It's been 10 years since my first deer hunt
 

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.

I'm approaching twenty years since mine.


Time does go fast.


Good write up, thanks for sharing.


-Jake

this will be my 47th season, hold on to that fire guys, it burns dimmer as the years go by, my best most recent hunts involved youngsters, you get to relive that fire that use to burn so hot within you at a younger age.
RR

Went on my first deer hunt with my father at 6 but just as a tag a long. Shot my first deer at 9 with a 30-30. It was a forkhorn mulie and I took it back home in CO. In those days you had to be 14 to hunt big game in CO and both my father and grandfather thought that was a dumb law. So I took this buck on my grandfather's tag. That is the only game law I ever broke and the statute of limitations ran out a long, long time ago. Many of my friends took their first deer under similar circumstances.

I'll be 55 on my next birthday. I look forward to my next deer hunt as much as I looked forward to that one when I was 9.

flags, we are different, I spent my first 2 years out of high school cropping deer for local farmers, killed a bunch back then 30 to 40 a weekend was not above average. I like the solitude of spending the day in the woods, killing something is not a priority, I do however still get the same thrill helping a youngster bag his first at over 500 yards, you see it in their eyes, the hunger begins!
RR

Damn, flags, you're still a pup. :biggrin::biggrin::biggrin:

It ain't the years, it's the miles. After 16 broken bones, 7 pulled muscles, 4 torn muscles, 3 dislocated joints and 2 gunshot wounds I am pretty much worn out. Multiple combat tours takes a lot out of you.

Where I grew up in CO we could only take 1 deer a season so I never got to rack up big numbers. I did some culling in VA later in my life though. But I didn't consider the culling to be hunting since we could use spotlights at night in the corn fields and hay meadows. I never kept track of the deer we shot culling but I have taken 91 deer on licenses that don't count the culling work.

[QUOTE=flags;4319321]It ain't the years, it's the miles. After 16 broken bones, 7 pulled muscles, 4 torn muscles, 3 dislocated joints and 2 gunshot wounds I am pretty much worn out. Multiple combat tours takes a lot out of you.[QUOTE]


You've definitely got the miles, and I thank you for your service. :patriot:
I've only had half of your number of broken bones, no dislocations and no gunshot wounds. I also only had one combat tour, and I came home unscathed.

Just a little less than 3 weeks to go for the 26th annual pilgrimage to the happy hunting grounds. I consider those days sleep - I mean sitting in the woods my yearly reset.

35th season for me. Still love every minute of it and daydream about hunting in the off-season.