It’s a question every ethical big game hunter has asked themselves at least once: to squeeze the trigger or pull back. In essence, to shoot or not to shoot — that is the question.
Tom Burrell from Walnut Bottom, Pennsylvania, found himself asking this very question during deer camp this past season here on Tucker Ridge. While Tom certainly isn’t Prince Hamlet, his story, like many a hunter’s, has some interesting parallels with Shakespeare’s famous soliloquy.
During my preseason scouting sessions, I noticed promising deer signs in and around a small meadow that once served as a landing on a disused logging trail. Deer runs led to and from the meadow on each side — much like interstate exchanges at a large truck stop. There was a lot of traffic moving through this little clearing and I soon found out why — a large, fresh scrape with a crisp deer hoof print nearby.
The scrape was under the limb of a fallen silver birch tree and had the textbook “licking branch” hanging at eye level for the visiting buck. The earth in the oval-shaped patch was churned up, leaving no grass untouched.
Based on its size and the vast network of well-used trails leading to it, it was quite possible more than one buck was in the area and tending this scrape. I decided this spot was perfect for one of the clients arriving the following week.
After we had the ground blind set, my wife Moira cleared multiple shooting lanes of tall grasses and minor obstructions. I went to work positioning a scent wick on the far side of the clearing. The trail camera was set to monitor the approach to the wick while providing a clear shot of the active scrape.
I let the site soak for two days then returned to check the camera and swap SD memory cards. I would view any photos back at camp.
My hunch was right — we had four different bucks on camera at varying hours. The smallest was a young buck just sprouting the first tines of his spike horns. The biggest was a bruiser; I guessed his live weight at 220 pounds or more. This big buck was sporting ten points and main beams as thick as wheelbarrow handles — very impressive headgear.
We had our target buck.
Ensconced in the hub-style ground blind, neatly tucked in the tree line, Tom waited patiently for the sun to break over the small, frosty meadow. On his way in, he refreshed the scent wick with some doe-in-estrus urine I provided that morning. It was the third day of his hunt and I desperately wanted him to have an opportunity at one of those bucks in daylight — especially the bruiser.
At a quarter past seven, Tom heard the telltale crunch of a buck approaching the meadow from the wood line to his front left. He slowly repositioned himself on the chair to get the best view and angle on the scent wick. The yet unseen deer continued closer.
Snap. Crack. Just 50 yards away now, his gun came up.
Antlers appeared behind a thick stand of bramble growing around a fallen, decaying fir tree. The buck was just behind the scent wick, deciding to investigate the enticing scent.
With intense scrutiny, Tom focused on the spot where the buck was hung up. He could not tell at this point which buck from our earlier photo reconnaissance he was looking at — it was too well hidden among the peeling branches of the dead fir and bramble. One thing he knew for sure was that the buck was big.
Now Tom could see the deer’s head and a few spots of brown through the bramble. It was by no means a clean, clear shot — there would be some educated guessing on where to lay the crosshairs. He had enough gun to punch through the brush, but did he want to take a chance?
What if the shot was deflected by a branch or he wounded the deer with a nonfatal shot and watched it bound away? Did he want to track a deer for miles in this terrain? Neither outcome appealed. Even without the full picture, he knew it was a good buck. The indecision weighed heavily.
To shoot or not to shoot? What was more important — taking a big risk with potentially disastrous results for a chance to fill his tag, or making the decision to put ethics above desire, ensuring the buck would be taken cleanly if it ever saw the business end of a deer rifle again?
Tom described his encounter and relayed the indecision he felt back at camp as clients arrived for their late breakfast in the dining hall. I looked through the kitchen door window where I had a clear sightline to Tom’s truck parked at the lodge.
The bed was empty. Tom had made his choice — ethics over opportunity.