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Molly’s Senior Trip

Molly’s Senior Trip

By Russell Thornberry

If I said Molly Darnell was an unconventional young lady, that would be an understatement. She’s a country girl through and through. She loves animals and has had pet pigs, deer and turkeys, just to name a few of her critters.

Molly was born into a family of serious hunters. For her father, Dale, and three brothers, Wes, Rush and Reese, life revolves around deer hunting in the Black Belt of Alabama. Molly is a hunter, too, and of all the Darnells, she is the most dedicated trophy hunter. For that reason, she doesn’t shoot a lot of deer. 

Molly possesses that single-minded determination to focus on the deer she wants to hunt. No matter how long it takes, she will shoot no other. Case in point is the buck she shot in 2014. She hunted that deer for four years!

That she was so committed to that buck impressed the landowner so much he let no one else hunt Molly’s Stand. Finally, after four long years of playing peek-a-boo, she got her chance and made the shot count.

That was the best buck any of the Darnell hunters had ever taken, and Molly wasn’t shy about rubbing it in.

Did I mention that Molly is competitive? Trust me, she is!

I’ve known Molly since she was 4 years old. Her family and mine attended the same church in Pike Road, Alabama, and Molly and my grandson Evan were best friends. I was even invited to hunt on their deer lease, so the Darnells and Thornberrys have some history. 

In 2015, Molly was considering her options for her high school graduation senior trip. Most girls her age dream of a Caribbean cruise or a trip to some exotic beach, but not Molly. When asked where she wanted to go for her senior trip she said she wanted to go to Alberta and hunt whitetails with Mr. Russell.

When Mary, her mother, told me about Molly’s request, I was more than flattered and delighted. I applied for the special permit that would allow me a one-time opportunity to guide an American hunter in Alberta, strictly on a nonprofit basis.

I made arrangements to take her to a wonderful ranch in southeastern Alberta where big whitetail bucks are plentiful. We kept the plan secret from Molly until it was nearly time to go, so it was a great surprise when we finally told her.

Mary and Molly arrived in Alberta at the end of October, 2015. Mary stayed at our home with my wife Sharleen, and Molly and I headed south to be ready to hunt on opening day.

The evening before, Molly and I used a spotting scope to watch deer from the window of the ranch owner’s house. We were amazed at the parade of magnificent bucks we saw. 

We were up early the following morning, ready to go well before daylight. We had picked out a double treestand in a big cottonwood within range of a major travel route of the bucks we saw the night before.

However, Molly’s intrepid guide (that would be me) made a navigational error, and we were still looking for the tree when sun rose.

Rather than spooking every deer in the area, we eased back to the house and decided to resume our hunt that afternoon.

My morning blunder might have worked to our benefit. The wind in that area is tricky, and it’s easy to get blown out. With that in mind I had brought along a pop-up ground blind, which we set up in the afternoon and occupied until dark.

We saw a couple of dandy bucks, but since it was our first hunt, Molly elected to pass. It wasn’t that the bucks weren’t good enough. They were! She just didn’t want it to end on the first day.

I don’t blame her. There were definitely more big bucks to see. When darkness fell, we slipped out of the blind and walked back to the house.

On the second morning, everything was covered with such heavy frost that the tall grass and tree limbs appeared as if they were made of white crystal. Even before legal shooting light, we could see the ghostly dark bodies of deer moving in the fog.

Our blind was in a clump of heavy willows overlooking grassy river-bottom pasture. Ancient cottonwoods 200 yards to the west appeared in the dim fog as gnarly sentinels. Many deer came down from the upper alfalfa fields and slunk through the frosty grass en route to the bedding area among the buffaloberry thickets along the river.

Our location was perfect for the morning conditions, and the number of deer passing in front of us increased. Movement from the south caught my eye, and I realized two does were coming our way on a collision course with the blind.

I knew they would blow our cover if they got too close. The travel corridor we were hunting was extremely delicate. The deer felt safe there because they were never threatened. Subsequently, they knew every branch and blade of grass by heart.

Even though we were tucked away in the willows, an astute matriarch doe would be more than a match for our hideout.

Molly and I held our breath as the lead doe finally came to an abrupt halt only 30 yards from the blind. The deer knew it was something new, and she studied the blind silently for several minutes.

I was waiting for her to start stomping with a forefoot and lift her tail, which would have been the beginning of the end. But after minutes that seemed like hours, she and her yearling fawn angled to the east and continued their journey without alarm.

A few minutes later, we saw a large-bodied deer emerge at the edge of the cottonwoods on the opposite side of the pasture. I knew it was a buck by the way he carried himself.

Although the fog made antlers hard to see, he had the neck and shoulders of a mature buck. Molly and I studied him carefully as the morning light gradually penetrated the fog.

Eventually, we were able to see the outline of his rack, although not in great detail. Molly silently studied the deer through her binoculars. The decision was strictly hers, and the last thing I wanted to do was encourage her to shoot a deer she wasn’t happy with.

The buck was angling away, and a few more steps would take him into the timber and out of sight. I whispered to Molly that if she liked the buck enough to shoot him, she would have to take the shot pretty quick.

“I’m gonna shoot him,” she said flatly as she settled in behind her rifle.

I watched intently through my binoculars and awaited the shot. At the rifle’s report, I saw the buck flinch and knew it was hit hard.

Not knowing exactly where the shot came from, the buck made a dash into the open pasture angling toward us. It piled up 60 yards in front of the blind.

“I got him!” Molly declared with a wide smile. I gave her a big hug and a wholehearted “Atta girl!”

Molly’s senior trip was a thrilling success, and we were both overjoyed. At the risk of overusing a cliché: “It simply doesn’t get any better than that!”

Molly made a perfect 235-yard shot, and together we made a memory that will last a lifetime, and added a new chapter to her well-earned book of braggin’ rights!

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