The lady landowner had invited me to come hunt her Botetourt property this past autumn. Though she regaled me with stories of numerous deer feeding every afternoon in her front pasture, I was nevertheless a tad skeptical. After all, from my experience, many folks often claim to see plenty of deer on their places, but the reality is often quite different.

When I went over to scout the property in September, I was dismayed to find no trees where I could hang a tree stand and only two places where whitetails might bed: an overgrown creek to the right of the pasture and a dense red cedar stand at the top of the field. Only three places existed where I could set up: a few white pines along the creek, a row of hay bales in the pasture, and a few saplings where the pasture and cedar copse adjoined.

During the regular firearms season, I set up one morning along the white pines and didn't glimpse any deer. When I informed the landowner about my lack of luck, she reiterated that it was in the evening that the deer meandered into her pasture.

Her words kept returning to my mind, so one December evening when my wife, Elaine, and I were going out to dinner, I asked her if we could make a detour to the farm. Upon our arrival, we witnessed a quartet of does feeding in the pasture.

So, when doe days began the last week of the late muzzleloader season, once more I headed for the lady's farm. On my first visit, seven does streamed into the field and on my second and third trips, four and five antlerless whitetails, respectively, did the same. Unfortunately, on each of these trips, the deer either came into the pasture too near the end of legal shooting time or were too far away for me to attempt a shot.

But on the last afternoon of the season, I again returned to the farm. Deciding to set up between two of the hay bales, I felt that I was reasonably concealed -- or at least as much as possible. With about an hour of daylight left, five antlerless deer ambled into the pasture. This time they had entered soon enough so that their wanderings would result in their venturing close enough for me to attempt a shot before the sun totally disappeared.

Finally, around 5:15, one of the does had moved to within about 35 yards of my position and was standing still broadside. Raising the gun, I flipped off the safety, placed the scope on the heart/lung area, and fired.

"Snick," was the only sound.

The doe jerked up her head, stared toward the hay bales but remained broadside. I fired again, and again . . . and again. And the only result was three consecutive snicks. At the fourth such sound, the doe's nerves were the only thing that was shot, and she bounded from the field, taking the rest of the whitetails with her. And so ended the 2007-08 late muzzleloader season for me. When I arrived back at the vehicle, I observed that the No. 11 percussion cap was bent, perhaps explaining why the gun had never fired.