If I decide to shoot something, remember, I'll whisper 'get ready', you put your fingers tight in your ears, and I'll pull the trigger! OK?". That, and, “You have to sit still, be quiet, and be patient”, were the two instructions that I preached relentlessly all weekend, both prior to, and during each of our morning and evening deer hunts.

My young son, CJ first sat in a deer stand with me shortly before his 4th birthday in 2007. Then, again in November, 2008, we sat in a tripod (one seat) set up for bow hunting—very close to the feeding area. It was his only hunt that year with me, and there were no weapons involved, only the beauty of witnessing creation as it awakened to begin the new day. He sat on my lap for three long hours as I felt his bony undercarriage digging into my thigh muscles. The last 15 minutes of that hunt was the best, for a nice stout 8 point buck was quietly making his way down his favorite trail. That deer never made it into plain view. My little 4 year old was making “boredom sighs” about every 10 to 15 minutes. Though his sighs weren’t terribly loud, that buck didn’t appreciate it one bit. My CJ saw his first “white flag” waving him goodbye. “Sorry Daddy”, he lamented, in his most solemn voice. That buck only lived another 3 days. A friend of mine made it his duty to ensure that buck never waved goodbye to a 4 year old again.

CJ spent the following 12 months watching my favorite deer hunting shows and picking up the post shot jargon often employed by the professionals, along with the high fives, the post-shot dances, andexclamatory hoots and hollers. That was all fine until one day in early spring, when we were weldingsome new feeder legs together, he asked if I would take him deer hunting for real—with a real gun—andreally “kill something”. Oh boy! All I could wonder was, “What’s his mommy going to say about that?”

As I recall, I did some dishes, folded some clothes, and I believe I was rubbing her feet when I brought up the boy’s idea of really hunting. It sounded like a great idea to me. That is her baby boy, her precious angel, her everything. I secretly planned our father and son hunting trip for the week before Thanksgiving—essentially, CJ’s birthday week, and gently delivered the notion of taking him with me to his mother when the time for disclosure felt right. When I brought it up, one would have thought I was planning to offer her baby up as some sort of sacrifice or something. Mommy was not thrilled! As part of the master plan, I had CJ attack from the flank commenting on the idea as eloquently as only a five year old could. It seemed that she was torn by the idea for months. Finally, in September, the mommy was apparently broken down to her most vulnerable layers and let some cautious approval slip out. CJ kept working on her, breaking her down even more, while I continued affirmations that I would protect and defend her baby’s well-being. As October rolled past, her apprehensions turned to positive commitment.

The poor kid was really sick the week leading up to the big hunting weekend—sick enough to miss three days of school. I didn’t know if he’d be well enough by our departure to actually go. He finally pulled through, and we were able to leave early enough on Friday afternoon to get a late evening hog hunt under our belts. That was a little primer for him in his exercise of patience and stillness before the big deer hunt the next day. I woke the boy at 4:45am Saturday morning, early enough to get him properly fed and dressed for the long cold morning ahead of us. He was so eager so early, and it made me proud. At the Cedar Ridge stand, the trail camera had revealed several regular visitors both morning and evening: does, bucks, and hogs. However, the wind directions were quite inconsistent that morning. I elected to try a new attracting product called Smokin’ Sticks with hopes of at least masking our human scent. Bucks typically enter this area from behind our pop-up blind, which sits nestled in a cedar tree roughly 40 yards east of the feeding area. We lit the sticks and settled into the blind. We sat for roughly four hours and didn’t see anything. In hind sight, I believe the scent was too offensive to every animal in the area. However, the time spent in the blind was more exercise for patience, sitting still, and practicing quiet deer hunting behavior. CJ would come to understand later how the three virtues would prove to be vitally important.

After a lunch in the field consisting of US Government Meals-Ready-to-Eat (MRE) and some play time back at camp, we made our way back to the same blind for the afternoon hunt (without Smokin’ Sticks this time). My boy was pretty tired and had found the inside of his eyelids shortly after 3pm when we entered the blind again. It was around 3:30 that a small 8 point buck snuck into the feeding area. It was my mistake, really. I was so excited to have CJ at least watch deer that I nudged him awake before the buck settled down to eat. As CJ came out of his sleepy stupor, he brushed up against the back of his chair, which made a loud “shhhh” sound. The buck immediately pulled his head around and focused on our position, staring us down for several seconds before leaving us. “Sorry Daddy!” He really meant it, too! I reassured him that it was my fault the buck left us, and that it was still very early in the hunt. I felt sure we’d see other animals before the day ended.

CJ really enjoyed watching me get out of the blind to chase the cows away. They were just enjoying the lush green grass a little longer than I wanted them to do. He probably didn’t enjoy my constant instructions on sitting still and being quiet or how to plug his ears if I decided to shoot. Repetition is the best teaching method that I know of. I also pondered how it must be difficult for a six year old to do something his dad only learned to do fairly well in the previous four years himself! Most young children can sit near motionless and noiseless for less than 10 minutes I suspect, but doing so for longer is a far different kind of effort.

This is important to note because i it was about at the 40 yard mark where the deer began to turn slight quartering away an finally, barely, offer us a shot. I saw a bit of his rib cage through the mesh screen of our blind as he followed the trail out. I took a shallow breath and held it to steady the sight picture, targeted the last rib, and pulled the e trigger. The blind filled with a large plume of white pyrodex smoke, which I might add was not only unexpected, but it provided a certain air of great anticipation for realizing what the shot outcome was. The smoke did clear several seconds later after waving it away, and we both saw the buck lying on the ground—he dropped in his tracks! CJ and I were slapping each other on the knees and congratulating each other on our accomplishment when we looked out and saw that deer almost successfully stand d up on all four legs several times. He was clearly in distress, pulling himself along primarily using the s strength in front legs and making some progress o of getting the heck out of there. I began to get really worried! “No no no no no!”, I said to myself, while questioning my shot placement. I concluded in that brief moment that I may have made a poor shot, perhaps into his hip and therefore, only maimed him. I was afraid he might find his back legs and d make an escape. Meanwhile, CJ is asking, “Daddy, is s the deer dead?” I unzipped my pack pocket and retrieved a speed load, which is a canister that contains all the components for quickly loading a black powder gun. I quickly dumped the pyrodex pellets into the barrel; pre seated the sabot, then ram--rodded the bullet down the barrel, and finally inserted the 309 primer. I had an awful time making enough room in that tight space of the blind to ram the bullet down the barrel, but employed enough creativity to get the job done. “What should I do, now?” I thought. “Should I get out of the blind and try and get closer for a follow-up shot to put him down, or hold tight and hope he expires on his own?” I didn’t know how he was shot and ultimately decided that I needed to get closer, if possible, to better understand the situation. I knew my boy would be e devastated if that deer got away, never to be found again. CJ was close behind me during the sneak closer. As we approached, and the deer came into our view from 20 yard away, I pulled my binoculars up to observe his condition. He was lying down, but weakly raising and lowering his head. I told CJ that I was going to get closer still and advised him to stay back. I also told him that if the deer got up and possibly headed back into his direction, that he should seek refuge in the adjacent cedar tree. As CJ prepared d himself for that, I quietly stalked closer. The buck quit moving about, and I came up behind his head and d eased the tip of my barrel into his eye to test his state of being. He had expired!

I grabbed our trophy by the antler and pulled him around to face CJ and raised my hands to the heavens in my excitement. CJ ran toward me with the biggest proudest smile one could ever imagine—hooping, hollering, and dancing around in sheer joy! He just kept repeating, “This is so awesome!” over and over. He immediately took personal owners ship of “his” buck. He said, “I love my buck daddy! You shot him, but I hunted him!” I’ve never seen him with so much joy and raw excitement in overdrive. “We make a great hunting team, daddy!” he said whole heartedly, and we high-fived each other and hugged the pride back and forth between each other for several minutes while enjoying the spectacular three-dimensional aftermath of this brilliantly colorful event.

As my pride sunk in deeper and deeper, I shared with him a very persona al and intimate detail of many of my post-hunt experiences. I told him that after a harvest, I praise God for giving me the opportunity to experience His creation in such a way. Like only my spiritual son could do, and as I have witnessed him doing before, He said, “No, Daddy, let me do it!” as if he thought I was going to o pray for both of us. He folded his little hands, closed his eyes tightly, and prayed the most beautiful prayer in praise to God and thankfulness for his day-long experience! I can’t imagine a more meaningful and powerful life-experience to this date outside of marrying my wife and witnessing our kids’ births.

We snapped off a few pictures and then dragged the buck away from the immediate hunting area where I gave him his first experience of field dressing an animal. CJ was a little intimidated by the cutting, the blood, and entrails at first, but was consumed by anatomy questions shortly afterward.

For several hours following, he was the camp ham, telling anyone who would listen the story of how the hunting event came to pass, and how important it is to sit still, be quiet, and be patient.

The Buck was a 6 point with genetic deficiencies (missing both G1s) typical of this area of Stephens Co, Texas, but an excellent cull specimen. He had many fighting scars and his left G3 was broken near its base. He was aged to be 3.5yrs old, with 15.5” spread, and weighed approximately 130lbs dressed. The shot placement was perfectly delivered with 100 grains of pyrodex high behind the last rib. Though the Powerbelt .45 grain ballistic tipped sabot never exited, it significantly impacted both lungs after its apparent fragmentation.

(reprint by permission of the author only)

Some things just seem to fall into place. Getting to the stand a bit later than I wanted, I settled in for the last couple of hours of the day. It was warm this mid-November day, and the mosquitoes were relentless. They are talented critters; finding the only patch of bare skin--that being my forehead, and chewing me until I cried "uncle" by swatting at them. Warm evenings in the bow stand are not much fun.

Deer don't like the sun-baked savannah either, it seems. Although I walked up on a spike buck feeding here earlier, the more experienced deer often lay low until the earth begins to cool at sunset.

This evening wouldn't present me with the doe I was anticipating. Just before the sun dipped below the horizon, I heard something behind me, but suspected it was nothing, really. Perhaps it was a small bird dancing in and out of the brush before making its way to the roost. I slowly turned to look over my right shoulder in an effort to reassure myself that it truly was nothing. But in fact, it was revealed to be a something. Although I couldn't quite make it out. Legs in the thick brush at the base of my ridge--that's all I had to go on.



I turned on the video camera, which was attached to my bow and waited for the mystery animal to show itself. The idea of filling my doe tag so early in the weekend was appealing. I could sit back and relax a little; shoot my Springfield Hawken black power rifle for the first time.

Finally, there he was. I've been covered up this season in swine. They seem to be everywhere, and I don't know why. The previous two years, I'd have been lucky to see them. Now, this year, I can't not see them.

He was, by far, the largest boar I've seen in the flesh. I guessed his hoof weight at 350 lbs. They're so difficult to judge with all that mass. Man, was I excited! Two trophy animals in almost as many weeks! Has Orion shined down on me this season, or what?

He began to feed in front of me, and my instinct just took over. His approach, my patience, the way he turned quartering away, the shot-placement for a large boar hog; all text-book events. I couldn't be more thrilled with how this drama played out. Is a picture worth a thousand words? Well, The video tells the tale. Oh, yes. About his weight: He only tipped the scales at a mere 225 lbs. I still needed assistance getting him back to camp. That's a lot of pork!

To hear the commentary in the video, visit youtube directly.

(reprint by permission of the author only)