We hunted for five days, and the first three were over 100 degrees. It was too hot for anything to really be moving before dark. Day four, the weather turned. A cold front came in, pushing temps down into the 70s. It was so windy that I was worried everything would stay tight. My tree stand was swaying so much, I questioned climbing up, but I had already made the hike in and really liked the look of the spot. I was right along a little creek that cut through a bean field, up in the trees, hidden by the leaves. I was hoping the water would draw them in and they would feel safe in the woods along the river.
Thirty minutes to dark, I was thinking the wind had them holding tight. Then, a doe came out, then five, then a little buck, then another, and another. At this point, I was warmed up and my breathing had increased. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure they could hear it. I kept telling myself it was no big deal, no shooters, just calm down. Then the big boy walked out into the field. I had to take a few deep breaths to settle myself down. I was shaking so badly I could hardly make out his rack with my Vortex binoculars. They were hitting my glasses, and I could hardly get a clear view. Then I calmed down. This is what I had come to Kansas for. It was time to make the magic happen. I steadied my CVA Optima on the tree stand and aimed right behind the shoulder, center mass for the sweet spot. I breathed out slowly, touched the trigger, and my rifle leapt into my shoulder. Boom! I was surrounded by a cloud of smoke. As the smoke cleared, I saw the big buck mule kick high into the air as he ran out of the field.
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I told myself to wait for it, and I waited 30 minutes. However, I also didn’t want to lose the light, so I waited a good 20 minutes. A million doubts were jumping through my head with the biggest buck I’d ever seen on the hoof, let alone in front of me with a tag in my pocket and rifle in my hand.
I gathered my gear up, climbed down, and reloaded. Quickly, I walked over to where I made the shot. No blood. Nothing. I started to question myself. I tracked him to where I saw him run. The lights were gone now. I turned on my headlight and followed the deer tracks. No blood. My cell had died, and my guide was worried and came looking for me. We looked for an hour. No blood. How could I miss at 100 yards? With a new rifle and scope, I had been spot on at 100.
We went back to the lodge, and it was a very anxious night. Everyone was patting me in the back. “No worries,” they all said. “Tomorrow, we’ll go back and find him in the light.” I wasn’t so sure, but I tried to be hopeful. Sleep was fleeting. Breakfast took too long. Back to the field.
No blood. Deer trails were everywhere. We spread out. Clint Walker, one of our guides, crossed the creek and asked me to come over to where he was. Whitney, our head guide, said she was headed way down along the creek where she saw some crows. Clint started laughing, saying she should hold up a minute. Worried and stressed, I walked over to Clint. He took a blade of grass from his teeth and pointed with a huge grin on his face. My deer was not 75 yards from where I made the shot. He was still warm and movable. I had hit further back in the liver, and he had been watching us look for him the night before. I jumped for joy, said a prayer of thanks to God, and grabbed a hold of my best whitetail!
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