For most of us we start hunting at a relatively early age. That was true with me as well.
I’m not certain how old I was when I shot my first deer but I think relatively young. And exceptionally naïve. My first deer was a Sitka Blacktail doe. My dad had partnered with some friends and we flew down to a place on Kodiak Island (where we lived) to a little lake called Spiridon. Like most when we are young I had no idea that a “little trip” like that on a Widgeon float plane in Alaska would be a bucket list hunt for so many aspirational hunters.
So we land at Spiridon and as we are leaving the float plane my dad’s friend chuckles at my little red pack wondering just what I was going to be packing out with that.
My dad and I proceed to hike up one of the mountains to see what we can get. For that year Kodiak had plenty of deer and there were several times that my dad would ask if I wanted to shoot a deer that we saw at maybe 200 yards with his Winchester Model 70 30-06 but the truth is I simply wasn’t mentally prepared to do that. So we hiked and spotted and hiked and spotted some more.
Inevitably we come around a little bend and to my surprise there is a doe standing perfectly broadside at 50 yards.
I work the lever on my dad’s Winchester model 94 in .32 Winchester Special (essentially a 30-30 but hey, .32 Winchester special sounds WAY cooler).
The dynamics of buck fever can never be fully understood until the moment of truth is in front of you. For me this was no exception. My first shot, believe it or not, hits one of the doe’s ears and we see her kind of shake her head a little. She doesn’t move though.
A second shot was off even more, as were my third and fourth shots. So yes, to put this in perspective this deer has been nicked in the ear by my first shot and she stands staring at us for three more shots. In all my years of hunting since I would have never anticipated anything like that happening.
And for whatever reason my fifth shot was as true as it ever could have been. A perfect shot that ethically was as good as one could ask for in terms of quickly killing one of these beautiful animals. The doe went down and I was on to my first successful deer hunt.
In truth, for me at least, taking a life is hard. It still is today. These animals are incredible. They are beautiful. And so to take one’s life is hard. It certainly was for me that day as I teared up when I saw her laying on the ground.
Then as is always the case, the work begins. We have to process her in the field as there are no roads to where the deer are on Kodiak. My dad obviously does most of the work but I help out on little jobs. All the while learning that the responsibility in taking this life is to use all its resources.
The final truth of this story is that my dad’s friend was right, that little red pack didn’t hold crap. I think I packed out maybe the heart and liver. Dad had the rest of her on his back.
We did make it down the hill though to the Widgeon and departed back to town.
The story of my first deer has never been what I thought it would be. I learned a lot from it though and it spawned many new and exciting adventures … most on Kodiak, and then on the north slope and then later in life in the lower 48.