Biscuit Hunter
New member
It's taken me more than a minute to get around to posting this story, because I had to figure out how to tell it, and how much of it to tell. Some of it is hard to share. Parts of it are painful and downright embarrassing. But in the end things only worked out on our hunt because we were honest, so this story will be honest too.
My son drew an AZ youth tag for an area close enough that we could scout it often, and our scouting went well. Monsoons stayed late into September, and the edge areas in our unit were attracting lots of deer.
Before scouting, I had planned on hiking in deep to avoid other hunters, but our scouting trips found lots of easily accessible animals, including two nice 4x4s, and a really cool young buck that was forked on his right side, and had a funky, almost-foot-long splayed-out-underneath-the-ear wacky looking antler on his left side. But my son didn't care about antlers. He wanted "a buck," and since I figured that the area where we'd seen the most animals would be getting a lot of pressure, I based our strategy on us getting things done quick, before all the critters got spooked into the really, really thick areas.
So the night before the opener we drove in late and set up a quiet, unobtrusive camp. Between my sons snoring and the crazy amount of coyotes sounding off all night I hardly slept a wink, but come shooting light we were headed out of camp, me being silently amazed that we still had this area to ourselves. I really wondered if we were doing the right thing by hunting such an obvious place-- such an easy place to shoot a deer-- pinning my entire strategy for opening day around getting to them first.
Then about a half hour into our hike...bingo...there's a deer. I got my son on the sticks and reminded him to wait for my go-ahead before he shot. I got the glass on the deer, and sure enough, he was a he, no doubt. I told my son that he was a little forky, and he was fine with that, so we talked over the shot. The buck was about 100 yards away, looking right at us. He had us totally busted, but hadn't spooked. I asked my son if he was okay with a frontal shot, but he hesitated before answering, so I told him to wait...the buck moved until he was quartering towards, still looking right at us. I figured he might bolt any minute, so I talked my son through picking his spot on the shoulder. About this time I saw a doe come out of the bushes and start on a path that would take her right behind the buck, so I told my son "Take him."
Boom. He broke the shot and the buck humped, took a step or two, then went into the surrounding brush. Holy adrenaline rush. Half-hour into opening morning.
We waited a few and then walked up on the site. This is what we found. Bloody bone, a hit deer, no doubt.
The trail led off into the thick, so we took our time. We found good sign. Tracks...then blood, fist sized spots. We followed this for about two hundred yards, I started getting nervous the farther we got with no deer on the ground. Then nothing. No blood, no tracks. Nothing.
Here's where the story gets hard. We looked. Please believe me; we looked. And looked. And looked. Our spirits were very low. Eventually we had the conversation-- what to do if we couldn't recover the deer that he had obviously hit. He asked me "Is it even legal to keep hunting, more importantly is it ethical?" I was so proud of him for asking about ethics. I told him that I could answer his question about legality-- it was perfectly legal to keep hunting and shoot a different deer. I told him that ethically it was up to him, that every hunter needed to make that decision for their self, in their own heart. I would not make that decision for him. Without hesitation he told me that he would not shoot another deer. His tag was filled. God, I love my son. He didn't even hesitate.
Then I told him how proud of him I was, that he had made the right call, but that we were far from done trying to recover his deer. So we looked some more.
But it just wasn't happening, and I was afraid that if his deer was still alive that we would push him clear out of the country, so we backed out. Eventually we broke camp and went home feeling completely defeated. The plan had worked perfectly until the first shot.
At home none of this sat right. There was that nagging feeling. The couch felt worse than a prison. It was accusing. My ass was in the wrong fugging place. There had to be more that we could do. So we let what was left of the weekend expire, and headed back out Monday, thinking that if his deer was still alive, we might find him in a familiar haunt, or if he was dead, we might find him by the smell or by the crows. But whatever we did we had to find him. We needed that closure. And so we looked. And we looked. We put miles on the boots. We put our eyes to the sky; we put our noses to the wind. Nothing.
I realized that neither he nor I were going to find his deer. So we loaded up into the truck and started the slow drive home. This was exactly how I didn't want his first hunt to go.
My son drew an AZ youth tag for an area close enough that we could scout it often, and our scouting went well. Monsoons stayed late into September, and the edge areas in our unit were attracting lots of deer.
Before scouting, I had planned on hiking in deep to avoid other hunters, but our scouting trips found lots of easily accessible animals, including two nice 4x4s, and a really cool young buck that was forked on his right side, and had a funky, almost-foot-long splayed-out-underneath-the-ear wacky looking antler on his left side. But my son didn't care about antlers. He wanted "a buck," and since I figured that the area where we'd seen the most animals would be getting a lot of pressure, I based our strategy on us getting things done quick, before all the critters got spooked into the really, really thick areas.
So the night before the opener we drove in late and set up a quiet, unobtrusive camp. Between my sons snoring and the crazy amount of coyotes sounding off all night I hardly slept a wink, but come shooting light we were headed out of camp, me being silently amazed that we still had this area to ourselves. I really wondered if we were doing the right thing by hunting such an obvious place-- such an easy place to shoot a deer-- pinning my entire strategy for opening day around getting to them first.
Then about a half hour into our hike...bingo...there's a deer. I got my son on the sticks and reminded him to wait for my go-ahead before he shot. I got the glass on the deer, and sure enough, he was a he, no doubt. I told my son that he was a little forky, and he was fine with that, so we talked over the shot. The buck was about 100 yards away, looking right at us. He had us totally busted, but hadn't spooked. I asked my son if he was okay with a frontal shot, but he hesitated before answering, so I told him to wait...the buck moved until he was quartering towards, still looking right at us. I figured he might bolt any minute, so I talked my son through picking his spot on the shoulder. About this time I saw a doe come out of the bushes and start on a path that would take her right behind the buck, so I told my son "Take him."
Boom. He broke the shot and the buck humped, took a step or two, then went into the surrounding brush. Holy adrenaline rush. Half-hour into opening morning.
We waited a few and then walked up on the site. This is what we found. Bloody bone, a hit deer, no doubt.
The trail led off into the thick, so we took our time. We found good sign. Tracks...then blood, fist sized spots. We followed this for about two hundred yards, I started getting nervous the farther we got with no deer on the ground. Then nothing. No blood, no tracks. Nothing.
Here's where the story gets hard. We looked. Please believe me; we looked. And looked. And looked. Our spirits were very low. Eventually we had the conversation-- what to do if we couldn't recover the deer that he had obviously hit. He asked me "Is it even legal to keep hunting, more importantly is it ethical?" I was so proud of him for asking about ethics. I told him that I could answer his question about legality-- it was perfectly legal to keep hunting and shoot a different deer. I told him that ethically it was up to him, that every hunter needed to make that decision for their self, in their own heart. I would not make that decision for him. Without hesitation he told me that he would not shoot another deer. His tag was filled. God, I love my son. He didn't even hesitate.
Then I told him how proud of him I was, that he had made the right call, but that we were far from done trying to recover his deer. So we looked some more.
But it just wasn't happening, and I was afraid that if his deer was still alive that we would push him clear out of the country, so we backed out. Eventually we broke camp and went home feeling completely defeated. The plan had worked perfectly until the first shot.
At home none of this sat right. There was that nagging feeling. The couch felt worse than a prison. It was accusing. My ass was in the wrong fugging place. There had to be more that we could do. So we let what was left of the weekend expire, and headed back out Monday, thinking that if his deer was still alive, we might find him in a familiar haunt, or if he was dead, we might find him by the smell or by the crows. But whatever we did we had to find him. We needed that closure. And so we looked. And we looked. We put miles on the boots. We put our eyes to the sky; we put our noses to the wind. Nothing.
I realized that neither he nor I were going to find his deer. So we loaded up into the truck and started the slow drive home. This was exactly how I didn't want his first hunt to go.
