Let me start by saying I'm pretty new to this whole hunting scene. I hunted a bit when I was young--mostly quail hunting with my grandfather and father. But both of these men died when I was in my teens, and I really had no one in my life to help teach me more about hunting. My two uncles hunt, but they lived so far away that it was inconvenient to go with them.
It's only within the past couple of years that I began to gain an interest in hunting--mainly because I'm a believer in self-sufficiency. I feel like we all ought to be able to grow and gather our own food. And in part, my desire to hunt grew out of my interests in shooting. I began with shotguns and dove, moved on to turkeys, and then took up rifles and deer. Last year, I went turkey hunting with one of the above-mentioned uncles and was hooked. I struck out on my own this past spring, found some land to hunt, and wound up taking a jake and a triple-bearded tom.
So far though, my deer hunting experience has been sparse. I hunted twice last year--once with the uncle and another time with friends. Didn't see anything either time. But I was determined to succeed. I read books on deer habits, acquired far too much gear in preparation of this season, and even bought a muzzleloader so I could extend Tennessee's short season a bit.
Saturday marked my fifth deer hunting trip. I had hunted Tuesday and Thursday without any sign of deer. On Friday, however, I did some scouting, found a much more promising spot, and on Saturday morning, I made the long hike into the woods under the cover of darkness. I climbed my designated tree and set up before the sun ever began to peek over the horizon. There, I waited patiently while the world came to life around me. The day was breezy and the swaying of the tree calmed my soul at the same time it reminded me of the rhythms of nature.
Then at 7:20, it happened. A rustle over to my left sounded like the squirrels I'd heard all morning, but when I turned and squinted through the brush, I was rewarded with the sight of a young buck following a doe down a well-worn path. They began to taper further to my left, and I thought all was lost. But when I called twice with my grunt, the buck turned and began to circle around behind me from the left. As I eased my safety off and raised my gun, he stopped, and I got him in my sights. But just as I was about to pull the trigger, my stand shifted ever-so-slightly because I'd leaned out so far to make the shot. The buck began to move and was about to cross behind me; again, I thought I was going to lose him. However, luck favored me with one more open window of opportunity, and I made the most of it. My muzzleloader boomed, and the buck ran about 20 yards behind me before crashing to the ground. It took a while to calm myself so that I could climb down from the tree and pack up my gear before beginning the very real work of dressing and dragging out the deer. I was proud to find I'd hit the deer cleanly in the lungs; his death was quick and honorable.
My first deer, and a six-point buck to boot!
I see what all the fuss is about.
It's only within the past couple of years that I began to gain an interest in hunting--mainly because I'm a believer in self-sufficiency. I feel like we all ought to be able to grow and gather our own food. And in part, my desire to hunt grew out of my interests in shooting. I began with shotguns and dove, moved on to turkeys, and then took up rifles and deer. Last year, I went turkey hunting with one of the above-mentioned uncles and was hooked. I struck out on my own this past spring, found some land to hunt, and wound up taking a jake and a triple-bearded tom.
So far though, my deer hunting experience has been sparse. I hunted twice last year--once with the uncle and another time with friends. Didn't see anything either time. But I was determined to succeed. I read books on deer habits, acquired far too much gear in preparation of this season, and even bought a muzzleloader so I could extend Tennessee's short season a bit.
Saturday marked my fifth deer hunting trip. I had hunted Tuesday and Thursday without any sign of deer. On Friday, however, I did some scouting, found a much more promising spot, and on Saturday morning, I made the long hike into the woods under the cover of darkness. I climbed my designated tree and set up before the sun ever began to peek over the horizon. There, I waited patiently while the world came to life around me. The day was breezy and the swaying of the tree calmed my soul at the same time it reminded me of the rhythms of nature.
Then at 7:20, it happened. A rustle over to my left sounded like the squirrels I'd heard all morning, but when I turned and squinted through the brush, I was rewarded with the sight of a young buck following a doe down a well-worn path. They began to taper further to my left, and I thought all was lost. But when I called twice with my grunt, the buck turned and began to circle around behind me from the left. As I eased my safety off and raised my gun, he stopped, and I got him in my sights. But just as I was about to pull the trigger, my stand shifted ever-so-slightly because I'd leaned out so far to make the shot. The buck began to move and was about to cross behind me; again, I thought I was going to lose him. However, luck favored me with one more open window of opportunity, and I made the most of it. My muzzleloader boomed, and the buck ran about 20 yards behind me before crashing to the ground. It took a while to calm myself so that I could climb down from the tree and pack up my gear before beginning the very real work of dressing and dragging out the deer. I was proud to find I'd hit the deer cleanly in the lungs; his death was quick and honorable.
My first deer, and a six-point buck to boot!
I see what all the fuss is about.
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