First Blood

                For many, hunting is not just a hobby but a way of life. This was not the case for me growing up. I grew up in a suburban area just outside Washington, D.C. and hunting wasn’t a thing that people there really did. Yes, there were hunters around but since so few people did it, it wasn’t a topic that regularly arose.

                My dad grew up on a farm in Colorado and would tell me stories of his hunting adventures when he was a boy. He would tell me about walking through the fields with his single barrel break-action .410 and flushing pheasants up. He would tell me about sitting with his back against a tree staring out at prairie dog holes and picking them off with his open sighted .22 out to 200 yards. The ones that stuck with me the most, though, were the tales of chasing muleys in the Rockies.

                I remember hearing him describe how he would slowly stalk the edges of canyons with his dad and brothers as they scanned the far sides for deer. I remember hearing him fondly explain their tactic – they would look over into a canyon and if they bumped a deer they would back off from the edge and circle a couple hundred yards further up in the direction the deer had gone. Then they would look down over the edge again and the muleys would be looking back to where they had previously been, which gave them a chance for a clean shot. Even more than that, though, I remember the vivid picture he painted of the beauty of the mountains, the lush green meadows, and the crystal clear blue lakes they came across.

                After college he became a teacher and moved to Virginia but never got back into hunting. He always had papers to grade and tests to prepare during hunting season and was unfamiliar with Virginia’s hunting laws or where to hunt (This was long before the dawn of the internet age). On top of that he had started a family and, as you know, that is time consuming in and of itself. I had expressed an interest in hunting for as long as I can remember so one night he surprised me and asked if I wanted to go hunting in the morning and that he had heard of a piece of public land about 2 hours away. Without a moment’s hesitation I enthusiastically responded in the affirmative.

                Early the next morning, this sleepy eyed twelve year old and father duo set out on their first (and so far only) hunting trip together. I remember beaming as he handed me his old bolt-action .22 while he shouldered his 6mm – both Remingtons and both he had purchased many years prior with hard earned money from baling hay in Colorado. Virginia is different from Colorado as far as vegetation and terrain so this hunt might as well have been a first for, not only me, but him too. On top of that it began raining in the morning and rained off and on all day. We never did see anything save a single squirrel that I wasn’t quick enough to shoot but I remember every little thing about that trip and it stayed with me over the years.

                That was the one and only time as a boy that I hunted Whitetail deer but despite the cold and rain and lack of success, that one trip was enough for me to catch the bug. I never hunted again until long after high school because I didn’t have a vehicle to get myself anywhere to hunt and none of my friends hunted and there was nowhere in the immediate area to hunt. That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to though.

                Fast forward now to 2012. I had gotten a pickup truck at the end of the summer right before driving to school for the fall semester and had decided that during Christmas break I was going to go hunting. This was the most anticipated Christmas I ever had. I spent hours leading up to the break reading up on whitetails and their behaviors and tactics for hunting them – really anything related to whitetails that I could find. My cousin had 15 acres and she and her husband had agreed to let me hunt there so the second my last exam was over I packed the truck and made the six hour trek home. Upon arriving home I went to Walmart and picked up my first ever hunting license and big game tags as well as some hand warmers and I was ready to hunt. That was the longest night I can remember as I tossed and turned waiting for my alarm to go off. I literally checked my clock every ten minutes to see if it was time.

                When I finally arose I grabbed my dad’s old 6mm rifle, a box of ammo, some granola bars, an apple, and a bottle of water before climbing into the truck. I was anxious to start so I found myself sitting on the old metal platform that was there so long it was now part of the tree and realized that legal shooting light was still two hours away. As it started getting light and birds began chirping I thought to myself, “Okay, here we go. This is it”. It was a clear, crisp morning and as the sun rose the shadows of the trees made the light seem like long, warm fingers reaching out to me almost as if to say, “Look at all I have and what you have been missing out on all these years”. I knew immediately that there was nowhere I would rather be.

                That first day I never once climbed out of the tree. I sat there from dark to dark without ever once laying eyes on a deer. I went out there time and time again. I would sit all day, sometimes in 15 degree temperatures with wind whipping through the trees and no feeling in my face or extremities, but I was still unable to shoot a deer. I had read many times that it wouldn’t be easy and not to get discouraged if I didn’t get anything but I guess I hadn’t fully taken it to heart because I was getting discouraged. I had been out hunting about 12-15 days, each time spending the full day out and I had still not seen a single deer.

                One morning I was feeling particularly discouraged and it was damp and cold and at 8AM I decided I was done. I got frustrated so I climbed down and went to my truck. Once there I began thinking to myself, “I’m not a quitter. This is hard but nothing worth having is easy. After all the time I’ve spent on this I can’t just give up.” I reluctantly picked up the rifle and began walking back to the stand. As I crested the hill overlooking the area the stand was in I stopped dead in my tracks. A wide 8-pointer was walking the creek edge about 100 yards from me but only 40 yards from the stand. I got a bad case of the shakes all of a sudden and my legs and arms felt like jelly. I dropped to one knee and tried to lift my rifle against a small sapling but my arms were slow to respond. When I finally got the rifle up and found the buck in my scope I could barely keep track of the buck as my crosshairs were shaking so much. Eventually I calmed myself enough to where I thought I could make the shot but when I shot it I jerked the trigger rather than gently squeeze it.

                That buck still haunts me to this day. When the bullet slammed into the tree in front of him he instantly disappeared leaving me with only the memory of a bounding white tail and a big white spot seven feet up a tree where the bullet had ripped into it and sent bark flying. I still wonder what would have happened if I had persevered and just remained patient. Would he have still come through? Would he have given me a shot? Was he with other even bigger bucks? With how badly I shook, would I have even been able to make that shot? As we all know, it does no good to ask these questions but as any hunter who has missed (and most have or are liars) will tell you, you can’t help but ask “what if…” Needless to say, I now have a good reminder not to get discouraged or lose patience while in my stand.

I thought I had blown my chance but that one encounter strengthened my resolve to stick with it and make it happen. I spent about 6 days out there over the next two weeks with no luck but two weeks to the day from that encounter I found myself staring intently through 300 yards of trees at a group of does that were slowly making their way in my direction. Upon realizing they were there and that I might get a shot I began to shake all over again – a shake that is all too familiar to me now after having many more encounters in the deer woods since. It was uncontrollable and I felt as though I would surely shake right out of the tree. At the time I knew nothing of safety harnesses and tying off so, out of fear, I hung up my rifle and had to hold on to the tree. They were moving slowly so I was able to collect myself and calm my nerves before they got to a range I felt comfortable shooting. When I finally took aim I still rushed the shot a bit. I don’t know if I shot high or low or to the side but I missed. To my surprise, the one I had shot at came running towards me. I quickly worked the bolt and chambered another. She stopped in a small clearing about 130 yards below my stand and I took my time, took a deep breath, and gently squeezed the trigger. I remember that the gun shot but somehow I can’t remember hearing the blast or feeling the kick – what I DO remember is seeing her take one stumbling step and topple over dead.

                It took a second for what had happened to sink in. I just sat there motionless and not knowing what to do. Then I was flooded with different emotions all at once. I felt elated that I had done it. All those cold days of sitting in the stand all day, all those evenings when I was tired and hungry but stayed out there, all the times I passed up going out with friends so I could hunt in the morning – suddenly it was all worth it. I felt pride in the fact that I had been able to do it on my own and that, yes, I did in fact have what it takes to be a hunter. The venison soon to be on our table would be proof. Amidst all these good feeling though, there was a twinge of sadness. I had shot small game before but this was the first time I had taken the life of something so big. Now that’s not to say that a deer’s life is any more valuable than that of a rabbit or squirrel or dove but it just felt… different. A minute ago I had been watching this beautiful, majestic creature walking through the woods and now there she lay at the bottom of the hill still a lifeless. It wasn’t the cheering and whooping I had expected and seen on hunting shows. Rather, it was a somber moment I shared with no one but God in which a got a reality check unlike any other.

                I climbed down and made my way to the side of the deer I had just taken and stood over her staring. She was beautiful and had been alive a mere handful of minutes ago. I realized then and there that life is fleeting. We live and we die – sometimes without a moment’s notice. I thanked God for my life and the life of this doe at my feet and prayed that I never take any life lightly or for granted. Most people grow complacent in their day-to-day routines but I realized that hunters do not. Not only do they see death on a more regular basis but also they cause death. This is no small thing. We as hunters are reminded constantly about the fragility of life and that our time here is short. Although sad, the reality of life is that some must die in order for others to live.

Since taking the life of that first deer I have found that I take more delight in nature. The sunrise is just a little more brilliant, it’s setting a little bit more colorful. The grass is lusher, the leaves are greener, the birds’ songs are more cheerful, and I’m more thankful for my time to enjoy all that nature has to offer.

                These days I am proud to call myself a hunter. I am proud that I am able to go out and harvest an animal for food to sustain me and my family. I am proud to call myself a conservationist and do what I can, not matter how big or small, to improve the lives and habitat of the deer that I have grown to love and deeply respect (the paradox of hunting). I am grateful that I have a new perspective on life. I am overjoyed to view nature with a whole new appreciation. And I am glad to count myself among the ranks of all hunters, both those who have gone before us and those I share the woods with today. May we never take hunting for granted and always be respectful of life and do what we can to pass along our heritage for generations to come.