Sitting in the treestand on the last morning of Iowa's short shotgun deer season, I had little to occupy my attention other than the pair of fox squirrels who'd chased one another through the woodlot for the past half-hour. No deer, no birds to watch, just me and two squirrels, alone in the woods. Smart hunters bring a book for days like this. I used to do it myself, bowhunting. Read a page, take a long, slow, look around, read another page. Today, though, I was reduced to reading my gun barrel, upon which were stamped the words: "Invector BPS Special Steel 12 ga.--2 3/4" and 3" Game Gun Model--20.5" " The scope atop the receiver read, simply: "Leupold."

Each of the five slugs in my overall pockets bore the same inscription as the two in the gun's magazine and the one in the chamber: "Federal Sabot Slug." Among all three taken together, there wasn't much in the way of character development, plot, or even total word count, but the sparse text provided plenty of food for thought nevertheless.

For instance, I could reflect on the fact that no longer do those of us in shotgun-only states have to rely on our bird guns to bring home venison; the scope-sighted, rifled-choke-tubed, sabot-slug-loaded pump gun resting across my knees was obvious proof of that.

I had time, too, to ponder the astounding accuracy of the rig I held. I remembered the face of my neighbor, who'd joined me in testing some guns and sabot slug loads before the season. "I like the way these shoot," he'd said emphatically, eyes ablaze with the enthusiasm of the newly converted, blood trickling down his forehead from a fresh scope cut. The group he was admiring through the scope of a Mossberg Trophy Slugster later measured 2 1/2 inches, center to center at 100 yards, mediocre for a centerfire rifle, miraculous for a shotgun.

At the end of that long, cold afternoon of shooting, my fingers had grown so numb that the trigger seemed to require only the slightest tap to set the gun off. Squinting at the target through the gathering fog, I put five shots into 1 7/8 inches with the Browning for our best group of the day.

Will guns capable of two-inch groups at 100 yards change the way those of us living in shotgun-only country hunt deer? Said my mother, who never took a shot at a deer over 20 yards, on seeing the BPS: "Those should be illegal. The range is too long." But improvements in technology needn't distance us from our prey, nor do they necessarily make hunting easier. On the contrary, I'd declined a friend's offer to bust the brush and drive a deer past me that morning. I knew the property I was hunting well enough to think of half a dozen spots for short, two-man drives that almost invariably produced a running shot. In previous years I would have taken him up on the offer eagerly. Today I wanted to hunt deer by myself, on more challenging terms, hoping for the chance to place a shot as precisely as my skill and this gun would allow.

The rolling volleys echoing periodically from the direction of the creek bottom reminded me that not everyone was hunting alone from a treestand this season. In the farm country where I've done all my deer hunting, the gang drive remains the preferred hunting tactic. Forty years ago, when modern seasons opened here in Iowa, deer were as rare as shotguns that could group all their slugs within six inches at fifty yards. The logical response to both circumstances was to band together in large groups, and have enough standers posted so that one of them would get a chance to blaze away at short range as a deer tried to bolt through the dragnet. In those early days, if a whole gang of hunters shot one deer during the season, they sometimes had their names printed in the local paper.

Times change. Deer are now unbelievably plentiful. "The DNR ought to just switch the limits," said a friend in the mid-1980s, as deer herds grew while pheasant numbers plummeted, "one pheasant a year and three deer a day." The gang drive tradition persists despite the boom in deer numbers and I've heard hunters complain that they can't find enough hunters to make up a decent-sized group. Some parties grow as large as 20 or 30 members.

Gang hunting is effective and undeniably exciting. I started out deer hunting as part of a group, and I'll always remember the anticipation of the short wait on stand, straining eagerly to hear the drivers yell "Here they come!" Then the deer would burst into sight, ears laid flat, eyes rolling, moving at top speed, running from the drivers as if from a forest fire. There'd be a quick hail of lead and, if we standers shot straight, everyone would have meat for the winter after a few frantic seconds.

My old Auto-5 with a slug barrel was about as well suited to drive and block hunting as a gun could be: muzzle light, quick pointing, with fast-aligning U-notch open sights and a crooked stock that let me keep my head up and shoot fast, five shells as quickly as I could pull the trigger. To my mind, then, it was the perfect deer gun. After I took up bowhunting, I changed my picture of what a deer gun should be. I came to realize that I'd rather test a deer's eyes, ears, and nose than its footspeed.

I no longer want or need a gun designed to shoot quickly and reflexively at a deer as if it were a flushing quail. That's why I chose the BPS to hunt with last season, and topped it with the 2x7 Leupold. A growing number of hunters must feel the same way I do, because my local sporting goods store sold scoped, rifled-barreled slug guns and sabot slugs costing a $1.35 apiece as fast as they could stack them on the shelves in the months preceding the season.

Will the next generation of hunters, too young to remember when deer where a rarity in farm country, too young to remember smoothbore deer guns without sights, break with the old traditional ways of hunting and forge their own? It might just happen. Iowa started a youth deer season last year, an early September hunt over three weekends where 12- to 15-year-old hunters accompanied by nonhunting adults were allowed to still hunt or take stands with shotguns and muzzleloaders. Almost 40 percent of the young hunters tagged deer, and a biologist connected with the hunt said to me: "It's nice to get them started hunting alone. It's a safer, more ethical way to hunt and these young hunters get to observe a lot more deer behavior, too. Forty years ago, maybe you had to drive deer to see any, but not today. If everyone hunted from a stand, we'd all see more deer."

This next generation of hunters and the new generation of deer guns are maturing at just the right time for one another. The coming years may well find increasing numbers of hunters where I was that December morning, away from the crowds, alone and up a tree with an accurate, scoped deer gun.

This story should end, I realize, with my picking off a fine buck at 75 or 80 yards. I wish it did, but it doesn't. No deer came by my stand that morning. What's more, the pair of squirrels providing the entertainment moved on, and it didn't take me long to finish all the food I'd brought along, either. I grew cold and bored and ready for a change in tactics.

Climbing down from the stand I worked my way towards a thicket where I knew deer took refuge during the gun season. Stalking slowly into the wind, I spotted the deer before it heard, saw, or smelled me. Actually, what I glimpsed was the last three-quarters of a deer sticking out from behind a large oak. First there was the flick of the unmistakable white tail, then the deer began scratching its belly with one hoof, unaware of me as I eased a little closer and took a sitting position a hundred yards away. A brush pile blocked my view to the right of the tree, in the direction the deer was pointed. Once the deer stopped scratching and moved on I wouldn't see it again.

Since my license was valid for deer of either sex, the logical course was to shoot first and check for antlers later. Buck or doe, this deer was huge, and the meat would be more than welcome at home. I flicked off the safety, took my shooting breath, and steadied the crosshairs.

A sudden thought popped into my mind: What if this deer turned out to be the huge 10-pointer I'd seen crossing the road last night? Would I really want to shoot the trophy of a lifetime without knowing what I was doing? One year a neighbor had killed the best buck I'd ever seen that way, shooting at the back end of a deer hidden in the brush, then splitting the massive rack in two with a wild, unnecessary follow-up shot. That deer, I always thought, deserved better.

The technology that makes 100-yard shots with slugs possible brings with it the burden to use that accuracy precisely. I put the safety back on and watched the deer through the scope as it took a few steps and vanished into the brush. I'd never know now if it was a buck or doe, a forkhorn or the 10-pointer. But it was with no regrets at all that I slung the gun over my shoulder and walked out of the woods.