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My Favorite Deer Hunt

Whitney Road in Wellington, Ohio my grandparents had a Growing up in one of the greatest deer hunting counties in the US, I took for granted that big bucks and lots of deer roamed everywhere I would ‚Äúland‚Äù in life. That would not be the case. I am not much of a deer hunter now, but when I close my eyes I still see the giants that roamed Coshocton County, a deer the locals called ‚ÄúBullwinkle‚Äù and the whopper that was 10 yards away that I never got to draw back on.  I think about what I should have and could have done differently. Like most everything in life, you learn much more from your failures than your successes as you play them over and over in your head.
 

F
or me deer hunting was never as special as the hounds, trap line or fox calling but I enjoyed it immensely and buddies like Matt Littlefield, Steve Prosek and Big Jay Darr only made it more special as I hit my college years. I have the fondest of memories of those days and wanted to make sure Wyatt had the opportunity to experience a ‚Äúdeer camp‚Äù while he was young so when my buddy Tom Stevens, who built a ‚Äúhotel‚Äù of a tree stand last summer overlooking prime deer country in southern Michigan offered it up to Wyatt the day after Thanksgiving, it seemed like the perfect time to introduce him to deer hunting.  On the first day of his holiday break we stopped in at Fisher‚Äôs Bait and Tackle in White Pigeon and paid for his apprentice license and a combo deer tag which would allow him to shoot a doe and buck with four or more points.
 
A gas heater and the half gallon Yeti Ramber full of hot chocolate ensured we wouldn‚Äôt be cold as the sun slowly lit up the land. It was a perfect sunrise and I laughed with Wyatt as he turned every branch and clump of grass into a buck. Thirty minutes ticked bye and then the deer started slowly filtering through. By 9:00 a.m. it would be over.  He would miss a fifty yard shot around 7:45 a.m. at a doe. Many more would pass in the heavy cover over the next hour, not offering a clean shot, but when the Henry .44 mag barked again, there would be no trailing necessary. Thirty minutes later a small 6 point would pass through but not pause long enough for the 12 year old kid to put the cross hairs where they needed to be. It took me years of trial an error to kill my first deer but it would take Wyatt a little over two hours to get his.  I worried it, maybe, maybe this came too easy and he couldn‚Äôt appreciate what had just happened. His smile said differently as he was a deer hunter now and had just played a part in my My Favorite Deer Hunt.

 
– Big Mark




 

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