From the Pennsylvania Outdoor News
3-year quest ends with trophy for Bradford man
By Wade Robertson
Contributing Writer
It was the last day of deer season and Wayne Cawley, of Bradford, Pa., entered the woods. Before him, fresh, deep snow blanketed the forest, the black and white parallel tree trunks creating vertical symmetries as they stretched upward to the deep blue sky.
This strikingly beautiful composition was accented by several snow-dabbled green hemlocks, giving the woodland landscape a Christmas-card beauty.
Cawley is an avid deer hunter, as is his son, Matt. Both spend untold hours in the woods scouting for their particular passion, extra-large bucks. Cawley’s wife, Terry, also hunts, but she doesn’t spend the time in the woods that her men do.
In fact, because of the time they spend in the woods Terry jokes she’s going to be buried near a favorite deer stand so she can keep an eye on the boys after she is gone.
As Cawley angled his way up the hill, a large single track cut the snow before him in the thickest cover, and as he carefully examined it his heart raced — it was “The Monarch!”
Cawley immediately recognized the distinctive short toes these large tracks exhibited.
This was the third year he had hunted this particularly evasive deer and he knew several of his numerous escape routes and tendencies — not that it had done him any good in the past.
Cawley first came across this particular wily deer while September scouting the back of Gilbert Lane, not far from the New York State line near his home. By October the buck was rubbing 4- to 6-inch thick trees and Cawley came to know his core area.
The deer was smart though, and Cawley’s only opportunity the entire season came when he caught the buck following six does. When the 10-point finally stopped, only the top part of his chest was visible above a fallen tree. Cawley’s slug hit the tree and the buck escaped. He tracked him on other occasions, but only saw him one more time, at 300 yards, running!
The second year, Cawley returned to the same area and actually found one of the buck’s shed antlers. The deer was rubbing 8-inch trees this year and his rack was even wider and taller. The first day, Cawley passed up six bucks in the hope of seeing the deer he now called The Monarch.
Despite several close calls, Cawley never even got a shot at the smart, old buck the entire season.
His son, Matt, however, had the buck run up to within 40 yards of him during a drive.
Matt didn’t have his gun; he had already killed a nice buck the day before. One other hunter saw the deer that year fighting with another buck, but was so shaken by the buck’s huge antlers he forgot to shoot until it was too late.
This year there hadn’t been much snow and The Monarch had been so elusive Cawley had not even seen the deer once by the time the season began. Today would be his first and only chance at the buck that had fooled him so often.
After an hour of circling in the beech brush, the tracks headed for a saddle on the ridge.
As Cawley drew near, the hunter cut off the trail and circled wide to approach from a direction the buck wouldn’t expect. He figured the deer would be waiting somewhere near the saddle, watching his back-trail as he always did. Fifteen minutes later, Cawley eased over the hill, the wind blowing softly in his face.
His eyes picked apart the forest before him. Every bump on every tree, each log and brush pile was carefully studied, then studied again. After a long look, he eased across the saddle and carefully peeked over its top edge. The ridge flattened out before him and his attention was immediately drawn to a large, thick blow down.
He froze. His every instinct screamed a warning that the buck was there, watching.
For 15 minutes he scrutinized that tangle of limbs, scoping every inch as he tried desperately to find any trace of the deer. Nothing. He took a single step to the side for a different angle.
There was a snort, then the snapping of limbs as the buck leaped to his feet and crashed away. Cawley saw a glimpse of the wide, heavy antlers, and then the woods grew still.
Cawley swore in a mixture of admiration and frustration when he reached the brush pile. The cagey old buck had lain in a depression behind a log so only his head would be visible in the brush if, that is, he ever raised it.
“So, my nemesis, you are as elusive and as smart as ever!” Cawley thought as he looked down the widely spaced tracks. He followed.
The buck had raced down the ridge, cut to his left and bee-lined for another valley. After a long chase, the buck lay down again behind a screen of thick, small saplings, in another depression, behind another log, only his eyes visible in the thick brush as he watched the open woods through which his pursuer must come.
The buck was invisible and he knew it. Cawley was not far behind. He glanced at his watch. It was already past noon. He’d give it another hour and a half before heading back. His shift at the school started at 3.
This time the buck cut right, down another ridge and dropped into a small valley filled with several beaver dams. Cawley was amazed when the buck entered a tangled mess
of blow downs so thick he couldn’t follow.
Circling to the far side, he was astonished to see the buck had actually crawled under the twisted tree trunks, some only 18 inches above the ground. How he managed to get those big antlers under them, Cawley couldn’t imagine. The tracks passed through a spring, so fresh the water was still seeping into them.
From the direction of the tracks, Cawley was pretty sure the buck would cross the dams, then angle up a particular steep, narrow ravine.
Somewhere near its end he would lie down and watch his back trail. Cawley wasn’t going to play the buck’s game this time if he could help it.
The hunter cut sharply to his left and paralleled the stream for 400 yards. Above the beaver dams he crossed the creek and continued up a feeder stream. After a half mile he turned hard right and wearily climbed the hill, crossed the ridge and worked his way to the edge of the ravine where he hoped the buck would be waiting
The long chase and deep snow had worn him out and there still remained a long walk back to the truck.
The ravine he was seeking appeared in front of him; steep sided and not more than 100 yards wide. He lined up several large trees to hide his approach, and upon reaching them, peeked carefully out from behind a thick trunk.
In less than a minute he saw the body of a large deer lying underneath a small, dense hemlock tree about 90 yards away, directly across from him. The deer’s head was hidden in the thick lower branches of the evergreen. Cawley’s throat tightened and his heart hammered against his ribs.
Could it be? Could that really be his quarry after all these years? As these thoughts raced through his mind, the buck lowered his head, revealing those tremendous horns, looked suspiciously around and then hid his head behind the tree again.
Cawley tried to hold the crosshairs steady on the deer, but found he was shaking like a leaf. This would never do! He forced himself to wait, to calm down and when he raised the gun a second time he squeezed off a shot.
The deer tried to stand, then fell and slid down the hill. Cawley jumped to his feet and raced down to the animal. When he raised the magnificent, thick, 26-inch-wide horns from the snow, he could hardly believe his eyes. This was truly the buck of a
lifetime!