It's in Our Nature

On Deer Hunting

“I do not hunt for the joy of killing but for the joy of living, and the inexpressible pleasure of mingling my life, however briefly, with that of a wild creature that I respect, admire and value.”

– John Madson

A cool early September evening, the snow hadn’t fallen yet. Sun was going down, not much time left. A blind on the ground positioned 75 yards downrange of a clover plot. The barrel of a Remington 700 bolt-action rifle chambered in .270 Winchester is sticking out the window, with a father and son sitting inside. My patience was wearing thin. The waiting. The waiting is the hardest part for a twelve-year-old. “Think I might have to take a doe,” I whispered. Six or so had been eating from the food plot for about 30 minutes. Been in the blind for four hours now. “Just wait,” Dad told me. So we waited…

It’s that time of year again. Cold winds are rising, snow starts to fall, and pumpkin spice is invading everything. But the changing of the seasons comes with more than just the weather and holidays: hunting season has arrived. From September through February, the woods belong to deer hunters. Though the sport has declined in participation over the last fifty years, America still has more hunters than anywhere else on Earth. An average of 700,000 hunters take part in the harvest every year in Wisconsin alone, which is more than any standing army on earth. Travel to any rural county in America, and you’ll find Opening Day is celebrated with as much reverence as Thanksgiving. Some counties will close businesses and even schools. They know no work is getting done — there’s freezers that need filling.

About to call it quits when we saw something moving in the brush on the left side. Looked through the scope and saw the antlers first. Couldn’t tell how many points yet; he was still in the brush. Slowly he walked forward out into the clearing. He positioned a doe between us as though he knew to use her as a shield. I saw his tall shoulders stand behind her, ton of muscle, he was a big deer and a couple years old now. I counted the points in my head: “One, two, three, four, five, six… seven.” I started to shake. He started to walk towards the feed plot and out of his safety zone. I slowly tracked him with the scope. He walked between a gap in the bodies showing a perfect broadside, I was screaming at him in my mind to stop walking. He ignored me. Now positioned between another doe, I had to wait again. My heart was beating faster. “When you have a shot, take him,” Dad whispered. The buck dropped his head and started to feed while I tried to get a handle on my nerves. The doe soon walked off; buck’s head was still down. At 75 yards out, no need to account for bullet drop. I placed the crosshairs dead center just behind his front shoulder, where the lungs and heart sit. I steadied the rifle against my shoulder and took deep breaths to calm myself. Shaking while looking down the scope wasn’t helping me. “Shoot,” Dad whispered. I took a deep breath and slowly pulled the trigger as I exhaled… Click. No boom…

Safari Club International (SCI) recognizes two true deer species in America, White-tail and Mule, with seventeen and six subspecies respectively. Also recognized are the Rocky Mountain Elk (three subspecies), North American Moose (four subspecies), and the Caribou (six subspecies). Seasons for the true deer are now in every single state. Elk, Moose, and Caribou seasons are expanding as the species are being reintroduced to their native ranges. Deer are more plentiful now than in any other time since the American founding. My county increased the bag limit to six deer per hunter this year because there are just too many deer and not enough hunters or predators to manage them. The explosion in wildlife populations over the last century is due in large part to conservation brought about by hunters and anglers of all kinds. The Pittman–Robertson Federal Aid in Wildlife Restoration Act (1937) instituted a tax on all hunting and angling equipment that goes right back into wildlife conservation. Amazingly, it is one of the extremely limited government programs that has actually seen a tangible benefit to its mission. Conservation was an Anglo invention, but Americans have perfected it. With more wild spaces being protected and restored than ever before, the time is now to get into the hunting community. You’ll make your money back in food costs alone with 50 pounds of deer meat in your freezer after picking up a $10 tag at a sporting goods store.

Now my heart was really pumping, I was confused, saw the buck take a step forward in the scope. I was perplexed as to why the gun didn’t fire. “Safety,” Dad whispered. I pulled my head back off the gun and clicked the safety off. (Ironically, over a decade later, Remington would file for bankruptcy due to safeties failing on their Remington 700 rifles. Apparently, mine was functional.) Cheek down on the gun and looking down the scope once again, I reacquired the target. You never forget the image of your prey just before the trigger pull. It’s like a snapshot in your mind. Other memories over the years come and go, but any animal in the scope I remember clear as day. Everything from the background, the wind blowing in the grass, the movement of the jaws as the buck chewed his food, the slow movements in his legs, everything…

In the future, I plan on leading my own hunts through the Old Glory Club to teach our guys how to hunt. Nothing gives a hunter more joy than sharing in the bounty of the harvest with first-timers. You’ll never find a group of people more wholesome, kind, and badass as the hunting community. If you are a first-timer, I strongly recommend seeking out a mentor to get you started, especially for big game. Whether it’s with a friend, family member, or a professional outfitter, you’ll need someone to show you the ropes to ensure a successful and humane harvest. A great resource for finding outfitters, if money isn’t an issue for you, is Book Your Hunt. There you can find any game animal in the world, some of which go for very reasonable prices. I can’t recommend the sport of hunting enough — once you partake, you’ll never go back. The best way I can describe stalking your prey, beating the elements, executing a clean kill, eating fresh meat, and mounting your trophy on your wall is simply: fulfillment. It’s what we are meant to do, where all of our ancestors before us came from, what we are built for, how we live. It’s in our nature.

Deep breath once again and a slow trigger pull on the exhale. BANG! Smoke leaves the barrel, and I swear, in that moment, time is at a standstill. A quarter of a second seems like hours. You feel the force of the bullet traveling at 3,000 feet per second, the echo of the sound ringing in your ear drums, the moment the bullet hits home, and the reaction of the buck to the feeling. Your adrenaline is pumping as you feel and see the force of impact as time comes speeding back towards reality. The bullet found its mark, dropped him right away, other deer ran for cover. I watched him in the scope as he dropped. He let out a bellow that still echoes in my mind. He tried to get up, his body wouldn’t let him. He started to limp and crawl forward a few feet, tried to get up again. “Shoot him again,” Dad said. I racked the bolt back and heard the empty shell casing hit the ground. Watched him again in the scope looking for a shot, just his head and antlers were visible above the grass. He was done, no additional shots required. Huge wave of emotions came over me. Excitement, relief, joy, sorrow, pride. Stories will never prepare you for it. We celebrated in the blind as it started to get dark. Some 15 minutes passed and we walked to collect my trophy. There he was, right where I left him, a pool of pink blood all around him. Pink blood, a double-lung shot. No way he could have run, getting no oxygen to his bloodstream. It was quick and clean, best you can ever ask for. My first white-tail buck, and it wouldn’t be my last. A few pictures with my trophy seven-pointer, and then Dad dipped his fingers in the blood and painted streaks under my eyes like a baseball player’s. And so there it was, a baptism in blood. I’m doing this forever. It’s in my nature.