First time deer hunting

The very first fishing trip I remember was an amazing and epic trip to Lake Curlew in north eastern Washington.

We caught rainbow trout to our heart’s content. As many fish as we hooked, I think I was the one who ultimately was hooked, as I’ve not been able to go very long without thinking about fishing after that trip.

We went back to Curlew a few more times and the drive up would always be one of the best parts. The beauty of the hills, mountains, and woods of northeastern Washington was truly enchanting to me.

Returning to this area for the first deer hunt of my lifetime seemed fitting and driving past the lake filled my mind with these memories.

As I prepared for this first hunting experience, I told myself I would stay calm, not be too high or too low, just focused and determined.

I prayed for a true shot that would put the animal down with minimal suffering. And then there’s the moment when the legal 3×3 young buck appeared in the clearing within 20 yards of the shooting house we were staked out in.

My heart began pounding loudly (so much for staying calm!), I could have sworn the deer were going to hear my heartbeat and take off.

As I brought my muzzleloader barrel up to the shooting house shelf, which acted as a functional gun rest, my friend and hunting mentor Ash whispered “You can’t take the shot yet”. The buck had emerged 4^th amongst 3 other deer, but he stood right in front of one of them. The shot from the 50-caliber muzzleloader would have surely done damage to the deer behind him. I cocked my weapon, to be ready for the moment of truth.

After a few more heart pounding seconds he moved away from the other deer and provided me an almost quartering away view at about 50 yards.

As he angled just slightly more Ash whispered “Drop him!” in an urgent tone as I lined up the red sight at the end of the barrel between the greens and on the area just behind his front legs as best I could.

As I steadied myself, all within a split second, I pulled the trigger and heard a “click”. So did the deer. Quite anti-climactic! Ash instructed me to repeat the shot again in case the primer just didn’t get ignited. I pretty much knew what happened at this point though as I pulled my barrel off of the shelf and opened up the action to reveal the issue…No primer cap!

Okay, so I would expect you to get a good laugh out of this, but what’s worse is that an hour before this, as we sat in the shooting house one final time for this hunting trip, Ash reminded me to make sure I had the cap in the gun.

Explaining that this is one of the mistakes that gets made sometimes. I had been removing and re-inserting the cap multiple times a day as we practiced good gun safety for climbing up and down into the shooting house and various other transitions that required unloading for safety reasons.

So, when Ash reminded me, I looked and felt inside my pocket for the cap, which is where I had been storing it when it wasn’t inserted in the gun. I felt nothing and I assumed it was in the gun, but I didn’t check the gun itself, argh!

I’m now just staring at where the deer used to be, incredulous, Ash beside himself as well. I dejectedly reach back into my pocket, determined to make a more thorough search, and guess what, I find the cap. I place it back in the muzzleloader and go back to my dejected amazement.

At that moment, Ash mentions that the deer may re-appear in the open area directly in front of us. My heart is pounding as the first doe walks carefully across the open area and stops. One by one each re-appear, and the buck walks off slightly away from them, presenting me a perfect broadside shot.

Ash whispers “take it, take it!” in an urgent whispered tone. I line up the sights and pull the trigger, sure that I would make good on my second chance. Nothing happens!

My heart is pounding so loud at this point, but I’m coherent enough to realize that I hadn’t cocked the gun. I quickly correct it, and the buck is still there, but walking slowly across the clear area from left to right, about to disappear behind another stand of trees. Ash whispers “Take it, now!”.

I line up the shot and pull the trigger without any further deliberation, not even aware of my breathing, only my heart pounding fiercely out of my chest. There’s a loud bang, a great cloud of smoke, and all the deer immediately scatter.

I’m shaking.

Ash says he saw the buck flinch and is convinced I hit him. I gently rest the muzzleloader in a corner of the shooting house. Ash is laughing so hard I think he’s going to fall out of the shooting house.

He still cannot believe I didn’t have the cap in! We see the three deer cross our path about 100 yards away, moving quickly, one at a time each one disappears into the trees, but the buck is not with them anymore.

We are both amazed we had another chance at this buck. The only one we had seen in two days of spending all morning and evening in the shooting house. I’m sheepish about the cap, but I cannot quite join in on the laughter.

This animal I shot has disappeared from sight and I have no idea what’s going on with it. I’m not squeamish when it comes to taking the life of an animal to provide food for my table. I’m also not callous about it.

I have a desire to be humane and for the animal to not suffer. I seek to respect and honor the animal by not wasting any of it.

I’ve made this shot, the only shot I’ve ever taken at a big game animal, hit the animal, but now I’m full of anxious energy as I consider the possibilities of what’s coming next.

My heart has stopped pounding, but I’m shaking with the anticipation and anxiety about what’s next. Or maybe I was cold as the sun had sunk below the tree line, plunging us into the cool shade of dusk.

We wanted to give the buck some time before attempting to track it, but we loaded another round in case we had to fire another shot to put an end to a wounded animal.

We climb out of the grown-up version of a tree house and walk over to where the animal was standing when the shot was made. There are clear patches of blood, which show up clearly on the pure white snow. The blood trail leads into thicker brush and trees. At the speed the animal moved, and the amount of blood on the ground, this was a solid shot and the buck would not have long after he was hit.

I suggest we go back to the cabin and grab my son and Ash’s wife Norma to be part of the tracking experience. After they put their cold and snow gear on, we set out to the place where the blood trail starts. We carefully follow the trail, stopping to look up for the animal.

After only about 30 yards we find him.

He lies motionless about 10 yards in front of us, beneath a tree. I approach him carefully until I’m directly in front and touch an open glassy eye with the tip of my barrel. No reaction. I signal to the others the confirmation that the buck is dead.

I kneel down and place my hand on the soft fur of the buck’s neck. We say a prayer of gratitude for the deer’s life being given to us. I’m choked with emotion both then and now as I recall the moment.

I know that the moment is one I will never forget. There were pictures taken, but I don’t think I smiled. I was proud, grateful, happy, humble, and reverent all at once. Feeling the connection to my own humanity more than perhaps at any other point in my life, feeling small in the universe, and feeling completely humbled by this experience.

I know some, perhaps many, look down on the practice of hunting. Most do not understand.

It’s truly a shame, that as a society we consume so much meat without this humbling experience and connection to the animal who gave its life for our sustenance. We pull up to the drive thru and order chicken, beef or pork without thinking twice that the animal which was slaughtered for our sustenance had life and blood.

I can guarantee you that the animal of the slaughterhouse wasn’t paid the respect that this young buck was. Which is more human? To consume without a second thought or to feel the weight of the animal’s life on our conscience as we stare at its lifeless form lying peacefully in the snow? If I could only eat the meat which I’ve had this connection with, I would be better for it. I know that will never be the case, but I also know I will not eat meat the same way.

As we set to the work of field dressing the deer, we observed via the internal organs the true nature of the killing shot.

The shot had severed the ventricles of the heart, and destroyed the liver. Ash, with his extensive hunting and surgical background, noted the animal was likely down within seconds of the shot.

I was relieved and grateful that my prayer for a sure shot had been answered. A few hours later and we had quartered and stored the meat. Exhausted, we retold the story of the day as we attempted to wind down for bed.

We expressed our gratitude multiple times for the way it worked out and Ash promised me he would never let me live down the missing cap. I was now laughing along with him and couldn’t wait to tell the story to my other hunting friends who would I’m sure provide more abuse my direction.

I didn’t care about the abuse, and besides I’ve got a few stories on Ash in his early days of salmon fishing. This was an incredible experience; one I will take with me until my time is also at an end.

Huge shout out and thanks to Norma for photographing the hunt and cooking some awesome meals.

I’m tremendously grateful for Ash’s friendship and guidance through this moment, grateful to God for his providence in how everything worked so perfectly (including me getting 2 practice “shots” off before the real one) and I’m grateful for the life of the young buck, which ended on the cold snow-covered ground in the woods of northeastern Washington.