Story From The Stand: Three Missed Shots
I have a confession to make.
I missed a buck this weekend.
That’s right. I pulled the trigger on a buck and missed. Not only did I miss; but, I missed three times. I missed three times in a row.
Here’s the full story.
I left school on Friday afternoon, picked up my kids from daycare, and booked it to my parent’s house for a weekend of hunting. The plan was to hunt as much as possible, watch the Carolina football game Saturday, and kill a buck. Simple right?
After stopping off the highway for my four-year-old to take an emergency pee-pee, we arrived just in time to change clothes and head to the stand. My mom, God bless her, loves taking care of my kids and so graciously agreed to be head babysitter while I sat in the deer woods all weekend. Thanks again, mom. I love you.
I changed into my hunting garb, put on my boots, and grabbed my rifle. I shoot a Savage 110 .270 and have for years. I’ve shot many deer with it and it has always managed to bring the brown to the ground. Four years ago I shot a nice eight-point at my parent’s house in the same field that my dad and I were planning to hunt Friday afternoon. After shooting that buck, he traveled the width of the field, hopped in a fallen tree, and was recovered with the help of my mom and dad following his trail. Everyone was covered with cockelburs after that trail job!
Our hopes were high for the evening hunt. I had red in my eyes. I was ready to shoot a buck for the first time since my kids were born. It’d been four long years and I could feel the drought was coming to an end.
My dad and I walked to the stand, climbed up stealthily, and got prepared to spend the afternoon there together. We usually separate to cover more ground; however, tonight something told us to stay together. Nothing was moving. Sure the birds were having a time, singing, and talking at the top of their lungs. My dad and I were doing the same, just at a lower volume. We were shooting the breeze, talking a lot about nothing.
I love hunting with my dad. It's so nice to sit and be with the man who has inspired me throughout my entire life. I’ve said before that my dad could be in Walmart, in a crowd of people, in the middle of the day, and still see an eight-point buck. He has that kind of luck. Not only is he lucky, he’s also an exceptional hunter and marksman. Just the week before our hunt together, he shot an eight-point in the hunting club near our home.
As the evening was coming to a close, my dad decided to perform a doe bleat call followed up by a series of buck grunts using calls that we always carry when we hunt. The sun was going down and the darkness was starting to take hold.
It was deer time.
I started to look around with my binoculars and search the edges of the field. I was looking hard, trying to will a deer out of the woods. Just then, I saw it.
It was a deer. The deer had horns on its head. It was a buck. A nice buck!
I told my dad I saw a buck. He was surprised because the action had been slow and we’d seen no sign of deer movement then entire evening. I quickly replaced my binoculars with my rifle. After finding the deer with my scope, I followed him as he moved toward the feeder. The buck was most likely going to check the feeder for does.
Isn’t that what all single males do? Before making any other moves, he had to check to see if any ladies were in the area!
When he, the buck, realized there were no other deer at the feeder, he looked to be heading back toward the woods into a little head that points out into the field. I wasn’t going to let that happen.
He was moving right to left with a pretty swift step, almost trotting but not running. I told my dad that if he gave me a broadside shot and stopped, I was going to shoot.
Here’s something you need to know: I don’t miss. When I pull the trigger, something dies. And I mean that in the most non-boastful way possible. Seriously, I'm just trying to give you my frame of mind for the sequence of events that happened next.
The deer stopped. He stood broadside. He was about a hundred and fifty yards away. I told my dad I was about to shoot.
I took a breath. I squeezed the trigger.
BOOM! The shot went off and I began searching for brown on the ground. I didn’t see a white belly anywhere. I looked to the woods with my scope hoping to get a glimpse of the deer running to the woods. I didn’t see the deer running.
Instead, I saw the deer standing. He was alive. The deer was alive, standing, searching for that loud noise about twenty yards away from the woods.
So, I did what any hunter in my situation would do: I racked another bullet in the chamber. I found the buck in my sights, put the crosshairs on his shoulder, breathed, and squeezed the trigger.
BOOM! The deer was still standing. I racked another bullet. Repeated the pre-shot process.
BOOM! You guessed it: the deer was still standing. He hadn’t moved a muscle. I had missed three times.
Quickly, my dad got his rifle into position. Like I said earlier, he’s a great marksman. He found the buck in his sights, and in less than ten seconds had fired his rifle.
BOOM! The buck went down. Looking through my scope I could see a white belly. My dad and his Marlin .25-06 had come through in the clutch! We celebrated and laughed at my inability to hit the target. Despite what you may think, I wasn’t upset about missing the deer. Instead, I was so happy that my dad was able to come through and make the shot.
Remember when I said that I hadn’t killed a deer in four years? That was also the last time that I shot my Savage .270. That gun had traveled with my dad to Colorado last year on an elk hunt and the scope was more than likely bumped off from its designated settings. Instead of being upset, I was thankful that the miss happened when my dad was with me!
We got down from the stand, recovered the deer, and brought him back to the house. This deer was special. Not for its antlers or its body size; however, this deer would be the first that my son, Charlie, would get to touch and feel with his own hands. I was so excited that Charlie, my dad, and I would all get to take part in this celebration of the harvest.
My son was surprised and delighted at the news of a big buck down!
Although I didn’t get the buck this weekend, I had a chance! In all honesty, I’m just happy that my dad and I got to hunt together and were lucky enough to have an opportunity to harvest a deer. Maybe next year my son will be able to join us and have his own story to tell about shooting a buck at the family farm.
Get out in the woods. Enjoy the outdoors. Be with your family and loved ones.
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