My First Deer

This should be a short story. The reason being; My first deer kill was not all that dramatic and awe-inspiring. And... it was illegal. *I am sure hoping the statute of limitations has run out for this foray into delinquency...

I'm guessing (from the picture above) that it was the 1978 deer season and I would have been 14 years old. I also know that it was not opening morning since I am in my school clothes. If I were guessing (and I am) it was in the middle of the week of season.

On mornings that I had to go to school, Dad would drive the backroads and "Road Hunt". If you aren't familiar with this highly technical term, let me bring you up to speed. When there is enough light in the morning (or light left in the evening) to see, you drive the old dirt roads, slowwwwwly, and watch for deer in the woods or fields.

*And since hunting from a vehicle and from a public roadway was against the law... The real secret to a successful "Road Hunt" was knowing what the game warden's vehicle looked like...

This particular morning, we had "made a circle east" past county line and were working our way back west into Howell County and eventually onto 160 Highway for the trip to the Jr. High to drop me off. I was dressed for school and was pretty bummed out that I couldn't skip school and hunt.

We came west across the Howell-Oregon county line at Uncle Ellis's "80" and continued on past Roy Merritt's place. We went through the cross road, on past Dave Ryan's house and finally came to the big hill where the road went around the sink hole. This is where the "Old Bob Thompson Place" started, and since we hunted there, we knew there was a real possibility of seeing deer. Dad drove real slow, down the hill past the field on the north, up the hill, around the curve and we were just about to go down the hill to Droop Harris's land, when I started whispering "Stop! Stop, Dad! Stop!!!"

My window was down and I had been watching with hawk-eyes for any sign of the elusive whitetail. Anybody that has "Road Hunted" knows that in timber, unless the deer moves, you will pert-neart never see him. As we rounded the curve and started down the hill I saw a deer move in the timber, up the hill, on the road bank.

A couple of things happened in that split second after I whispered for Dad to stop. First, he braked so hard that we slid for a few feet down the road, which put us Past the deer. And second, I saw that the deer was a buck and that it only had one horn... And it was standing stock still, in perfect position for a shot.

Some sort of instinct must have kicked in at that moment. I threw my 30-30 Winchester to my shoulder, took aim and squeezed the trigger! It was later that I realized that I was shooting uphill, from a very awkward position and Left-Handed! I should have missed... But I didn't!

The little buck ran down the road bank and across the road behind our truck. His head was down, his tail clamped to his rear end as he crossed and Dad said "You hit him good!" He pulled the truck to the side of the road and we got out to trail him.

We found him about fifty yards down a ridge top, dead as a hammer!

Since I was in my school clothes, I was spared the requirement of gutting my first deer kill. However, Dad left me with the arduous task of dragging the deer back up the ridge to the truck!

This was before the days of Tele-check so we took ole "Lop Horn" to the check station on Preacher Roe Boulevard and got "legally" checked in. Then we drove back home to show Mom and get him strung up to cool.

When the deer was tied up and I was cleaned up, Dad took me on to school... With my very own "Deer Story" to tell!

*In the spirit of full disclosure, let me say that I do not condone illegal hunting activity such as I have described here. For any outdoor activities I now undertake to enjoy, I strive to stay well within the bounds of legality. It is much more enjoyable to hunt and fish without having to "look over your shoulder" all the time.