of a 
lone hunter, or two or three skilled hunt¬ 
ers, who lack the help of a trained dog. 
I was forced to still hunting by a series 
of accidents that deprived me of my dogs. 
One was killed by a wounded buck and an¬ 
other by accidental poisoning. Up to that 
time I had thought that hunting without a 
dog was about as useless as trying to catch 
fish with a spoon. 
Whenever I rode the range one dog was 
sure to be with me, and he missed no 
chance to rout out any deer that strayed 
near the trail. Of course I took my own 
chances on getting a shot. All this time I 
was convinced that if it were not for the 
dog I could scarcely expect to see any of 
these deer. When I was deprived of dogs 
and forced to go it alone, I became strange¬ 
ly impressed with the number of deer I 
would see by the trail-side, or start at close 
range where I could choose my game with 
much more certainty than before. Then 
I began to find that by strolling around 
carelessly I frequently took deer entirely 
unawares, and could pick them off with 
comparative ease. 
When starting on a hunt I would travel 
fast until I came to some locality where 
deer tracks were numerous, and then begin 
the slow manceuvering to outwit the game. 
If it were rough chaparral country, broken 
with rocky or grassy glades, I would often 
sit on one look-out position for a half hour 
or longer. And it is surprising how fre¬ 
quently at the end of a long wait a deer 
will stride leisurely into view. Or, stranger 
still, you will be attracted by the sway¬ 
ing, bobbing and jerking of a nice pair of 
antlers as some unsuspecting buck trims 
leisurely the top of a green bush, where 
he has been standing almost in plain view 
all the while. 
But that is the waiting game. When the 
By J. F. BERNARD 
land is less broken and the brush covering 
more dense and uniform, then comes the 
real test of the still-hunter. He must 
choose the high timber and the right ap¬ 
proach, and stalk into the brush to pit his 
skill against the native cunning and instinct 
of his prey. He cannot lumber in and take 
pot-luck. Every knoll or depression must 
be approached just right. There is seldom 
more than one direction at which a likely 
knoll or depression can be reached to give 
the hunter any chance for a shot. From 
any other angle, he will find only the fresh 
track, or hear the deer bounding away to 
safety.—Never approach from above; it 
is almost useless. Few deer will stand for 
inspection when they see an enemy tower¬ 
ing above. The rare exception is when he 
feels securely hid, and risks discovery 
against the danger of escape. But once 
even suspecting discovery, he will dash 
away in panicky flight and keep going until 
he is well out of harm’s way. 
By careful watching and listening one 
may possibly determine the approximate 
location of his first stop. It is sure to be 
at the top of some knoll where he can 
guard carefully against any approach along 
the trail by which he made his get-away; 
but the time consumed and the difficulty 
of a follow-up under such circumstances 
is seldom worth the try. 
It is a deer’s overweening curiosity 
that, in still-hunting, is most often his un¬ 
doing. And it is the playing on this animal 
failing that determines the success or 
failure of the still-hunter. He must play 
it, too, at the psychological moment, else he 
will defeat his own best laid plans. This 
is why a long follow-up is seldom suc¬ 
cessful. The deer have too much time to 
suspect unusual conditions. 
In still-hunting, the hunter must first of 
all look for tracks. If there are no tracks 
there are no deer, and a hunter’s best art 
will be wasted on an empty wood. 
O NE must be keyed up to the tense 
strain of this style of hunting, else 
he can not succeed. He must be ab¬ 
sorbed in expectancy, and expectancy is 
best sustained by the unmistakable signs of 
the immediate presence of game. It is 
necessary to walk slowly, and as noiseless¬ 
ly as possible. At the critical moment 
each step must be guarded and calculated 
to avoid dry leaves and twigs. When it is 
impossible to avoid the accumulated leaves, 
then comes the strategy of imitation. It is 
not so difficult, either, for there is a strik¬ 
ing similarity in the unguarded foot-step 
of a man and of a deer. A deer drops 
two feet with the clear-cut sound of one. 
There is none of the sweeping drag of the 
sheep; only the elastic rise and firm set of 
the foot, without slip or confusion of noise. 
This the hunter must imitate with a careful 
rise of the foot, and a firm set with a 
carefully measured beat. With this pre¬ 
caution one may tread through considera¬ 
ble setting of leaves without attracting par¬ 
ticular notice from deer although they may 
be close at hand. 
The discordant splashing sound of a mis¬ 
step or slip in the leaves, or the rasping of 
gravel under a sliding foot, will awaken 
and startle all animal life in the immediate 
vicinity and another move means defeat 
for the hunter. There is only one counter 
for such a mishap, and that is to stand 
perfectly still for half a minute or longer. 
If a deer is close by and has been startled 
but not stampeded by the unexpected com¬ 
motion, he will be all on the alert for the 
approach of an enemy, but if there follows 
only dead silence his curiosity is immedi¬ 
ately aroused. At the same time his fear is 
somewhat allayed. 
He seems to expect of an enemy that he 
will keep up an uninterrupted pursuit and 
this sudden silence suggests that the noise 
is only the result of a tree-squirrel’s mis¬ 
hap or, at worst, the approach of some 
careless wanderer. Although he hears the 
renewed approach, his allayed fears and 
added curiosity will often prompt him to 
give a long and thorough inspection to the 
visitor, and if the hunter is alive to his 
business it will furnish the opportunity he 
desires. Even if the deer dashes away 
before he is discovered, he will seldom 
run farther than the next ridge or promi¬ 
nent knoll, where he stops for a second 
look to see if he is pursued. 
This is the hunter’s opportunity for a 
follow-up. He knows the location of the 
deer and he has the advantage of seeing 
the deer at least as soon as the deer can 
see him; any deer is bound to wait just 
a little bit longer than that, which is his 
