The ghost of Rock Pond Mountain

The Ghost of Rock Pond Mountain

It was a cloudy day with a slight wind and had been spitting snow for about the last half hour. This was a typical upstate NY deer hunt in the Adirondacks. We had walked 30 minutes to Gooseneck Pond and then rowed down the pond to the south end. From there I had walked uphill for another 30 minutes to the next to the last watch on Rock Pond Mountain. My Brother Bob had gone to the top watch at the top of the mountain. We waited for the drivers to start toward us trying to push a deer our way.

I had been sitting motionless for 45 minutes now and the chill was starting to creep through my layers of wool. The rock I was sitting on was starting to cut into my butt despite the piece of foam I was using to soften the granite. In another 10 to 15 minutes I would be physically shivering.  That’s just what happens when you work yourself to a sweat and then sit still in the 23 degree morning cold. I was sitting where hunters  had sat for decades when they hunted this mountain, up against a rock ledge and almost invisible. With the splash of colors just in back of me my green wool pants and red plaid jacket provided good camouflage especially with the light snow sticking to them.

I was starting to lose my focus from the cold and being uncomfortable when I saw movement across the snow covered hardwood saddle I was watching. The deer came into view and was walking at a fast pace with his body low to the ground. I saw the horns immediately and my heart started to beat faster, it was a good buck. He was coming right where all the deer I have ever seen here came. The buck started up along the hill on my right, but was still out there about 100 yards. There was a small patch of ever green trees on the side of the hill and the deer was headed for them. I knew the drivers had pushed him along the mountain to me. We had made this drive many times and knew where the deer laid on this side of the mountain. In fact last year I had killed a 187 lb nine point buck on the watch above me, where my brother Bob was, about 150 yards up the hill on top of the mountain. The deer I was watching now was headed up towards Bob just like the deer I had killed last year. Only at that time just 4 of were hunting so we had left the watch I was on today open. The deer got to the evergreens and disappeared into the green blotch surrounded by crisp sparkling white. I brought my gun up and took the safety off. This deer should come out of the evergreens about 60 yards from me and be broad side. There was no way he could come out of that green thicket without me seeing him. He had to come back into the hardwoods and because the thicket was on the side of the steep hill I could see all around it. My breaths were coming faster and my heart was pounding, any second and my old 35 Remington model 760 pump would do the job again. Moments like this in the upstate woods of New York were rare; I didn’t want to screw this up. I kept waiting? Where was he? He must have stopped in there. I tried not to move as I held my gun to my shoulder. After 2 or 3 minutes, which seemed forever, I had to let the gun down to my lap slowly. I expected the deer had stopped in there and was watching his back track. I knew my brother Dick would be coming soon and he would be on the deer’s track. The problem was the deer would bolt from the thicket when he saw or winded Dick. A running deer at 60 yards through hardwoods is not an easy target. If I missed I knew the deer would go up toward Bob and he would kill it. Bob rarely missed and had over a 100 Adirondack bucks to his credit. I kept waiting wondering what was going to happen. I saw movement out about 150 yards and saw the hunter blaze orange hat that Dick always wore. He was on the track. I got ready as he closed the distance to the evergreen thicket. My God, what is going on, when is that deer going to make his move? Dick finally disappeared into the thicket and came out the other side. Once he had done that he turned right and worked his way down the hill to me.

 I stood up and started shivering uncontrollably. The excitement and the 1 hr watch in cold sweat soaked long johns was getting to me. I was literally in the first stage of hyperthermia, but I would get warmed up just like I always had after a cold 1 hr sit. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. I had hunted 9 days straight and the long days of hard walking and climbing was maybe taking its toll.  Two days ago Dad had killed a nice 6 point buck on Narrows Mountain and it took 2 hrs of dragging with 4 pulling to get it to the truck. Maybe I was just tired and needed a break.

Dick was about 10 yards away from  me when I jumped down a couple steps toward him and asked” Where did the tracks go?” “Did you see that deer?” Dick had beads of sweat on his brow from the hour long drive he had just made. Dick said “What f___ing track? I never cut a track all the way thru that shithole.” My brothers swore like drunken sailors. I told him what happed and he said “Your f____ing nuts.” I was the younger brother and in combination with Dick’s always grumpy mood, I didn’t get much respect. “Dick” I pleaded, “I saw a big buck go into that thicket”. Dick was silent as he felt around under his wool sweater to find a sandwich. “Driving the side of that slippery son of a b_____ of a mountain kills me. I must of slipped and fell a dozen f____ing times and when I get done I got to hear a bunch of hog shit from you.” Dick grumped as he took a bite of his peanut butter and jam sandwich.

In a few minutes Bob and Tim made their way down the hill towards us. I continued to tell Dick that somehow a good buck had got by us. He griped “You been popping those black beauties again?” “Shit no” I said back to him in a raised voice.”You know I got of them after my wreck” Bob and Tim approached; Tim asked “see anything”? Before I could say anything Dick said “Hecker ped here said he saw a buck, but I didn’t see anything or any tracks. How about you Tim, any sign in there?”Tim replied “Nothing, ain't been a deer on top since it snowed yesterday”

“Let's go before we see a zebra or something” grumped Dick. Tim and Dick stared down the mountain to pick up dad. The three of them would go down to the pond, get in the boat and oar their way down to the “cut off”. From there they would head back up the mountain spreading out on the ‘watches’ and we would drive the next section of the mountain to them.

Bob started to get some birch bark to get a fire going. It would be an hour before I, George and Bob would spread out to start the drive. George would be coming up the hill to us to wait. If it was warmer he would stay where he was, but being this cold he would warm up by coming up.

“I’ll go get some wood” I said to Bob. I started directly for the thicket of evergreens. I wanted to see where those tracks went. Dick must have been just off to the side of them and just never seen them. I went to the low side of the thicket and there crossed Dicks tracks. I looked closely and saw no evidence of him walking on top of the deer tracks. I circled the evergreens and there were no tracks. I was thinking to myself” Did I dream it all, what the hell is going on?” I picked up some small pieces of wood, knocked the snow off them and headed back to Bob. George was there when I got back. George chuckled and said” Judy’s going to leave your ass if you don’t get off those diet pills” Bob chuckled under his breath. Apparently Bob had already told George my story. I started to tell both about it again. They were facing the hardwood saddle and I was standing facing them pleading my case. Bob suddenly said “Quiet, there’s a deer” I froze and George did too. Bob slowly reached for his gun leaning against a tree and slowly brought it to his shoulder. I saw him take the safety off, but I didn’t dare move to look in back of me. George was looking straight out in the hard woods, expressionless. Bob’s gun was shouldered for what seemed forever. I figured they were messing with me then Bob’s 44 Ruger automatic fired, BAAAM!! Both my ears rang from the barrels concussion. I grabbed my ears. Bob said he’s down, a good buck. Bob started immediately for the evergreens. “Bob!” I said “what happened?” “I just killed a good racked buck, let’s go”. I didn’t see a thing because my back to all the action. George said” It was a big buck Tom."I saw it good”. The three of us rushed toward where the deer fell. We got to the evergreens and Bob was bent over walking and looking at the ground. “It should be right here” George said” I saw it go down, it never ran out of here” We were spreading out looking at the snow covered ground. “Bob” I said “over here” He stumbled over too me his eyes wide. He was covered with snow which had fallen off the evergreens as he brushed up against the snow laden limbs. “Here’s where your bullet hit” There was a 3 inch evergreen tree hit dead center about 15 inches off the ground and all splintered out and on top of the snow where the slug came out. Bob finally said” What the f--- is going on”. I looked at Bob and George. Bob said” Don’t  f___ing look at me that way. I saw a buck and saw it go down when I shot”. George echoed” Me too, I watched the whole thing. We kept looking, but couold not find  a sign of a deer being there.

Bob’s radio beeped” Bob said “Go ahead” What was the shot”. It was Dad on the radio. Bob said back into the radio. “ We aren’t making this next drive!! Take the boat to the head of the pond and we will meet you there in about an hour”. Even with Dad there Bob was the one who called the shots. He and Dick would usually do the decision making, but Bob was boss when we were in the woods. Dad replied back “What’s going on”? Bob spoke into the radio “I just shot at a f___ing ghost and now we want to get the hell out of here. Get to the landing!” The three of us started up over Gooseneck Mountain, the shortest way to the landing where we would meet the others. We didn’t stop or speak for the 45 minute long hike. When we met Dad, Tim and Dick at the head of the pond Bob told him his story. Dick said “F___ you. I wasn’t born yesterday” and started down the trail towards the trucks. We all followed along in single file, as we always did. No one even mentioned my ordeal and what I saw, in fact the whole  incident wasn’t talked about much from then on.

I, Bob and George never went to the top of Rock Pond Mountain again. When we hunted in the area, the 3 of us chose to stay low on the mountain. I haven’t been back since. As far as I know no one has killed a deer or seen a deer on those top two watches.

This story took place on November 28 1981, my birthday, exactly 1 year after I had killed my “buck of a lifetime” on top of Rock Pond Mountain. When I got home the night of the so called “ ghost” incident, my one and only deer head mount came off the wall and went into the closet, never to be displayed again. It is in my closet now in Holly Creek, Oklahoma. Since then I don’t brag about my deer stories, some people don’t even know I hunt. I hope attaching the picture doesn’t rile up the deer spirits again. One experience like that is enough.  Bob and George swear they saw the buck that Bob shot at. Even when they were drinking and for years it was always the same story, it never changed. I don’t have a reason not to believe them because I know what I saw. I know I saw the ghost of the buck I shot the year before, The Ghost of Rock Pond Mountain. You see, the deer I killed died in a very strange way, something very unusual.  The deer had come across the mountain in front of me thru some sparse young blue spruce trees about 40 yards away. I shot and he went down. I scrambled off the small ledge I was sitting on and stated for him. As I moved toward him I could see him trying to get up, trying to get his legs under him. When I was about 10 yards from him he managed to get up and start running out across some flat ledges  covered with snow and moss, but wide open. I pulled on him as he ran directly away from and pulled the trigger again. He went down again. He disappeared and all was quiet. I started to where he went down the second time and saw where he had hit the snow covered ground and slid over a 8 or 10 foot cliff. There was no blood in the snow.  When I got there and looked over the cliff I saw the deer. He had his horns and head jammed between a tree and the base of the cliff. I noticed right away he was still breathing and his hind legs were locked holding up his hind quarters. I shot him one more time in the neck, his legs collapsed and the wind went of him. When we skinned him later there was only the one bullet hole in the neck. We did notice, and you can see in the attached picture that I had hit him in his horn way out near the end. We figure this was where I hit him the first time and knocked him down. I can’t explain why my aim was off by 30 inches, but a lot of this story is unexplainable. Why he went down the second time and slid over the cliff is unknown, but it sealed his fate. No wonder he had the need to haunt me when I was on that mountain.