Not long ago, while looking through some older pictures we have stashed away in a living room cabinet, I uncovered a few pictures that captured the aftermath of one of the most important events of my life: my first deer kill, on my first day of deer hunting. Today marks the ten year anniversary of that hunt. If you'd be willing to read about it, I'll share they story with you.

I hate to admit this, but I used to be quite the anti-hunter. When asked at age 10 whether I wanted to take the hunter's safety course, I not only told my parents no, but that I thought it simply wasn't right to kill animals for fun. I would often get onto my dad for going hunting, which I know now must have hurt him, being the accomplished big game hunter that he was and is.

So, what changed? Well, growing up in rural Tennessee, most of my friends became hunters and would often talk of their experiences at the lunch table at school. This continued through middle school, where I reconnected with a few close friends I had made but had not seen in a few years. One year, my sister and I got a small four-wheeler for Christmas, that allowed me to ride around on and explore our farm. Naturally, I came across deer a few times. While exploring, I would sometimes attempt to shut the four-wheeler off and sneak closer, but they would see me coming a mile away and flee. Between the stories my friends told and my own lack of skill getting close to the animals, I began to appreciate the effort and skill that went into hunting.

I was never a popular kid, especially in middle school. I didn't really have any hobbies or activities I was really into. About the only thing I can say is that I played video games, albeit usually never the ones the other kids played. As I started 8th grade in 2007, the subject of duck hunting was brought up at the lunch table between a few of my classmates. I listened to them talk about riding to their flooded hunting spots before dawn and standing in the water or sitting in blinds until the sun rose, then keeping still while their mentors called the ducks into range. I wanted to be a part of those kinds of experiences That September, I signed up for the Hunter Safety Course offered at the college. Being the studious student I was, I thoroughly poured over all the materials and passed both the written and shooting test.

October 27, 2007 - The Hunt

My dad took me on my first deer hunt during the youth season. He led me to the field what would eventually become my western food plot. We sat under the low hanging branches of a tree on the edge of the field. As the sun began to rise, we saw a trio of does approaching. They approached to within about 50 yards, which was the closest I had ever been to a deer. I marveled at them as they stomped at us, trying to identify us. Although I wanted to shoot one, I didn?t think I could move the gun into position without them seeing me and spooking, which they did anyway. I still distinctly remember the largest doe blowing its warning, her breath fogging in the cool morning air. She and her companions fled, but I was thrilled with the encounter.

That afternoon, we set out for the same spot, this time accompanied by my sister. As we waited, a single doe appeared walking our direction along the opposite treeline, completely unaware of the three of us sitting there. As she walked past, I slowly aimed my great-grandfather's old Marlin 336 as the deer closed to within 30 yards. In spite of my pounding heart and adrenaline-fueled shaking, I pulled the trigger. The deer jumped and bounded into some nearby grass, collapsing after only 10 yards. Upon closer inspection, the "doe" turned out to be a button buck, but I couldn't have cared less. I had taken my first deer.



That hunt ignited a deep passion that burns to this day. While I've chased several species of game in my short hunting career, there's nothing that beats seeing the majestic whitetail slowly stroll into range on a cold autumn morning.