Dad, Me and My Deer

Dad and I had been hunting together occasionally since the early youth deer season— with no luck.

We’d seen a lot of deer, but none were close enough to even think about taking a shot. One day toward the end of bow season, I asked Dad if we could go out. He agreed, so we headed to a two-man ladder stand in a fence row on our farm.

It didn’t take long for does and fawns to start coming out of the woods and into the bean field. I was getting tired of waiting to see a buck or have a doe come close enough to shoot, but Dad told me to be patient.

A little while later a small buck came into the field from the far treeline. Soon there were two more, and they slowly started working their way toward us. I was excited and a little nervous watching them come closer.

As they approached, a 6-pointer stepped to within 10 yards. Dad wanted me to take the shot, but there was a bigger buck behind him that I wanted. Dad kept whispering to me to shoot the 6-pointer, but I couldn’t do it with the bigger one still in front of us.

The smaller buck eventually got nervous and took a couple of jumps away. When he did, the bigger buck came in closer. He was behind some limbs and I couldn’t get a shot, so I waited. The buck began to walk in front of us—broadside. I found him in the scope on my crossbow, and Dad bleated to stop him. I pulled the trigger and the buck kicked and took off running.

I couldn’t believe it. I was shaking so bad I couldn’t get down from the treestand. We eventually walked to the house and gave the buck about an hour.

Dad and I went to where we saw the buck leave the field and found lots of blood. We followed the trail and found the deer less than 15 yards from the edge of the field. I had my first buck!


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