Fifty Years a Hunter and Trapper / Autobiography, experiences and observations of Eldred Nathaniel Woodcock during his fifty years of hunting and trapping.

by E. N. Woodcock

I said that I would relate how it happened that I got even with Bill for the bear that he killed on my watching grounds.

Well, after we had gone the rounds of the traps, we again put in our time still-hunting. Bill had gone south of camp, while I went east. I had traveled until the middle of the afternoon without having any luck or seeing any deer. So I shifted my course to the west and worked my way in the direction of a "burn-down" that was in the head of a hollow. As soon as I came to the brow of the ridge and looked down into the basin I saw four deer feeding and working towards me. The wind was blowing directly from the deer towards me, so I stood quiet and in a few minutes the deer fed up within easy range. I pulled the gun onto an old doe in the lead, and broke her down almost in her tracks. The three remaining deer made a few jumps in my direction and stopped and looked back, which gave me a good shot at a yearling buck, which also went down in my sight. The other two deer ran close by me and over the ridge into the green timber. I had hardly cut the deers' throats when Bill called out, "This is a dog-on pretty trick that you have played me."

Bill had been following these deer all day and had followed to the "burn-down" and had seen the deer on the opposite hill, but too far away to shoot. As the wind was against him he had dropped down the hollow a ways, crossed and worked up around on the opposite side to get the wind in his favor, and was just about ready to fire on the deer when I began shooting. After Bill had explained how he had been working the deer all day and then have me slip in just as he had the game bagged and swipe it, Bill claimed was dog-on mean. I cautioned Bill to hold his temper and I would call it even on the bear he swiped from me, and told him I was pleased to have him on hand to help hang up the deer.

We had worked along now up to about the middle of December with the various ups and downs that one on the trap line and trail always meet with. We had killed twelve or fourteen deer, and I think we had caught six bears and had made a fair catch of fox, mink, marten and some other furs. There had not been much snow up to this time, when a fall of 12 or 14 inches came all in one night. Bears had not denned up to this time, but we were quite sure that bruin would now go into winter quarters. We concluded to gather up the bear traps and all the small traps that were not setting in springs that did not freeze, or those setting in other likely places to make a catch. In nearly the last bear trap that we went to get, we found a bear, and when we began to skin it we found that it had lost two toes on one forefoot. We concluded that it was the same bear that had escaped from Bill's trap some time before, although it was eight or ten miles from where the trap was that had held Bruin's toes.

A day or two after the heavy fall of snow we got a letter from a man by the name of Comstock, living at Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, asking the privilege to come and camp with us and hunt deer until the season closed, the first of January. He stated that he had never killed a deer, and that he was very anxious to kill one. We wrote him to come on, and that one of us would be at Emporium on the following Friday to guide him to our camp. Friday morning I went to Emporium and found Mr. Comstock there as agreed. He had paraphernalia enough to equip a fair-sized army, so we hired a team to take the outfit to camp and also bring out the saddles of a bear and what venison we had on hand.

For three or four days Mr. Comstock hunted all by himself but had no luck in the way of killing deer, as he said it took more time to hunt the shanty than he had to hunt deer, and suggested that we all hunt in company. We had now been on the ground long enough so that we had learned all the runways. Bill said that if I would take Mr. Comstock down to a certain runway, which he had given the name of Fork Point, and place him on it, he would drive the ridge and see if he could not drive a deer to Mr. Comstock.

Bill started a bunch of five deer and succeeded in getting a shot and breaking a foreleg of a large doe. As the doe with the broken leg soon dropped out from the other deer, he was sure that the deer had start enough so that they would come through to where Comstock and I were watching, he decided to take the trail of the broken legged doe, and as good luck, the deer did come through to Mr. Comstock, and as he had an Osgood gun with four shots, he succeeded in killing a very large buck. After firing the four shots, the fun began.

Mr. Comstock was determined to take the buck to camp, as he wanted to take the deer home whole. We had a very steep point to climb for a distance of five hundred yards to reach the top of the ridge. The deer weighed about two hundred pounds. Any hunter will tell you what an awkward job it is to carry a deer of that weight lashed to a pole. Mr. Comstock would not consent to drawing the deer for fear it would rake the hair off. Well, we could not carry it up the steep point on the pole, as the swaying of the deer would throw us off our feet. Mr. Comstock said that he would carry it alone if I would help him get it on his shoulder. Mr. Comstock was a large man, weighing over two hundred pounds, but nevertheless I did not think he would be able to carry the deer and told him so. After some hard tugging we got the deer on his shoulder and he started up the hill. I started to get out of the way, and I was none too soon in doing so. Mr. Comstock had not taken a half dozen steps when back he came, deer and all, like ten thousand bricks. But as he did not break any limbs or his neck, he was bound to try it again, which he did with the same result. But this time he was quite badly bruised, and he was now satisfied to leave the deer until morning, when Bill went with us and we made a sort of a litter and carried it to camp whole; and he was a proud and happy man. When Mr. Comstock and I left the deer and decided to await reinforcements, we struck the trail of Bill, drawing a deer in the direction of camp, so we now knew why Bill had not followed the trail of the deer through to where Comstock and I were watching.

It was now about the closing time for deer hunting, so after Mr. Comstock had left for home, Bill and I put in the time until the first of March tending the small traps with the usual success of the average trapper, getting a fox, or mink or marten or some piece of fur nearly every day.

When the team which we had written home for came and got our camp outfit and our furs, we broke camp and went home to await another trapping season.