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Rudy’s First Handgun Deer

 

   The Kill:

 

I was absolutely amazed at 1:09pm on Saturday, as I sat in my tree stand, taking the first real break of the day, when the 2-year-old six-point buck with small antlers appeared almost silently 25 yards to my right rear (4 o-clock). I was sitting there with a cup of Gatorade in one hand and a magazine in the other. My 44 magnum 10" 2x scoped Contender loaded with a hand loaded Hornady 240 grain XTP was snapped into its holster and hanging behind me. Nothing had been moving in the woods so I figured it would be a good time to get a drink and pull out some reading material for the long vigil, awaiting the late afternoon hours of prime-time hunting. I had seen no deer prior to that moment.

 

I had a flash of anxiety as I realized that I would have to put down the cup and the magazine, unsnap my holster, take out the pistol, aim, and fire. Then I felt very calm, serene, and detached. Everything was happening very slowly. I stuffed the cup into my coat, sat on the magazine, unsnapped the Uncle Mikes bandolier holster with the incredible echoing pop that is characteristic of the model and drew the pistol. The buck did not even look up. It appeared to be chewing on something and licking its lips. Its ears flicked around but not in apparent alarm. It seemed relaxed. I pulled the hammer back, expecting the buck to flee. It did not notice. While still sitting, and leaning awkwardly against the tree behind me I assumed my "field hold" which allows me to steady the Contender with consistent point of impact regardless of my stance. I placed the crosshairs on the middle of the shoulder, deliberated for a long time, held my breath, and fired. The deer simply died. I had intended to break the shoulder and pierce the lungs, but instead the bullet destroyed the spine.

 

I froze. I did not know what to do. I opened the action of the gun and looked at the spent cartridge as if it were an unfamiliar thing. I pulled it out and examined it trying to think what to do. I thought of dropping the shell to the ground but put it in my bib instead-- very slowly. I pulled another cartridge from the elastic shell holders my wife had sewn into my orange vest and I examined it as if it were something fine and mysterious. I chambered the round and closed the gun. It all took a very long time. I began to shudder inside. I felt weak and trapped in the stand, and I was afraid that I would fall if I tried to climb down. My breathing became a conscious effort. I forgot the deer and felt truly alone. I think I had tears in my eyes. After what seemed to be a long time, but in reality was about 10 seconds, I methodically holstered the gun, removed my safety harness and

climbed to the ground. I examined the deer for a long time. I felt very detached, as if in a dream. I just sat there by the deer, examining it, trying to remember the steps for gutting it and skinning it. At 2pm my brother in law came by while on his way to another site and helped me. It was 70 degrees now and the deer needed to be opened. We went back to the house and got some good knives and I did the work while my brother in law coached.

 

These moments changed my life.

 

The Hunt:

 

I have given the details of the kill out of the belief that most people reading this would be

interested in the moment of truth, but in reality it was the hunt that was the more powerful of the experiences. Without going into the details of scouting, I will say that I set up my tree stand in a 100-yard-wide peninsula of forest between two harvested cornfields. The peninsula is part of a larger farm wood lot which has a creek and a few major deer trails running through it. My stand was above one of the major trails, about one third of the way into the woodlot. Maples are the dominant big trees. Southeastern Minnesota is the state.

 

I set up the tree stand on Friday night and, this being my first hunt with the stand, had to do everything about four times before I was comfortable that I had gotten it right.

 

Saturday morning at 5:10am, two hours before sunrise, I climbed to the stand in 40 degree air with a 15 mile-per-hour southwesterly wind and sat. There was much time to think. Minutes before the legal shooting time I chambered a round. I held the Contender in my lap. I was in a state of wakeful reverie watching the forest come alive in the morning. I delighted in watching the squirrels first, then the birds. I expected to see deer at any moment, but I did not. I was on constant alert and was intensely interested in each moment. Every sound and movement had deep meaning and significance. I felt aware of all my surroundings, 360 degrees around me. I was generally still, but found comfort in being able to alternately sit and stand and lean against the tree. Sometimes I sat and closed my eyes as I held my harness with my hand. My sleep had been poor the night before. I allowed myself to relax, but only momentarily, as I was always fearful of the consequences of a fall. It was a magic time. I had a couple of sandwiches, some Gatorade, and a bottle to urinate in. I was alone in a two-foot by two-foot island in the air. Nothing else mattered. I thought about my family, my wife, each of my two children, of myself, and of the important things in life. I shed my troubles and felt spiritually alive. I identified some of my recent faults, and decided how to correct them. I thought about work and how to be better at what I do. I thought about ways of further expressing my love for my wife and children. It was an escape into the center of my soul.

 

The kill punctuated all this.

 

Sunday and Monday I hunted again, not intending to take a deer, but to enjoy the hunt.

Saturday’s deer, now neatly packaged in white freezer paper and labeled for

consumption—“reduced to possession”, as they used to say, was now distant and insignificant. I did not give a damn whether I saw a deer. I wanted to be alone.

 

The important feelings that began on Saturday morning continued through Sunday and Monday of the tree-day hunt. I climbed the stand long before sunrise, and climbed down at sunset—the end of shooting hours. I climbed down only one other time, and that was to chat with my brother in law on Sunday. I was faintly irritated at his appearance because I was having such a good time.

 

I never saw another deer.

 

Sunday was not like Saturday in the woods. The wind had shifted and was northwesterly. It was about 30 degrees temperature and the wind was stiff. I shivered constantly from 6am to 11am, and intermittently the rest of the day. I did not have enough clothing on. I resolved to add a layer for the next day. The behavior of the animals was different. The squirrels were active at first light, then disappeared until late afternoon. Few birds were about. I continued exploring my mind and my feelings about life.

 

Monday was calm and cloudy, but still cold. I was more comfortable, physically and emotionally. I felt as though I had resolved some pressing problems. It was as though a wound had healed. When I climbed down at 5pm my hunt was over, but the rest of my life had begun. Everything seemed brighter and happier.

 

It is my second deer, but this was the first time I really deeply wanted to go deer hunting. This time I had to prepare, and scout, and make arrangements, and do all the thinking. My first was near Eglin Air Force Base at DeFuniak Springs, Florida in 1974. I was hunting with friends that knew how to hunt, and they did all the thinking for me. They told me what tree to sit in and I waited about 20 minutes. A big 4 pointer with very long points walked past, I shot it in the chest with a load of 00 buckshot from a borrowed Browning hump-back 12 gauge auto with a poly choke (remember them?), it ran about 150 yards into some thick sticks and I recovered it. Beginner's luck. I have only hunted deer one other time. That was the year I moved to Minnesota (1989) and went with some other friends who did all the thinking. I sat in a tree with a borrowed 30-30 Model 94 Winchester. It was a turn-off for me because these hunters liked to stay up and drink and play cards until 2am, then get up and hunt for a few hours, then take a break and hunt a little more in the afternoon. I did not want to go with them again.

 

One of the ironies in taking any animal, but it seems amplified with deer because they are larger and very beautiful, is the feeling of reverence for the beast that comes over me during the killing process. It is like a sacrament. After the kill, the cutting of the meat and the removal of the fat, the gristle, the silverskin and the bone is a process that I focus on as though the world and the universe depended on the quality of my work. I do not speak, or even think about anything else. I am very grateful for it. Contrast this with a trip to the supermarket, where tons of meat lay packaged and cooled like so many meaningless things to be taken for granted. It seems sad to think that a hunk of beef comes from an animal that nobody mourned as it passed from this earth to give us nourishment. I have had to train my family to think it normal to pray for the animal that gave us the meat we eat for dinner.