Well, on November 17, my hunting season came to a close with 2 days left to hunt. It was a crazy year, on of the slowest I have ever seen, only seeing on other buck, which was a spike, other than the one I harvested, including my 8 day trip over to Eastern, WA. We didn't see a single muley or whitetail buck over there, and I'm feeling beyond blessed for the blacktail in which I got. This hunt marked many firsts for me, which I sat and reflected over before beginning the work of getting this beautiful deer back to my truck. He is actually the smallest buck I have taken, and at first, after taking the shot and taking life, I felt a little more guilt and remorse than I normally do. As sportsmen, it is our responsibility to have these emotions for these tough animals we pursue, and take life from. This year, at first, i felt a little more remorse for having killed a young deer, for a reason I can't exactly explain. I'm 17, and he is my 5th buck, and my last 3, I have been VERY lucky and harvested some very large, mature deer, so perhaps I felt I shouldn't be taking a young deer. But again, then I sat down next to him, said a prayer to God, thanking him for the sacrifice of this animal to put meat in my freezer, and for a clean, instant kill. I then reflected how many firsts this was, as I mentioned above. This was my first deer without having my father there with me, my first time gutting a deer solely on my own, it would be my first time having to get a deer to the truck and home on my own, and was my first harvest with my new Kimber Hunter 6.5 Creedmoor. And to me, the coolest first is how it all occurred. I have NEVER been one to sit in the timber watching a game trail, waiting. I always have enjoyed either glassing and spot and stalk, or very slowly walking game trails, and kicking something up or creeping in on one. But with it being such a slow year, I switched up my tactics. I entered a timber stand that I had seen deer in before, knew had highways for trails, and a whole lot of buck sign, and in my favor, the blacktail rut was in full swing. I quietly crept in about a half mile in, and found the intersection of 2 really nice trails that are on a little bench in the stand, It was about 1:45, as a sat down with my back caressed into a big tree about 50 yards above the trails. Now, here is where it got even more new to me. I have never tried to call in deer, I never knew how well this worked for blacktail. But I was gonna give it a go. I pulled out my estrus bleat can, and let out two bleats. I did this ever 10-15 minutes, and around 2:55, after letting out 3 bleats, I heard a lot of stomping, brush thrashing, and grunting. I instantly knew a buck was coming in below me, and he was coming in hot. I saw him working his way through the ferns, and could see he wasn't a big buck. Where I'm at, it has to be a 2 point, and as he came up the trail, he went behind a tree, and I pulled my rifle up for the split second where he wouldn't be able to see me. I settled my crosshairs just on the other side of the tree where he would pop out, and as is head came out, I could see a little fork, and I knew he was legal. Another step forward, I took my safety off and rested my sights behind his shoulder. BOOM! He dropped in his tracks. I gathered my gear, and walked the 45 yards down to him, and when I got there he was still kicking a little. This always makes me sick to my stomach to see, and I wish I'd have given him more time so he could expire alone, just him in his habitat, but I put another shot into him to make sure he had no suffering. I called my dad to tell him the news, and he said he wouldn't be able to get off work early, so this job was going to be me, and me only. As soon as the call ended, my phone died. Now was where I said my prayers, felt remorse, but then reflected on everything this hunt marked for me. I racked my brain to gutting a few deer last year, and quickly found where I kept that stored away, and got to work. I had him cleaned out in 15 minutes, and drug him the half mile uphill to the truck, loaded him, and was headed home at 4:25. Again, in such a slow year, or heck, any sort of year, I am more than grateful and blessed for this clean, organic, meat and the animal giving it's life, being given the right to hunt, my father who has taught me to hunt and to love and respect the animals in which we hunt, my (worrying) and loving mother who allowed me to skip school to be in the woods, and to God for giving us these animals to not only hunt, but enjoy the beauty of. He may not be the highest scoring buck, or the oldest and wisest, but he marked a huge point in my hunting career, made more memories for me, and represents how tough these critters are, and that is where all the trophy of the hunt is.
