“There’s some deer coming down behind us,” Merle blurted out as I whipped my head around to see out the back window of the blind.  “One’s a buck!” I replied, “He’s just an 8 point though.”

We both watched as the buck followed a doe down into the osage thicket behind us, rub his scent on a few bare limbs at eye level and then bed down in a run of tall grass, 50 steps away.  I could just see the tips of his creamy white antlers.  “He’s got a little kicker on one side near the top,” I noted as Merle picked up his binoculars. 

Let me tell you, I fully intended to NOT shoot this buck from the first moment I saw him.  He looked like an average everyday 8 pointer and I hadn’t come all the way to Kansas for an average buck.  But Merle kept on him.  A few minutes later, the deer got up and moved off to my left so I couldn’t see him anymore.

“He’s got good tines,” Merle pressed, “Looks like a shooter.  You want to take him?”

“No.  I don’t think he’s big enough,” I whispered back.

“Are you sure you don’t want to shoot him?” he asked again.

Meanwhile, the buck had bedded down again behind an osage tree, just far enough over so Merle could see him but I couldn’t. 

“Are you sure we’re looking at the same buck?” Merle asked again, “I really think this one’s a shooter.”

When he asked again, I knew I needed to take a closer look.  Instantly, I leaned back in my chair and could just see a rack behind the brush of a low-hanging limb.  He was close, so I slowly unlocked my brakes and quietly rolled back next to Merle.  “Let me see your binocs.”  When I put ‘em up to my face, I saw a totally different buck.  He was BIG!  Through a tangled mass, I could see long, heavy, creamy white tines, and a solid 9 point frame with a 4 inch kicker up high on one antler.  Either this was a totally different buck, or he had fooled the crap outta me when I first saw him. 

“He’s got all kinds of points on one side Merle.  I gotta shoot that deer!” was my reaction.

Ok, let me set the scene up for you…  It was after 10 a.m. already.  It was freezing out and I hadn’t been feeling good all morning so I was cold and miserable and ready to get outta there.  This nice buck was bedded less than 50 yards away in a brushy thicket, facing right at me.  All I could see was his neck, the top of his head and rack, most of which was obscured by twigs and vines save for one small opening that I thought I could get a bullet through.  I sure didn’t want to have to wait him out (which is exactly what I should’ve done.)

What happened next is something I’ll never forget.

Very carefully, I slid the barrel of my 270 remington out the back window of the Yukon.  Through the scope, I could easily see the buck’s neck and the little crease I needed to hit.  I eased back against the trigger as soon as I felt steady.  The tension slowly building… until… it cracked!  The shot roared out and there I was, face to face still with the buck.  He never moved.  Nothing moved, not a twig, not a leaf, not a deer.  Nothing.  When the smoke cleared, he was still there like a statue.

Snick, slide, squink, clonk!  Still amazed that nothing had happened, I hastily reloaded while keeping my eyes on my target.  (Mistake #2).  Well, as soon as he heard that he was outta there!  Gone in a flash.

Half a day ago…  I got my first glimpse of what the area had to offer.  As we hunted over a green wheat field along the Ninnescah river, a bruiser of a buck strode out among the does in bright daylight.  At first glance, I knew he was a shooter.  The second time I looked him over, though, I could tell something was wrong.  He had one whole side broken off.  He would’ve been a beautiful twelve point if not for that.  And I would’ve been loading my rifle.

One day earlier…  a blue norther blasted in, pushing arctic air and 40 mph wind gusts over the whole area.  For some reason, we went out anyway.  We didn’t see much though, just one little buck who looked like he was lost in the wind.  High wind kills deer movement I’ve found, it takes away their sense of hearing I believe.  But there are exceptions to the rule. That’s one reason we still went.  That, and it was opening day in Kansas.  Merle had the Yukon pop-up blind securely battened down though and his Mr. Heater kept us warm and cozy.

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Two days earlier…  Dad & I rolled into Kingman, Kansas, right before 5pm on Tuesday, December 2^nd.  All the country we’d seen since leaving the Texas panhandle looked like pheasant country to me, up until about thirty miles before Kingman.  Some creek bottoms and shelterbelts finally started showing up along the highway, stitching all those CRP blocks, harvested crops and new-planted wheat fields together.  I could believe this area holding some really good bucks.  Rifle season opened tomorrow, and I was filled with the thoughts only a hunter on his first trip to trophy deer country could have.

Merle Heldenbrand of Outdoor Buddies’ Kansas Chapter met us at the Savannah House on Main Street, one block away from Jerry’s Kitchen where we’d have dinner that night and where we’d eat most of our meals during our hunt.  Well, I quickly learned that Merle is the Kansas chapter.  He’s a terrific guy 70 years young who has been taking disabled hunters out ever since his good friend Don got paralyzed in an auto accident several years ago and he discovered the Outdoor Buddies program in Colorado that helped get Don set up with a shooting rig and on a cow elk hunt soon after his injury.

What lesson can be learned from a trip like that?  Nobody teaches you what to do when you travel hundreds of miles, spend a thousand dollars, hunt hard in the cold for a week only to blow your one chance.  Where’s the silver lining in that?  (I’ll let you know when I find one.)

I once went all the way to northern Manitoba on a bear, my first bear hunt, to stick one with my bow and have him get away.  I’ve been on three trips to New Mexico for elk hunts.  Came back empty each time.

When it’s over there’s always a part of me that’s disappointed.   There’s no denying that.  But that’s the way hunting is sometimes.  You don’t always get the big one.  Sometimes you don’t get one period.  Killing an animal is only a small part of what hunting is about anyway.  There are also memories that I’ll never forget.  New people I’ve met and am better off for having spent time with.  I also got to hunt some beautiful country.  And I’ve had my dad with me on most all my big trips, including this one.  Someday, I know I’ll look back on every one of them with a lot of satisfaction.

Already I’m looking forward to the next time.