Winter officially arrives this weekend in the Northern Hemisphere, at 10:03 on Sunday morning to be precise. Known as the winter solstice, it is also the shortest day of the year.

Each day from then on will get a little longer until late March when the first day of spring arrives, known as the vernal equinox, when the day and night are the same length. The days continue growing longer until the first day of summer in June, also known as the summer solstice, when the days begin getting shorter again.

Although all four seasons of the year are identical in length, winter can often seem like the longest by far, while spring and summer seem to fly by some years. That disparity among the seasons for me became more noticeable as I grew older, probably because winter is my least favorite and spring and summer are my favorites. But winter is here, like it or not, and dealing with it will be the duty for the next couple of months. Having lived in Pennsylvania my entire life, I know with few exceptions that our winters are more bearable than those in some locales. If I had been raised in northern Minnesota, North Dakota or Montana, I think I would have moved away to somewhere a little farther south as soon as I could have to avoid the brutal kind of winters those places often experience.

Another reality of getting older is spending more time devoted to indoor pursuits to pass the winter. This year, however, I’ve resolved to get outside for a few more times this winter to do some hunting as the weather permits. Prompted by the amount of coyote tracks I saw during the last few days of deer season, I might get some predator calls and try to reduce the population of those varmints a bit. A friend has requested me to tie some trout flies that require fox squirrel tail as the primary material, so I might go out with the .22 to see if I can find any of those critters.

The late archery and flintlock deer seasons that start on Friday are now a long-standing wintertime tradition for Pennsylvania hunters. The first winter archery season came in 1964 but was restricted to specific areas of the state before being expanded statewide in 1967. Our first flintlock deer season began as a three-day event restricted to just 37 state game lands and required hunters to use antique-style flintlock rifles with open, iron sights back in 1974. That muzzleloader opportunity gradually expanded in length and area each year until it became a statewide event in 1979.

Like so many avid deer hunters back in the late 1970s and early 1980s, I bought myself a flintlock rifle to participate in the newly formed after Christmas season. For me, however, those late-season muzzleloader hunts produced a lot of memories and interesting stories but no deer. I can vividly remember my first hunt with a flintlock. It was just after sunrise, and I had emerged from a small thicket at the edge of a clearing. I was stunned to see two deer heading straight toward me. I remember thinking, “This is going to be easy,” as I cocked the hammer and leveled the rifle at the approaching deer. My sights were trained on the lead doe, and when it stopped about 50 yards out, I touched the trigger. The gun fired with the characteristic “hiss-boom,” belching a smelly white cloud that enveloped me in the crisp morning air. As the haze dissipated, I saw the deer still standing there, just watching me, as if amused by all the noise and smoke.

Realizing I must have missed, I slid the butt of the rifle to the ground in preparation to reload. To add to my frustration, those deer continued to watch as I poured a new powder charge down the barrel. They finally started to move as I prepared a patch and ball and sauntered past me only a few yards away as I rammed the projectile home. Of course, both animals disappeared into the thicket behind me seconds before I was able to prime the flash pan for a second shot.

That was just the first of many creative ways I found to miss a deer with a flintlock over the seven or eight years I hunted with one. That experience was a lesson in humility to be sure and gave me a large dose of respect for all those with the dedication and good fortune to take a deer this time of year with that traditional weapon. All the many years later, I can laugh about that first miscue with a flintlock, but the biggest laugh came when I told a hunting companion the story several years later.

“They know!” he exclaimed. “They know you only have one shot. They know it! I swear one of them is going to walk up and lick the end of the barrel after a missed shot sometime.”