Just Like Me

One of my favorite things about hunting has nothing to do with shooting a deer. When I go deer hunting, Kevin walks me to my blind or tree stand in total darkness before going off to his. I settle in as quietly as I can, close my eyes, and wait for sunrise. Everything is hushed and solemn and serene. Not silent, but hushed. In these moments it is easy to forget about laundry and dishes and trying to build up vacation time at work. There are no worries. There is only peace. And possibilities. And hope. Slowly the woods start to come to life, anticipating the dawn. Squirrels start to scurry from branch to branch. Birds start to chirp and sing. Turkeys gobble. Owls hoot. If you are in the right place, the deer slowly make their way to their feet, shake themselves off, and crunch through the fallen leaves to step out into range. I think most hunters will tell you similar versions of what they would consider to be the perfect hunt. For me, it would go something like this:

On October 30, 2010, Madison went on her very first deer hunt. Hunting is not something that happens spontaneously. Preparation is involved. Kevin is not one to take someone hunting before they are capable and ready, so Madison had practiced with her rifle, an AR 223, and proven herself to be accurate (by accurate I mean repeatedly hitting a target smaller than a baseball from 100 yards). Kevin and Madison worked together in the garage to build a table from plywood and 2X4s, and he asked his grandmother to sew up some denim so he could make sand bags. Now she would be able to have a sturdy place to rest her gun as she shot. Prior to opening morning, we set up the blind complete with the table, sand bags and seating, and everything was all set.

The morning of the hunt, we were all up by 5:30. We delivered the non-hunting kids to Grandma's house. We parked the truck and walked about 500 yards to our blind. We quietly took our seats and settled in to wait. Soon after we could see into the field of clover, a buck deer slowly approached our blind as he grazed. The angle out of our "window" was not exactly right, and we had to move Madison's table and her seat to let her get the best chance at a shot. Leaves rustled during this process, causing the deer to throw his head up and look in our direction more than once. Most deer, with more age and intelligence, would have ran away about three times in the 30 seconds it took us to get Madison adjusted. But he just stood there as Kevin asked, "Do you see him in the scope yet? Do you see him?" She said no a few times until the excited whisper, "Oh, Dad! I can see him!" He said, "You need to shoot him as soon as you are sure!" The words had barely escaped his mouth when she fired her gun. It was the exclamation point to his instruction. In his very next breath, he said, "Oh! Good shot, Madison!" Because that deer fell over like a sack of potatoes. We all but tore the door off of our blind getting out to go see him up close. And then there were pictures and high fives. And hugs. Madison and I are girls, after all. She ran all the way back to the truck at full speed. It was the perfect hunt. Big on antlers and excitement. Small on waiting and waiting to see anything, and small on suffering--for the deer. On my slower walk back to the truck, it became obvious to me that Madison is already irrevocably hooked on two things: hunting and her daddy. Just like me.