Dad and Meredith are going to take the lower landing as we call it while I plan to situate myself to watch the whole woods line at the bottom of the field. No pushing around the big buck this morning...I will patiently wait for him to come or any other deer that walks my way....Today is the opening of doe day. Several other buddies are hunting in various parts of the property, and today is all about reducing the overpopulated herd and securing meat for the winter.
It is as cold as it has ever been this morning and I think I see frost accumulating on the toe of my boot. Ingeniously we stuck hand warmers all over ourselves, toes, hands, back, and I am actually feeling okay. I am so confident that this is my morning, I stole one of my dad's flasks...I want to make sure he gets a sip after I shoot my deer.
I wonder if he noticed it missing?
I watch a nice buck galavant directly below me along the woods line and curse its position. Shooting in this direction is off limits as there is a house at the bottom of the hill....and although you can not see it, it is there-so no shooting. I patiently wait for him to saunter up the hill into the thickets...it is out of sight...suddenly it spooks and bounds down the hill in the direction of the no shoot zone. I realize that that noise is my heart pounding in my ears at the same time I see the twitching of deer ears nearly 15 yards from where I am sitting. Haven't I learned this lesson before while steelhead fishing? ......Don't step into the water......always fish the water at your feet first....this incredible feeling of sitting so close to a small deer that doesn't even realize I am here brings to mind this stellar time I fished the Skagit River with my crusty old fly fishing mentor. He just kept drilling into my head to fish in close.... fish your feet....pay attention to the water....and leaves me to swing a fly through a tiny little window of a bucket, never casting more than 35 feet. I must say I thought it a tad ridiculous, especially after having spent time with steelheaders who go for the longest cast with the heaviest tips and the craziest flies....the only reason I had an inkling of confidence in this position is because I BELIEVED. I truly believed, I BELIEVED it was MY time, MY turn, MY river, MY steelhead gently holding in this tiny tiny tiny little bucket on this MASSIVE river and I BELIEVED I was going to hook up.
Well of course I freaking hooked up! Not a soul around to help me land this beauty, I lost it at my feet quickly rising to ride on top of the world. My ego buddy danced around in my head and reminded me of all the things I did well and how skilled I was becoming at fly fishing for steelhead. My crusty old friend came around later and reminded me how much I still had to learn....It was my first steelhead on the swing....and here I am about to take down my first deer of the season and it is literally at my feet. I am fully aware of the beating of my heart and the deep sound of my breathing as I slowly raise my rifle. The young buck is standing behind a bush ignorantly unaware of my presence and happily munching on the leaves around him. Hours posed as minutes pass while I hold the buck in the scope, slowly raising my head to see its position and lowering it again to the scope. Finally he steps beyond the bush and presents the opportunity for a kill shot, I pull the trigger, no wait!... I know better....so I take another deep breath, set the sights on my target, slowly exhale, and squeeze the trigger. Several "Oh my god I am so sorry but thank you so much for this life and the food that will nourish us this winter" go through my head before they turn to deep deep appreciation prayers for the kill. I have never so closely and deeply known my prayers were heard loud and clear. Ever.
Naturally after inspecting, etc I go fetch my father. As he walks towards me with more pride and happiness than a newborn's father, I pass him the flask and he takes a nip. (this is a relative term) Hugging me he calls me a rascal for stealing his flask.
We walk over to my kill and begin the ceremonious process of gutting. I sickly have photos of all the processes in some way shape or form, but I believe I will save those for some crazy hunting only blog some day....it is not for everyone.
But in defense for all those turned off by hunting and such, my father's property is literally OVERRUN with deer. Fish and Game Biologists flatly told his neighbor that he needed to take over a dozen deer off his 100 acres of property this year for the health of the land. The deer completely destroyed my mother's garden this year, this was the first year she ever did not have even one tomato. We also have seen a three legged deer. (Justin took care of that one) And lastly, we use almost everything. The hides get taken to a local taxidermist who makes a living from them and trades my family sweet corn, we butcher and freeze the meat for eating through the winter. And my family's three dogs eat the scraps as well as get meat frozen for eating in the late winter months. (Happiest dogs on earth)
Grinding up the scraps to make burger:
Oh Did I forget to mention that this means I'll be sitting in THE DEER HUNTER chair now?
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