First Buck

My son, Bob, has killed quite a few bucks during his 28 years of hunting. The best of these was a perfect 10-point that he downed a couple years ago. Each tine was perfectly matched with one on the opposite antler beam, and there were no chips or broken points on the rack. It was a beautiful buck. A few years prior to that, he downed an eight-point whose rack had a wider spread than the 10-point's, but the tines were not as evenly matched.

Though these bucks and others he has killed mean a great deal to Bob as a hunter, his buck I find most memorable is the one he killed when he was 12 years old during his first buck hunt. In those days we climbed a steep mountain in the dark, a hike of about two miles. We carried dry, warm clothing in large backpacks, since we were sweat-soaked and needed to change clothes by the time we reached the top of the mountain. This hunt occurred in 1991. Besides being Bob's first deer hunt, it was the last time my father, who had discovered these deer crossings after coming home from World War II and was then a young man, made a hunt to the top of that mountain. In 1991 Dad was 71.

The morning was warm but miserable. A light rain was falling steadily, and a steady wind was blowing fog in and out of the area where Bob and I were sitting. About 8:00 Dad approached us and said, "I'm leaving. It's raining a little too hard." Since Bob was enthusiastic about "sticking it out," we elected to remain on the mountain. (A few hours later after he had dried out, Dad shot a buck from a stand of my brother's at a local hunting camp.)

Meanwhile, Bob and I endured the foggy, damp morning. I was wet and shivering. Though Bob, too, was wet, he didn't become cold. He laughed as I shook and tried to warm up by drinking hot Jell-O. Finally at 11:00, a deer appeared to our right. Bob quickly identified it as a spike buck. After I confirmed that the deer was a buck, Bob pulled back the hammer of my uncle Bill's 30-30, a rifle my aunt Lenore allowed Bob to use that year. He fired. The buck dropped to the ground.

I dragged Bob's first buck for two miles, which didn't seem too far when I was only 41. To me, Bob's first buck might just be his most memorable one.