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Firsthand path to renewed respect of disabled hunters TOM VENESKY OPINION

Sunday December 06, 2009 | 12:00 AM

Paul Sokoloski psokoloski@timesleader.com

I never really thought about the challenges faced by a disabled hunter until I gained some firsthand experience this deer season. The Pennsylvania Game Commission offers permits to disabled hunters allowing them to hunt from a vehicle or an ATV. They even have an early antlerless deer season for disabled hunters.

Those opportunities are well justified, but the agency should give disabled hunters one more thing: a medal for having the determination to get out into the woods and hunt.

It’s not easy.

When I suffered a broken leg in November, my doctors told me it could be at least eight weeks before I would be able to walk or drive.

But they didn’t mention anything about hunting.

Despite the grim news about my leg, I was determined to be in the woods for the first day of the rifle deer season last Monday. I made it, barely, and I couldn’t have done it without a lot of help.

Considering that my only means of mobility were via crutches, any hopes of climbing the steep hillside to reach my treestand were out of the question. Instead, my hunting spot would simply be at the base of the hillside, which was accessible via an old logging road.

It wasn’t the best spot and my visibility was limited to a small opening between a tall stand of trees that revealed a section of the hillside. And despite the access provided by the logging road, I still had to cross a small stream to reach my destination. With help from my father, I gave the logging road and stream crossing a test run the day before the season opener and things went pretty smoothly. The logging road was fairly easy to navigate and my father placed a series of sturdy planks across the narrow stream that made crossing it with crutches surprisingly easy.

I went to bed that night with renewed optimism for opening day.

And then it rained.

By Monday morning the logging road had transformed into a dangerously slick slope and the stream was slowly starting to rise. With help from my father, I slowly inched down the logging road – a 50-yard trek that seemed like 50 miles as I cautiously secured each crutch into the soft ground before swinging my good leg forward. When we made it to the stream, I was relieved to see that the water hadn’t risen above the planks and I carefully made the crossing and reached my new hunting spot by 6:15 a.m. My “deer stand” consisted of a fold-up lounge chair that fits in a bag, an umbrella strapped to a tree above me and an old metal serving table that I could use as a rest. It was makeshift, but I was just happy to be out there.

As the gray morning light slowly replaced the darkness, the rain persisted at a steady rate. By 8:30 a.m. I had yet to see a deer and the rain was dripping off the edge of the umbrella down my back. My broken leg, which I had to keep elevated, was also getting soaked and began to throb.

By 9:30 a.m., soaked, cold and in pain, I was ready to call it quits.

And then something moved. At the top of the hillside a doe appeared, cautiously making her way down toward me. I watched as two more shapes crested the hill. I could see the curve of antlers on the second deer and a much smaller rack on the third.

Suddenly, I was no longer cold and wet and my leg stopped throbbing.

A quick glance through my scope revealed that the second buck had seven points, and I focused on the deer as it made its way down the hillside. Following the doe, the buck disappeared in a patch of thick undergrowth and I knew my opportunity for a shot would come when it stepped back out into the open woods.

Unfortunately, my elevated leg was now extremely stiff and I couldn’t get enough leverage to lean forward and use the table as a rest. I had no choice but to stay reclined in the chair.

As the buck slowly stepped into the open woods, I eased my rifle up, steadied the scope and squeezed the trigger. As my shot rang out, the umbrella above me fell onto my head, the metal serving table clanged to the ground and my crutches fell away from the tree and out of reach.

Fortunately, my makeshift stand wasn’t the only thing to fall. About 80 yards up the hillside lay the buck.

My father and uncle were hunting nearby and they quickly arrived as I slowly made my way out of the debris that had accumulated around me. Using a stick I pulled my crutches toward me and stood up as they began dragging the buck down the hill.

Although my day of hunting was short, it still took a lot of effort. Things like maneuvering down the logging road, crossing the small stream and even sitting for any length of time weren’t easy any more.

As I watched my father and uncle drag my deer to the truck, I gained a new appreciation for what a disabled hunter has to endure. I’m lucky. My “disability” is only temporary and I’ll be walking again well before the next deer season.

But there are plenty of other hunters who won’t, and yet they still manage to get into the woods and do what they love to do: hunt.

For that, you have my respect.