As hunters, we seem to be more connected with nature than others. Connected in the physical aspect, but also in the spiritual side. You often hear many hunters thank God or give thanks after a harvest, or when having a great time in the outdoors with friends and family. I’ve always been that type of hunter. I talk to God every time I’m in the woods. It’s my sanctuary.
Growing up, we had a club in Washington County, Alabama where so many great memories were made. Dad was there for a lot of my life to enjoy those hunts with me. Sadly, 5 years ago, dad was diagnosed with squamous cell carcinoma, and life changed for all of us. It became harder for him to go with us into the woods, but we made the best of it and went every chance we could.
As you can imagine, I had more on my mind as my father’s health was declining. He was the man who taught me about hunting and fishing. He was the one who lit the fire inside me and my love for the outdoors. I struggled with the decision to go on a deer hunting trip this fall to Kansas with his health as bad as it was. However, my mom and dad both encouraged me to go and and enjoy the hunt. When I left, I told dad, “When I get a big buck, I’m going to FaceTime you! You better be ready for that call!”
After the first day of driving, we stopped in Missouri for the night. My mom called to let me know Dad’s health had gone downhill and they thought he may have 12-24 hours. I told her I would drop off my hunting buddy, Dane, in Kansas, then turn around and come home. She said let’s talk in the morning and see what’s going on. The next day, we arrived in Kansas. I called mom and she said dad was about the same. She said for me to hunt and see what happens the next day. I talked to him briefly, even though talking was becoming harder for him to do. I cried and told him I’d call him tomorrow when I get that buck. He said he’d be ready and told me he loved me.
We had lots of action, but had yet to fill a tag after two days of hunting. I called to tell Dad about it after each hunt, but after the second day he could no longer talk. Mom was now our translator. With a shaky voice, she said to Dad, “He’s a good hunter, isn’t he?” The last thing I ever heard my dad say was, “Yep!” Nothing makes you feel better than to hear that from your father, the person who taught you how to hunt.
Later that night, dad passed away. When I talked to my brother on the phone, he told me, “You stay there and kill a deer for dad, that’s what he wanted you to do.” It was hard to fall asleep. I felt guilty for not being at home. That following morning, I hunted with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat the entire morning. My usual prayers in the stand led to lots of crying and telling Dad how much I miss him.
The morning hunt was slow, but midway through the hunt, a covey of quail flew right by my stand. My dad was a big quail hunter in his day, and something made me feel like he was telling me he was right there with me. After that hunt, I called my mom and let her know I decided I needed to be home with my family and hunting wasn’t what I needed to be doing. She told me to go enjoy my afternoon hunting and not worry about coming home until the morning.
That afternoon was a hot one. It was 75° and windy. Less than ideal conditions for anywhere, but really bad for Kansas. I walked slowly to my stand so I didn’t break a sweat, which allowed me to take in the beauty of where I was. After slipping into my stand, I said my prayers like I always do.
I spent a lot of time talking to God and my dad. I felt like Dad was in the stand with me like old times. The tears and sadness from the morning changed to focus and anticipation. The joy of being in the woods and the wonder of what may happen at any moment was at a heightened sense. It felt as if I was 12 years old sitting next to dad at the “Lake Stand,” shooting my first buck.
Just after 4pm, the wind stopped and the woods fell silent. I could hear everything for a hundred yards either direction of the draw. Squirrels and owls started to rustle, and shadows started to rise. And out of nowhere, like it was placed on a table, a beautiful 10 point was staring right at me at 40 yards.
The buck continued down the trail. When he got behind a few trees, I grabbed the bow and ranged him. He was walking at a steady pace and was at 24 yards. After a couple more steps I stopped him, put my pin on him and let it fly. To have a much more perfect shot and shot angle would be hard to find. The arrow went straight through his heart, and the deer ran 50 steps and tipped over.
I just remembered hanging up my bow and looking through my binos as he fell over, then breaking down crying. I called my mom and we cried and laughed before I called my brother and then my wife.
I knew this would be my largest buck as soon as I shot him, but after walking up on him, I realized he was even bigger than I first thought. He ended up taping 159″, making him my largest buck, by far. But it’s the memory of how this hunt happened that will forever trump what he scored.
My dad always loved a good deer story, so I think he would’ve liked for me to tell this last one we made together.
