#first buck

First off, I'm not a hunter. Yes, I go deer hunting every year, but only on the opening weekend of rifle season. For reference, I spend more time doing my taxes every year than I do hunting, but I'm definitely no accountant. Anyway, I go hunting because it's a vacation. This time of year is always crazy, and the prospect of going to deer camp without any electricity, running water, traffic, 'rona, or politics is the highlight of my fall. And that's saying something considering all of the drawbacks: the aforementioned lack of running water and plumbing, the waking up every few hours throughout the night to put wood in the stove, the waking up before dawn to march down to my tree stand, the bitter cold while sitting in said tree stand. Oh, and putting in all of that time, effort, and money year after year only to come home without even seeing a deer. That is, until last year when I killed my first doe out of a new tree stand. Which meant this year, I was pumped. There were actually deer in those woods! And I had a good chance of another successful hunt this year. So, with my energies renewed, my brother and I drove down to camp, we cleaned things up, I cooked some fat, juicy steaks, we spent a relaxing evening around the fire, and we turned in for the evening, visions of monster bucks dancing in our heads. I was pumped! Well, mostly. Unfortunately, there was a black cloud hanging over my head.

No, seriously. It was a rain cloud. The forecast threatened storms pretty much the whole next day. And cold plus rain equals a cranky Andrew. But when we woke up Saturday morning, guess what? It wasn't raining! The forecast still promised precipitation, but now it wasn't supposed to hit until late morning, which meant I didn't need to march out into the cold, wet hell with a raincoat and a prayer. No, I would suit up in my usual camo and keep my eyes extra sharp, and with any luck, I'd bag a deer before the first raindrops fell. That was the plan, anyway…

Okay, waking up before dawn might suck, but seeing that sun come up over the ridgeline is magical. And last Saturday morning was no exception. The forest was completely silent. No wind. No squirrels. A thin line of orange stretched across the horizon. It thickened, chasing back the dark. It painted the tops of the tallest trees. The first hints of shadows turned every limb into what looked like a trophy buck. My heart quickened. Even in the overcast sky, the sun burned with a promise—this would be a morning worth the effort. But it would have to be a quick one, because the rain was rolling in at ten.

I sat comfortably for an hour. Like I said, no wind, and the temperature was above frostbite levels. Life was good, and my eyes were indeed sharp. Around 8:30, I saw something white flicker off to my right. Yes, there, about eighty yards away, was a deer. A doe, if I had to guess, but there were so many trees in the way that I couldn't be sure. And I definitely didn't have a clear shot, so I waited. Ten minutes went by without much change. That thing must have found a mother load of acorns, because it wasn't moving. That is, until a few minutes later when another deer came trotting down the ridge from the right. Deer 1's head popped up, but they must have been buddies, because it greeted Deer 2 without so much as a grunt. The two of them occupied themselves with that same plot of ground for another ten minutes, and I STILL didn't have a shot.

This was getting ridiculous, and I was getting impatient. The sky wasn't getting any lighter, and the forecast wasn't getting any better. So I leeeaaaned forward, and I leeeaaaaned back, and still I couldn’t get a clear shot. Oh, did I mention that I hunt with an open-sights rifle? At that range, I could have taken either of those deer easily if I'd had a scope. But as it was, every time I tried to level my sights, all I could see was gray haze. My excitement was cooling by the second. And the frustrations of life started creeping back in. Nothing ever worked out like it was supposed to. 2020 couldn't get any worse. People were always fighting. They were always telling me what I should do, and no one ever listened. But not here. Not in the woods. Here, I made my own rules—my own destiny. And so, I aimed at my best approximation of Deer 2's heart and squeezed the trigger.

Deer 2 was gone. Deer 1 bolted down to the left. I kept my sights on it. I almost fired again. But what if Deer 2 was lying dead behind the trees? Too long. Too much hesitation. Deer 1 was gone now, too. I called my brother, who was in his stand about three quarters of a mile away. I told him I thought I'd downed Deer 2, and he told me to wait a while and go check. So, naturally, I immediately got down from my stand to claim my prize. And when I got there, no deer. No blood. Nothing but crushed hopes and impending rain. I returned to my stand for a bit, but I was done. I'd forced the shot, and I'd blown it. An hour later, I was back in the cabin, lying on my futon, listening to rain pattering on the tin roof, wondering where it had all went wrong.

But you know what? It was still a good day. I wasn't going back out in the rain, but the next day was supposed to be bright and sunny—zero chance of precipitation and pretty warm. So you know what I did the rest of the rainy day? I took a nap. Why? Because I could. No one to tell me otherwise, and no pressing tasks I should be working on. I ate snacks, too. And drank some beer. And listened to the rain outside and the crackling wood stove at my feet. By evening, I was feeling optimistic again. There were deer in those woods! And I had a good chance of a successful hunt tomorrow. Especially since I would have all day to wait for the perfect shot!

I slept like a baby that night. Well, I would have, had there not been monsoon winds and literal tornado warnings. The rain came in sideways. Literally. It came in the cabin through the upper window. It sounded like the walls were about to tear off and leave us for dead. And while I usually love storms, this one felt different. It felt like the storms in my real life. It felt like it was trying to tell me what to do, how to live. It threatened to determine my future and dampened my spirits once again. And when I did finally go to sleep around midnight, I dreamed anxious dreams. Dreams of hackers taking over all the electronics in America and rioters tearing down everything I loved.

But then, the strangest thing happened. When my alarm went off at 4:45, I felt great. Not groggy. Not anxious. Not cold. Optimistic warmth coursed through my veins once more. I was actually smiling. The storm had moved on, and outside, the stars were shining brighter than I'd seen them in years. And as I stood there looking up at them, I felt God's promise. He would bring me a deer this day. Maybe even my first buck.

When I got to my stand, the feeling continued. An owl hooted nearby. The sun rose again, brighter this time. The woods were practically glowing. I settled in and surveyed the landscape. I knew every tree, every limb, every hill, and every valley. If a deer came through, I'd see it. And I'd kill it. And a couple hours later, I saw movement.

It all happened so fast. The deer was trotting from left to right across the ridge. My gun was at my shoulder. I only had a few seconds, so I squeezed the trigger. But the deer kept running, faster now. I shot again. The deer changed direction. He was running down the hill now, straight for me, through the trees. After my third shot, he turned back to the left, but his run turned into a walk. And then I lost him behind some brush, and he never came back out. He HAD to be down. I called my brother again. "Is it the zombie apocalypse?" were his first words. I laughed. "Wait a half an hour," he said. Five minutes later, I saw movement. The deer was standing. Looking around. It was a buck. Then I lost sight of him again. I waited another ten minutes, but I couldn't wait any longer. God had promised me a deer, after all. So I climbed down and crept toward my kill. About twenty yards away, he jumped up and ran down the far side of the ridge. Crap. I'm an idiot. Why didn't I listen to my brother? I searched for blood. Nothing. Of course there was nothing. I was no hunter. I was no tracker. This deer was gone. But I followed him nonetheless, clinging desperately to a fool's hope.

Over the river and through the woods, but I had no idea where I was going. But it wasn't long before a suspicion tickled my thoughts--I was walking straight for my brother's stand. It was enough to keep me going (and yes, he’s a very responsible hunter and has zero track record of shooting people), and at the bottom of the hill, I heard the distinct sound of a deer's bleat. My brother assures me that's not the right word for it, but it's the only way I know how to describe it. After a few hundred more yards of walking, I heard a shot from the direction of my brother's stand. No way. I stopped and waited, afraid to get any closer to the kill zone despite wearing my "I'm not a deer!" orange. My pace quickened, and so did my pounding heart. Another shot. Then my brother called.

"Did you kill my deer?" were my first words. "He's laying right in front of me, looking right at me," he said. "I can't believe he's not dead. Want me to shoot him again?" After a few minutes, I finally said, "Yes." And he did. And it was over. The deer was dead at last. And it was a five-point buck.

We talked for a while, trying to figure out what the heck had happened, and then we inspected the kill. I'm not going to tell you how many times we shot it, but that thing was a fighter, that's for sure. And when I took it to the meat processing place, the guy literally shook his head. "Which one of you shot him in the butt?" he asked. He pointed out all of the holes, piecing the hunt together like a CSI analyst, then he promised me that he'd salvage as much meat as he could. That was fine.  I'd killed my first buck. Well, WE had killed my first buck. Do you know how weird that is? Do you realize the odds of that deer running directly from my stand to my brother's? Do you know how unlikely it was, considering the infinite amount of directions it could have gone out from that single point? Well, I don't either (math isn't my strong suit), but it's pretty danged unlikely, that's for sure. God had definitely delivered that deer despite my impatience. Despite my burning desire to make own luck.

It's impossible to unpack all of my thoughts and emotions as I replay the events of that hunt in my mind—the significance of the events of the whole weekend, really. But I'll try, and I'll leave the interpretations up to you. Like many of you, my life is a storm right now. I don't know what my future holds. I'm being pulled a thousand different directions. I'm trying so hard to make my own fate, but it seems impossible when everything's so uncertain. When each day brings a new, unexpected obstacle. But I'm not going to quit. I'm not going to let external circumstances bog me down or force me into a life I'll regret. And I keep thinking, "You miss 100% of the shots you don't take."

Now, before you smart people say anything, I know that's not how math works (despite it not being my strong suit). I know there can't be a percentage at all if the value of N is zero. But the sentiment rings true. I forced the shot on Saturday, and I missed. I forced several shots on Sunday, and I missed at least one of them, and I didn't truly hit my mark with any of them. And yet… God answered my prayers. Despite all odds, he used my brother to deliver my first buck in the strangest way I can imagine. There's no other way I can describe it.

Life is crazy for everyone right now. We're all doing our best just to hang on. The storm is still raging, but the forecast is looking better. There are times when we force the shot, but it's better than the alternative. We can't just let our hopes and dreams walk away over the ridge. If we do, we may never get another chance, and we'll regret it forever. We'll go home empty handed with nothing but a story about the deer that got away. So I, for one, will continue pulling the trigger. Why? Because I serve a faithful God. I know he is watching over me. I know he shakes his head at me every day, wondering why I don't see his signs, why I don't wait for the clear shot that he's setting up for me. With time, maybe I'll see a little clearer. Maybe I'll line up my shot a little more carefully. But for now, I'm doing the best with what I have. And I'll trust God to provide for me despite all odds. And next deer season, I'm definitely bringing a rifle with a scope.