So a few years ago during the Rifle deer hunt here in Utah, I went up to scout an area for our weekend hunt. I was in my car (a 1992 Toyota Camry because I didn’t have my own truck yet, anyway…) it was actually a paved camp road most of the way up but still in the legal hunting area. Now I had my gun with me “just in case”, which as we all know just in case really never happens, but I had it with me none-the-less…

So after I was done scouting I was on my way back home… now there were a few hunters up there which were starting to make the trek home as well… And as I was driving, up the mountain to my left out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something out of place, so I stopped to take a look and about 50 yards up the hill was a doe with her head stuck way high looking down the hill. so I inched forward to see if she was alone or with some other deer. I kept looking and saw 2…then 3 and 4… all does… then up pops the head of another and BAM!!! a big rack!

Now I about choked when I saw this beautiful 4 point buck (8 point for all you whitetail hunters) I thought to myself “am I seeing things, how did all the hunters that just passed this way not 2 minutes ago not see this?”

So being careful not to spook the deer I slowly rolled the window down, picked up my gun, and put the cross hairs right behind the shoulder (disclaimer…shooting from your vehicle is not exactly legal…so don’t do it, I wasn’t thinking clearly!!!)

I took a deep breath and exhaled and pulled the trigger. Instantly the big buck flipped over backwards and proceeded to roll (dead as a doornail) down the hill towards me… it rolled and rolled and stopped about 5 feet from my car! SWEET HUH!!!?

Then it hit me, oh CRAP! I don’t have a truck or a knife…NOT GOOD!!! all I could picture is me driving down the canyon with a bloody deer on the top of my roof with me hanging out the window trying to hang on to it for dear life…

Just then the truck of hunters that was seconds in front of me had turned around because they heard the shot and when they got to me they about keeled over because here laid this beautiful buck next to my car and they had just passed there not one minute ago and they knew I was driving right behind them…it was really funny to see how dumbfounded they were by the whole thing.

Just then a nice old man that was road hunting pulled up behind me and realized the predicament I was in and offered up his knife and the bed of his truck, so I cleaned it, threw it in the back of his truck and he drove it to my home for me…Ya, it was that easy!

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When my mom remarried our family became hunters and fishermen. I was only six at the time and I wasn’t big enough to go on the hunting trips. After two or three years, I was allowed go with the family and fish while they hunted. I kept begging my new dad to tag along, promising to be quiet while he hunted. He said my legs weren’t long enough to climb over the downed trees and keep up with him. That just seemed ridiculous to an eight or nine year old. “I could climb over any old tree”, I thought. Now, I was a very small girl for my age and I began to think my legs would ever grow long enough to meet his requirement. Dad’s deer hunting stories fascinated me. He taught me how to look for signs: mushrooms dug around the base of a tree after a rain; the difference between buck and doe tracks and scat; places where they bedded down; and the different game trails.

I don’t remember how old I was when I finally got to hike along. Up before dawn and getting dressed in my brother’s hand-me-down hunting clothes was so exciting. We didn’t wear camo or the orange vest and hat. Those weren’t the stylye in the 50′s – just dull grays and browns. Off we went up the hill to the ridge where he planned to sit and hunt. It was then that I finally understood why I had to be bigger. Some of the logs we climbed over were three feet in diameter and of course the ground was not level. Indeed, I did need longer legs and a stronger body to keep up.

When we reached the first stand, we sat and waited and waited for what seemed like forever to a nine or ten year old who wasn’t used to being still that long. Then it was on to the next spot. That is how the day went. We didn’t see any deer that day, but it didn’t matter to me, because I knew that you didn’t see deer everytime you went out. Tramping through the forest and experiencing the views from the ridge tops was its own reward. When we got back to camp in the afternoon I’m sure I was exhausted from the long and tough hike, yet I know that I would never have admitted it. I didn’t want anything to keep me from being able go again. I felt proud that I could keep up.

Now, I can take my turn swapping hunting stories around the campfire.

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While growing up in central MN, deer hunting has been a family affair that has had so many great memories. My parents both hunt, along with my three brothers. My older brother has a couple more years of hunting under his belt, not to say he has had more success though (uh oh…I’m kidding bro). So when my brother got to go deer hunting before I did, as with other experiences that he got to do first, I was pumped to get my butt out there and maybe show him up a tinge.
When I was 13-14, the time had come to map out a spot for my stand. I was as excited as a little school girl with a new dress and pair of shoes to get out into the woods. We stand hunt and rely on some other people in the woods to stir things up for us, we hunt on public land. The location for my stand was chosen with my parents and older brothers recommendation. The area has alot of rolling knolls, so the spot was at the mid point of one and on the edge. To my left was a huge gully/dip between knolls. To my right was flatter ground. Behind me the knoll continued to rise.
My first deer opener had arrived, state holiday practically in MN along with the walleye opener, and I was ready. Sitting in my stand that first time on my own was a cool thing. The sounds, the silence, the wind and cold was a neat experience, but all the time my ears were at peak tuning for any sound. Time went by and I was just itching to see a deer. Behind me I could hear a very distant cracking/rustling, I sat still and listened, the noise got closer along with a almost like panting sound. I stood up and turned to my right, with the rise of the knoll to my right.
The sound was getting closer and closer and I was looking so hard to my right, up towards to the rise of the knoll, for something to show up. Then it did….a doe…came barreling down the knoll headed right for me! I had my rifle (30-06) down towards my right hip with both hands on it watching this deer cruising right to me, head down not seeing me at all. I FROZE, the doe stopped about 10 yards away from me for a second, broadside, and looked at me as to say “what the heck are you doing there”. I was still FROZEN, never raised my gun. The doe then split, a couple leaps and out of sight.
My heart was racing, I was almost shaking because of the excitement and disappointment of not taking a shot. I raced down from stand and thought I could catch up to the deer. After a period of time trying to catch up to the deer and getting very hot, reality set in…she was gone.
20 years later I have had success hunting deer, meaning that I actually shot my gun at a deer and hit it. That first experience I think about every deer opener and as time has gone on….I chuckle about it!

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CONGRATULATIONS to Carey A. Buckles for winning the inagural monthly story award!  He has won a Barrel Boot from Mud Armour.  We recognize that the post Deer Hounds in the Deep South was actually written in May, but as this was the first contest, we decided to include all the submission to this point in time.  And hey, the image of Carey in his tighty whities was both too compelling and disturbing to let it go unrewarded.

Thanks to everyone who contributed this month.

This marks the beginning of the July competition!  Start now.  Write often.  Win big(ish).

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