Traditions Part 5

By Brandon Adams and John Seginak

The poacher was in jail again, and this time he wasn’t getting out anytime soon. With their new found knowledge, Buttermilk and Junior decided to give it one last chance. Both men agreed to leave the moonshine still alone and let the area rest. Besides, with all of the leaves off the trees, it would now be possible to see the fire at the still at night by a well-trained government agent’s eye, especially two who are hungry for the attention they got last time.

Word had gotten out in the community that Harland and Bo were so desperate for an arrest they are walking creeks in hopes of finding a still. There were other footprints along the creeks, those of forest server ranger Arthur Woody, who had been seen walking barefooted along the creeks he had personally stocked with trout.

Luckily, Ranger Woody had not stocked trout above the waterfalls.

•  •  •

The two men were hunting with old blackpowder shotguns, claiming that they were after squirrels. They had been left alone for the most part.

“Were do you wanna try first, Junior?” Buttermilk asked.

“I think we should hunt the mountain up above the shine still. I have a feeling that ol’ buck might have moved back into his old area whar we found the old hornin’ back in the summer. That way we can be above him to have the wind in our favor, since these critters apparently smell so good, and we can look down toward the creek.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Buttermilk said. “I can’t think of a better idea. I never would have thought them thar creatures were so dang hard to kill.”

Well before daylight, the men made their way up to the old logging road. Once they hit the road they headed toward the gap, but they turned off the road about 300 yards before the gap. Then they slowly made their way around the side of the mountain until they reached the side of the gap. They could hear the waterfalls below them.

“Junior, I think I will head to where I can see the moonshine still. Why don’t you stay here, or move a little closer to the gap?” Buttermilk whispered, knowing now how well deer can hear.

“OK. You wanna meet back here after sunset?”

“Sure,” replied Buttermilk.

Buttermilk spent the day above the old moonshine still. He saw some movement below him, and he could see the old tan cowboy hat that Bo liked to wear. He was below the first waterfall where the decoy still had been.

“I guess that Old Bo is trying to see if someone was back making shine in that area since they never caught the person who build it,” Buttermilk chuckled to himself.

Then, he almost laughed out loud as he watched Bo try to climb the steep bank of the waterfall, sliding back down the hill twice before giving up. That old boy from the flat land sure has not learned how to climb a mountain since he has been up here.

“Good thing, or we would be in trouble by now,” the shiner  now turned deer hunter thought to himself.

Buttermilk watched the government liquor agent make his way back out the way he came until he disappeared from sight.

Around lunch time, Buttermilk took out a jar of buttermilk that he drank so much as a child—hence his nickname. In fact no one around knew his real name wasn’t actually Buttermilk. It was actually Jacob. He also had two slices of bread and some country ham he cut off as he left the house.

Meanwhile, Junior had slowly made his way back toward the gap. About midmorning, he thought he could hear something down the creek past the lower waterfall. Surely, he thought to himself, that cannot be Buttermilk making all that noise. Junior then thought he saw a glimpse of antler moving through the laurel thicket on the other side of the creek heading over the mountain on the other side of the gap.

“Was that him?” Junior asked himself. “Surely an animal that big would make more noise going over a mountain.”

Junior took out his jar of tea and ate some of his smoked green trout he caught that summer in the river. Junior did see a turkey hen, which he felt must have escaped from a farm, since there were almost no wild turkey left except in a few pockets in the mountains. However, it was never close enough to shoot, and besides, he had his mind set on waiting for the old mature buck.

As the afternoon went on above the moonshine still, Buttermilk only saw two squirrels—two squirrels he would have normally shot if it was not for the fact the buck offered a lot more meat than two old gray squirrels. As night fell, Buttermilk started making his way back to Junior.

When the two men got together after dark, Buttermilk told him all about seeing Bo trying to climb the steep bank along with lower waterfall.

“So that was what I was hearing down yonder. I was wondering if you had forgotten how to walk?” Junior said, picking at his brother-in-law.

“No you idiot. I know how to walk.”

“You know, after I heard all of the commotion going on down there, I thought I saw horns heading over the mountain on the other side of the gap in the laurel thicket. I wonder if Bo pushed the old buck out of his bed with all of that noise he was making. If I could hear it, you know the buck could.”

“Bo also loves to use his smell-good stuff,” Buttermilk said. “I always said you could smell him and Harland coming before they were within half a mile from any moonshine still they were going to raid. If we can smell him that good, you know the buck did.”

“I bet you that was him I caught a glimpse of. And now I know how we are huntin’ him next time…”

December 2020

“Chris, how do you think we should go about hunting the buck now that Greasy is out of the picture?” Todd asked.

“I think that we need to make sure we hunt the wind, and if it is not right, we need to stay out,” Chris replied.

“I agree with that. I think staying on the side of the mountain before we get to the gap again is a great way to start.”

“Sounds like a plan to me, Todd.”

The hunters packed a lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches along with several bottled waters. They set out from the gate toward the gap. Before reaching the gap, Todd broke off to take up his position just above the old moonshine still site. Chris headed to the gap. Little did the hunters know that Greasy had been in there looking for the buck. The poacher’s activities, along with Chris killing the bear, had pushed the buck to change his pattern. The old mountain monarch was now bedding on the other side of the creek.

From the other side of the creek, the buck could see the LED lights as the hunters were coming in. The buck could even pick up their scent, even with all of the scent eliminating spray they had used and showered with. The buck could even smell the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

The buck rose, slowly making his way deeper into a laurel thicket that was now his bedding area since the human intrusion into his old bedding area around the old moonshine still. He was already bedded with his back against on old fallen tree with his nose into the wind before either of the hunters had reached their stands in the pre-dawn darkness.

The old buck kept an eye on them while occasionally nodding off to sleep from time to time. The buck would spend the rest of the day watching squirrels and a large flock of turkeys feeding around him. He would not leave his bed until the hunters were well out of the gap.

During his hunt, Todd kept thinking he was hearing a deer coming, but all that appeared where the sound came from was one squirrel after another.

Todd and Chris were two of the few who still hunted squirrels in the area. Years ago, if it was not for squirrels, a lot of families would only have meat from the pig they would slaughter each year and the chickens they raised. It is hard for Todd to imagine a time when seeing deer and turkey in the fields was unheard of, back when both were on the verge of being wiped out from the state of Georgia.

Just as he was becoming lost in his thoughts, Todd heard the loud sound of leaves crunching on the other side of the creek above the old still. Todd focused on the area under the laurel thicket where the sound was coming from.

“Dang it man. If it ain’t a big flock of turkeys,” Todd said to himself.

Later in the day, Todd could even hear Mr. Taylor riding out to his blind in the back corn field where they had seen the buck back in the summer. The field now was planted in winter wheat that was offering deer a food source as the acorns were starting to play out with all of the animals eating on them since there was little browse in the mountains anymore with the lack of logging and the chestnut trees wiped out by the blight by the 1950s. Now, most of the wildlife depended on the lowland farms and fields for their food sources, except when the acorns were available.

As the sun began to sink on the other side of the mountain, Todd could hear Mr. Taylor crank up the cart and head back home.

“I bet Mrs. Taylor has some of her good old pinto beans and cornbread waiting on him when he gets home,” Todd thought to himself as he climbed out of the stand.

Chris spent most of the morning watching squirrels, making note of what trees they were using. He’d be back after deer season was over.

As Chris got out his sandwich, he heard something coming over the side of the mountain toward the gap. Chris started to set his sandwich down and pick up his rifle, and then the first hen turkey came into view moving out of the laurel thicket.

“Man, I would have sworn that was a deer coming straight to me,” he said to himself.

Chris sat there trying not to be seen by the turkeys, enjoying the in-person nature show, listening to the quiet purrs and clucks of the flock and the occasional series of yelps from the dominate hen that echoed up the mountain.

As sunset neared and the woods began to darken, Chris could see Todd turn on his light.

“Man, if our lights are that bright to me, I imagine we stood out like a sore thumb this morning. Our hunt was probably over before it started,” he thought.

Chris got down out of the stand and headed to meet Todd. The two friends talked about what they had seen, and Chris told Todd about how bright his light was when he was coming around the side of the mountain. Little did they know the old buck was standing up to stretch as their lights went out of sight. The buck took its time, standing still, testing the wind, his eyes scanning the dark woods. Then he headed slowly down the slope, stopping often, making his way down to feed on the winter wheat on the Taylor Farm. He knew it was safe—the buck also listened as Mr. Taylor headed for home in his cart.

Chris and Todd knew the upcoming holidays, school and kids sports would take up a lot of their time, and that their December hunting would be limited. They also knew they might get one more good chance at the buck.

They had to come up with the best possible plan if they were going to have a chance at this old mountain buck.

End of December 1933

Buttermilk and Junior decided to walk in and come up from the backside of the gap. It was a good plan, maybe. But it would require the two to spend the night in the woods because of how long the walk would be to get to the other side. It certainly wouldn’t be the first the pair had spent the night on the mountain, but it was the first time just to try to kill a deer.

Of course, that buck they were after was no ordinary deer.

Their wives packed them plenty of food, and Buttermilk made sure to get three jars of his namesake drink of choice. Junior, to save weight they’d have to carry, would get water from the creek that was on the opposite side of the gap from the creek they had their moonshine still on. They made their way through the woods along old wagon and logging roads through the gap behind their house. Skirting along the ridge was not as easy as the two had thought it would be.

“Junior this ain’t work’n,” Buttermilk said.

“I agree. Why don’t we go ahead and drop down into the bottom and make our way along the creek. We can stay up there in the woods so no one will see us,” Junior suggested.

“Sounds like a plan to me. Let’s get off the side of this mountain. I didn’t realize how thick it was over here from when they did cut years ago.”

This was the first time either of the men had ventured into the neighboring valley. They had spent most of their lives never leaving their valley, except going to town for food and supplies from time to time.

They reached the creek and started to climb up toward the gap. They found a nice flat to camp on, and the prevailing wind would keep their scent from crossing over to the area where they felt the buck was bedded. Both men ate their supper after making a shelter using limbs and the tarps they had brought. It was going to be a long cold night, but they were both too tired to care.

•  •  •

Buttermilk and Junior were up well before the first hint of light would show in the eastern sky over the mountain. There steps were slow and sure, the steps of men who knew nothing but these mountains and its terrain. The stars were still twinkling through the leafless branches above, each breath pushing out a stream of fog as they came into the gap. They set up along this opposite side of the creek. Junior stayed near the gap, and Buttermilk headed toward the area above their still.

The old buck was moving, too, heading up to bed in his thicket, his nose dropping into the leaves occasionally to pick up what few acorns and chestnuts were left in the December woods.

Suddenly the buck came to a stop. A strong scent hit his nose, something he had not smelled in a while. The buck could smell a doe that had come into heat. His entire demeanor shifted. He was now focused on one thing, finding that doe.

The buck went back down the ridge and crossed to the other side of the creek below the lower waterfall. Daylight was just starting to break. As he jumped over the creek he saw not one but two does feeding under a beech tree.

The buck ran up toward the does, and they took off up the side of the creek toward the moonshine still. The thought of the men and the activity around the waterfall may have still been somewhere in the back of the old buck’s brain, but the scent from the does made him cast that fear aside.

The sun was now up as the trio of deer ran past the still. Up the mountain on the still side of the gap went the does. The buck following behind them. He was not as young as he once was, but he was able to cut off one of the does and force her into the thick area Buttermilk and Junior had walked through the day before.

The second doe continued to head for the gap, heading back toward the area she had been born in, birthed by one of the does Arthur Woody had brought in from North Carolina. As the doe entered the gap, she was headed right toward Junior without knowing the hunter was there.

Junior had just settled in when he heard all the noise again coming from below the waterfalls. Knowing it was not Buttermilk, he wondered at first if Harland or Bo were back in the area.

“That cannot be those agents. They can’t climb a mountain that fast. Has to be a deer…”

Something was running, heading over the mountain, and another sound kept coming toward the gap. Junior raised the old blackpowder shotgun as the deer came into sight. As the doe came within 30 yards, Junior fired, dropping the doe in her tracks.

The buck continued with the doe into the thicket, not giving the sound of the shot a second thought.

After a few minutes, Buttermilk could be seen coming around the mountain.

“You git em Junior?” Buttermilk asked.

“Come here and see for yourself.”

“I am a coming, hold your horses. You will not believe all the rubs and the pawed areas over here. Well, what’d you get?”

Buttermilk looked over, and in the gap was not the buck he was expecting. It was a doe.

“Where did that doe come from? I ain’t heard of a doe in these part in years,” Buttermilk said.

“Well we didn’t know there was a buck in here until we had to come in here and moonshine to put some food on the table this year. I guess they came from some of the deer Ranger Woody brought in.”

“Who knows Junior, one day our great grandkids might be able to see deer in these mountains regular.”

“I got one question Junior. Why did you not wait for the buck to come in? You know he might’ve been chasing the doe.”

“Well I look at it like this Buttermilk, the smoked fish is almost gone. We ain’t shot a squirrel in months between trying to keep the still running and not run off the buck. I’m getting tired of salted pork, and we can’t eat those horns. Fresh deer meat sounds might good to me at this point.”

“Well Junior, I got to say I agree with you. Now, let’s get the meat off this deer and head home the easy way.”

December 28, 2020

Chris and Todd finally were free from work and family obligations. They had texted back and forth and decided that a deer drive was the best option they had left in the limited amount of time that they had left to hunt.

That morning, Chris dropped Todd off on the national forest above the property line of Mr. Taylor’s farm. Todd’s plan was to get to the base of the gap just after first light, so that the buck would have a chance to clear the field as Mr. Taylor drove in on schedule an hour before sunrise for his hunt. Chris would then drive up to the gate to park and head to the gap. As Todd heard the cart crank up at the farm house, he started to make his way to the creek. By the time Mr. Taylor was in his blind along the field edge, Todd was standing along the creek 100 yards from the property line.

As the sun broke the ridge line, Todd began his climb.

“I hope Chris knows he owes me big for this, especially if he gets the buck,” he thought as his legs began to burn heading up the steep incline.

Todd reached the flat across from the old moonshine still, and he thought he could see a flash of white in the laurel thicket above him. It took more than two hours for him to make it slowly up to the gap—he was being careful to hopefully push the buck but not send it running into the next valley. Once at the gap, he could see Chris, who had stood up as he heard Todd approaching.

Meanwhile, Chris had made it to the gap just as daylight started to break. He settled in above the old still at the base of a large white oak. Chris could hear the cart crank up in the valley below, knowing that would be the signal for Todd to start the drive. Chris got his rifle up on the shooting sticks in anticipation of the buck coming through the gap. About the time Chris figured Todd was reaching the flat the old still was on, he saw the buck. He was in the laurels heading around the mountain just above the gap. Chris took careful aim.

“Come on, give me an opening. Come on. Come on,” Chris said to himself. But there was no opening, no way for a clean ethical shot.

“Todd is going to kill me,” Chris said as he watched the buck head through the gap and into the neighboring valley.

Todd made his way up to Chris.

“Man you will not believe all of the sign I found in that mess of a laurel thicket. Did you not see him? I thought I got a glimpse of white heading your way,” Todd asked

“Promise you won’t kill me…”

“What happened Chris?”

“I saw him sure enough, but he stayed in the thicket. I swear I never had a clear shot.”

“Well,you know what?”

“Don’t tell me you would have made the shot. I don’t need to hear that now, Todd.”

“No man. I would not have taken the shot and risked wounding him either. I was just going to say it just means we get to come back and do it again next year.”

“You are right Todd. Let’s head to town. Lunch is on me.”

“Yeah, you owe me,” laughed Todd.

“Until next year Mr. Buck.”

 

THE END

 

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