Story By: Dustin Kuehn
This was it. My daughter, Kendyl, had finally turned twelve years old and now had her own deer tag. It wasn’t my daughter’s first buck hunt, but it was her first hunt where she would get to be the one pulling the trigger. I had tagged out a month earlier during archery season for the first time ever, harvesting two nice mature Columbia blacktails. This allowed me to focus the entire rifle season on my daughter for her first deer season as a hunter.
It was the second weekend of rifle season. After school, I took Kendyl and my youngest daughter, Sydney, and headed up for a weekend in the mountains. We arrived in time to do a little scouting Friday evening. We saw numerous does and two decent bucks right after legal shooting light ended: one four-by-three with eye guards and a funky sticker protruding from the base of one antler down towards his eye and one big-bodied three-by-three with very tall back tines. We decided both were worth going after in the morning.
Kendyl was very excited but also very nervous as we headed out in the morning. At first light, we checked the meadows that the bucks had been in the previous night, but they were not there. We figured that they had probably headed back up into the mountains and thick brush to bed.
There was an old four-wheeler road that meandered through the rolling forested hills below the mountains, and we figured it’d be worth taking a drive along that road to see if we could catch any deer moving between the mountains and the meadows down below. We saw quite a few deer, including a couple spikes, but no legal bucks. Suddenly, as we rounded a corner, I caught a glimpse of a red body among some pine saplings not even 80 yards away. It was a decent-sized deer! It stood dead still with its head hidden in the low-hanging branches. My daughter and I glassed it, trying to see what it was. The body was big enough that I felt it was a buck. Suddenly I could see outlines of antlers behind the pine boughs.
“It’s a buck!” I whispered excitedly to her. “It looks like a good one. Let’s get out.”
“What? Now? Are we shooting it?” my daughter asked nervously.
“I don’t know yet. Maybe,” I replied as I slowly opened the door.
“I don’t want to. I’m scared,” she said with fear in her eyes.
“It’s okay. I’ll be right with you. We’ll just sneak towards it and see if it’s a good one,” I said reassuringly.
She slowly exited the truck and put a round in the chamber of her 6.5 Creedmoor. We slowly snuck towards the buck. He stood there frozen. After about ten to fifteen yards of creeping, we had a clear shot at his body, but we still couldn’t tell what he had for antlers to see if he was even legal. They were sure big enough to assume he was legal, but, as ethical hunters, we had to be sure. I set up the shooting sticks and told her to get ready.
“What??” she whispered loudly. “I’m shooting him? No, no, no. I don’t want to.”
And with that, the buck stepped out, paused long enough for us to see he was a nice tall four-by-four, and then trotted off. At that point, my daughter felt terrible and kept apologizing. I reassured her that it was okay—she would get another chance—and told her that, if she’s uncomfortable, it’s better to not shoot than to just wing one off. As we got back in the truck, I could tell she was still dejected. I kept reassuring her, letting her know that I wasn’t angry and that she would get another chance.
I decided that we should head back to the trailer for lunch and maybe a nap before going out in the evening to try and relocate the prior evening’s bucks. On a hunch, I decided we should take a slight detour on the way back and check out an oak-filled flat on the opposite side of the meadow we saw the bucks in the night before. No sooner had we parked the truck and started glassing when we saw some young bucks bedded in the shade of some oak trees.
“There’s a couple small bucks there!” I said excitedly.
“I know, I see them,” Kendyl replied while looking through her binoculars.
I kept scanning among the oaks, and then I saw him. It was the big-bodied three-pointer from the night before! He was bedded between the base of an oak tree and a stump. He had his back towards us, with his head resting on his back, and he was asleep!
“I see one of the big ones from last night!” I almost screamed to my daughter.
“Where?! Where is he?” she said excitedly. “Oh! I see him!”
We made a plan: get out of the truck very quietly, get behind some oak trees, and try to sneak towards him in the shade of the trees. We could stay out of sight of the big buck, but the hard part would be not bumping the smaller bucks on our approach.
Very slowly, we made our way towards the large buck while sticking behind the oak trees. Twenty minutes later we were at 100 yards without any more oak trees in between us and him. I set up the shooting sticks and got my daughter ready. The bucks still had no idea we were there.
“Can you see him through the scope?” I asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “He has his eyes closed. Is he sleeping?”
“Probably,” I said. “We’ll just have to wait him out.”
“My legs are shaking,” she said, her voice cracking. I could tell she was nervous.
“That’s called buck fever,” I joked. “Just breathe. In and out. Control your breathing.”
“I’m tired of waiting. Can I just shoot him in the head?” she asked.
“No. You are not trying to shoot your first buck in the head,” I said.
We had a large oak tree behind us and lots of shade in front of us. I decided that we would just slowly inch forward, moving the sticks and my daughter as one object so that she could be ready to shoot at any moment. Inch by inch, we moved closer, my daughter never letting the buck out of her scope. It must have been close to half an hour.
“He’s still sleeping. I don’t want to get any closer. This is close enough,” she was adamant.
We had closed the gap significantly and were likely only 60 to 70 yards away at this point. He had yet to lift his head or open his eyes! I debated letting Kendyl try to shoot him in the head at this range but decided against it.
“Are you on him?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she said.
“Okay. He’s probably going to stand soon. When he stands, put it right behind the shoulder on the crease and pull the trigger,” I said with excitement starting to build.
“I’m shaking, Dad,” she said.
“It’s okay. Just breathe. Calm, slow breaths,” I reminded her. The buck flinched. “Okay, here we go. He’s gonna stand up. Here we go. Here he goes. He’s standing up.”
“Yeah, I see him. No he’s not. He’s still laying there,” she said.
“He will,” I replied.
The buck was frozen staring off towards our left, back towards the meadow. Something sure had his attention. My daughter’s breathing began to shake and tremble with shallow breaths. I could tell she was getting very excited and likely nervous.
“Deep breath. You’re fine. Just breathe. Slow breathing. In. Out,” I said reassuringly.
“Oh, dude. Come on,” Kendyl said as the buck refused to stand.
Suddenly the smaller bucks stood up.
“Okay, the other bucks stood up. Here we go. Ready?” I asked.
The buck stood up and turned broadside.
“Okay, ready. Put it behind the shoulder and squeeze,” I said.
Suddenly the buck twisted himself and started scratching his head with his hind leg, obscuring all his vitals.
“Oh, dude!” my daughter freaked.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I said. “Come on, put your leg down.”
I swear it was the longest head scratch I have ever seen a buck take. It seemed like he was never going to put his rear leg down. Then the moment finally came. The buck quit scratching and put his leg down. BANG! The buck dropped like a sack of potatoes and never moved!
“YEAH, GIRL!” I yelled. “Yeah! Nice Shot! Nice Shot!”
“Oh my gosh!” my daughter cried as a flood of emotions overcame her tiny body. “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! I can’t feel my legs.”
I hugged her as she crouched there, overjoyed with what had just transpired. We sat there, both in tears, full of emotion, and soaking in what truly is a memory of a lifetime.