After two days spent hunting with my kids and seeing their successes in the woods, my mind was replaying the moments we’d shared. It’s amazing to see kids’ faces light up with pride after their hunts, and it’s something I’ll never forget.
The first part of Alabama’s youth season in 2012 found me sitting in the stand with my youngest son, Drake. It was his first deer hunt with him as the shooter.
We sat watching a greenfield, silently laughing and playing Rock-Paper-Scissors and biding our time, waiting for a deer to walk into the field. After many games and questions from my son, I saw a decent buck enter the field. Drake was able to get the gun out the window of the hunting house and on the deer.
At the same time, I saw another deer in the brush, so we gambled that it would be a better buck. Sure enough, it was a real nice 8-pointer. I helped Drake find the buck in the scope as I talked him through the shot, reminding him to steady the gun and gently squeeze the trigger.
Drake finally pulled the trigger; the gun went off and the deer hit the ground. Drake was standing in awe, with the gun still out the window. Sitting there, I watched as my youngest son became a hunter in a matter of seconds. It was the most moving thing I have ever experienced.
After the deer hit the ground, it ran off, so we returned to camp to give it some time. When we came back, we immediately found blood and started tracking. The blood trail was so good Drake did all the tracking. I watched his steady interest peak after 50 yards, his eyes glued to the ground. Up ahead, I noticed the deer, but kept that to myself because I wanted to let him find it on his own.
When he spotted the deer, his eyes got big as half dollars. He started yelling, “I got him!”
All I could do was smile and watch him. I was thinking of all the hunts I’d been on, starting with my dad and my first deer. I was watching as my youngest son became a hunter and a young man in the woods the same way I did on our family farm.
By the Sunday of youth season, it was my 13-year old stepson Chase’s turn. He was ready to get a crack at a tall 8-point buck we’d seen in images from one of our game cameras.
After an hour or so, some does filtered into the greenfield. An hour later, we heard a vehicle on the neighbor’s property. Deer came running through the clear-cut. I had Chase get his rifle out the window just in case.
After a few minutes a buck stepped into a long shooting lane. Chase got his gun on it, but he decided to pass on the buck, which appeared to be a 6-pointer. Then another buck walked out. Chase still had his gun out the window when a third buck came into view. The last one was the tall-tined 8-pointer he wanted.
Chase clicked off the safety as the buck stood in the lane. Then he squeezed the trigger on a 150-yard shot. The buck jumped into the air, and we had no doubts Chase hit him.
We gave the buck a little time to expire, and after some congratulatory hi-fives, we walked to look for blood. There was none to be found, so we followed the trail the deer used to get to the opening, still with no luck.
Another 40 yards into the woods, I saw the deer, a nice and heavy high-racked 170-pound 8-pointer.
What great experiences to add to our family tradition of raising sons and hunters.