As I sat in my shop putting the final touches on skull mounts sent in from this past season, one skull in particular caught my eye. My mind began to drift, and before I knew it I was in that deer stand again.
“Don’t get your eye too close to the scope,” I recalled myself whispering.
“KA-POWWW!!!” Apparently she never heard me.
As I snapped out of this flashback, a self-pitied smile crept across my face, because I just realized how agonizing the month of June can be for us whitetail addicts. During this time of year, we’re in a difficult transition period. We shift from daydreaming about our close encounters and missed opportunities from last season towards emotionally preparing ourselves for the rumbling crescendo that precedes the first cool front of September. But as Father’s Day approaches this week, us Dads can’t help but reflect back at years passed and those times spent afield with our children. I’ve spent a lot of time the last few days thinking about my daughter Carly’s first buck; the thrill of that hunt and the look in her eyes will forever be ingrained in my memory.
Carly, the author's daughter, bagged this doe when she was eight years old.
Her first opportunity came several years ago and that day has been disappointing both of us ever since. She killed her first doe at age 8 and then her second doe the following year. She then started telling me she no longer wanted to shoot does and was willing to hold off for a whitetail sporting some “headgear.” The fact that our hunting club was only shooting 8-points-or-better didn’t help her chances. It seemed like we were seeing bucks each and every time we would go out, but no bucks that were considered club-legal would give her a chance; this was until the 2008 hunting season. The land owner that we hunt with decided to lower the club rule to 4-points-or-better, knowing that the group we hunt with would not waste their tags on smaller bucks unless there were kids involved. This improved Carly’s odds of finally wrapping her seventh grade hands around a set of antlers.
The first hunt we made was mid-November, right after the gun season in Louisiana’s Area 1 had opened. We made our way to my box stand on Big Brake and settled in for the afternoon hunt. This stand is on the very back of the property and bordered in the rear by a large cypress and buttonwood brake that is about 300 yards wide. To the right of the stand is a small brake that runs into a palmetto and briar ridge that’s unimaginably thick.
We had watched several does and yearlings come and go while browsing on the briars, rye grass, and corn that afternoon. The hunt was slowly coming to an end, and as we began to loose shooting light, I felt Carly’s elbow in my ribs. “Buck! Buck!” I heard her say. Directly in front of us I saw antlers coming out of the brake. There was not one buck, but two! The first was a small 8 point that I had seen in late October while bow hunting. Following behind him was a 7 point that had a larger body and rack. The bucks stopped in the clearing on the ridge, feeding their way into the food plot as I got Carly into position to shoot. I clicked the safety off for her and told her to take a breath and slowly squeeze the trigger. As she concentrated on the shot, I picked up my binoculars and found the bucks. They had turned side-by-side, and at 75 yards, a shot could possibly kill both of them. Fearing this, I quickly put the safety back on and we waited for the 7 point to turn. Turn he did! He turned to the right, putting his rear end facing us and offering no shot. As we were waiting for what seemed like an eternity for him to turn broadside, the gun accidently hit the window of the stand and spooked both bucks back into the thick cover. We both sat there looking at each other, wondering how we just missed the best chance Carly has had to shoot her first buck.
