November 18th

I turned the key in the old ‘99 Ford, it sputtered at first but she roared to life. Typical

November cold start, the kind where you wonder if the truck will start at all. I fired the heat right

up, and ran back inside the garage. It was a crisp Saturday morning, I missed the first few days of

gun season because of work. When I walked back into the garage, the warmth was inviting. I

looked over at the dusty fold-up table where my shined up CVA laid waiting for me. ​Coffee,

binoculars, gloves, bullets, yet I feel as if something is missing. ​I felt for my tags and knife

shoved down into the pocket of my faded blue jeans. Then I remembered, and I grabbed the

white Scent Killer bottle to spray myself down like I watched my dad do thousands of times.

Inside that squeaky screen door the house was silent, the rest of my family was asleep, so I

didn’t dare go back inside and risk waking them up from their blissful slumber. I quickly

grabbed all of my things, jumping inside the dust covered interior of my truck, the glorious smell

of diesel exhaust stuck in my nose. The oldies station was playing Johnny Cash and I felt

comfortable inside the warmth. I backed the truck out of the driveway and took off down the

road towards one of our properties.

Before I opened the door and exposed myself to the elements, I took an overexcited swig of the

sweet smelling coffee in my cup holder. ​OUCH. ​It was scalding hot, my tongue tingling from the

burn. Irritated with myself, I shut off the truck, slung my CVA .450 over my shoulder and shut

the door to the Ford a bit more aggressively than I should have. The goal is to get out to the blind

quickly and quietly, but considering it was 6:35am and I just slammed the door I wasn’t doing

too great. My boots squeak from the moisture on the fallen leaves as I make the trek to the blind.

Binoculars around my neck, gun across my back, left hand shoved into a coat pocket playing
with bullets, hair tucked into an old orange hat, eye bags revealing my lack of sleep, these are the

mornings I live for. Work all week, bust your butt, and get up early to chase bucks.

The moon shone bright onto the hayfield lighting my way. I finally grew out of my childish

fear of the dark, and I walked with a cocky tone of confidence. Walking along a fencerow on a

cool morning poses the risk of jumping deer bedded down, but I never heard anything other than

the beat of my own steps. Not long after I left the truck I made it back to the blind I had watched

my grandpa build a couple falls earlier. Carefully I climbed the steps and popped a .450 bullet

into the rifle before I stepped inside. Amazingly I could still smell the scent of fresh lumber, as if

the plywood hadn’t aged one bit. I laid the binoculars down beside me, leaned the gun against

the wall, and decided to try to drink my dang coffee. Cautiously, I raised the dinged up Yeti to

​ ithout a doubt, the temperature

my lips and took a shaky sip. ​You have got to be kidding me. W

had hardly changed. In spite of my frustration I laughed at myself and looked out the window.

It was about 7:40am when the sun began to rise, and the radiant colors took my breath away. I

have always loved an early morning watching the sky develop, and this morning was no

exception with pastel pinks, blues and oranges. When I was younger I would be drifting off to

sleep around this time, but now that I’ve grown accustomed to being tired I have a tolerance.

During the week, I put the hours in on a fast paced dairy farm 20 minutes away from home, then

do our own chores when I get out of work. There was a time I was embarrassed about my rough

hands, but now I couldn’t be prouder.

I was carried away in thought for a while, finding myself scrolling through Michigan Buck

Pole’s Facebook page. Suddenly, the wind that was once rattling the windows in the blind

subsided. It grew quiet all around me, the sun making the dew glimmer and shine across the hay
field. I checked the time on my phone, it was 8:07am. Then I looked out the windows and saw

nothing. It was too still for my liking, and the feeling that something was about to happen crept

through my body making me shiver. The tower blind sits in the far corner of a hay field, a fence

row behind it running the whole length of the field, and a big ditch to the North of the blind that

runs West. On the opposite side of the fence row is a cornfield silently waiting to be harvested,

and on the other side of the ditch is a field that hasn't been worked in years. It is full of tall

grasses and brush, a perfect bedding area for the deer.

A few minutes later I hear movement coming from the direction of the ditch. From the thick

brush of the ditch bank emerged a big old doe. I watched her sniff the air, hoping she would not

wind me, and she didn’t. She walked across the field coming my way, then suddenly snapped her

head back behind her and froze. Soon after, she took off, bolting across the field. I started

shaking, because I knew what it meant. ​There's no way deer are still fired up from the rut, it’s

too late into November. ​Out of nowhere I hear a deep grunt, again coming from the ditch. I

pulled the gun up to my shoulder and rested it on the ledge of the window. The buck came

barreling through the brush following the scent of the doe. It was less than a second, maybe half

a second, but it changed everything.

I immediately knew this was a deer big enough for me to shoot after seeing the flash of mass

and antlers. Through the scope I could see him running, and as I pulled the hammer back I

stopped him with a fake grunt. He snapped his head to look at me, so I aimed and quickly took

the shot. ​Bang! I​ watched the buck jump and kick then take off towards the road. ​Well that can’t

be good. ​I knew I hit him from the way he reacted, but if he crossed the road into my dad’s

record beanfield it would make for a difficult track job.

 My ears were ringing from the gunshot, and adrenaline soared through me. I looked at the time,

it was 8:31am. If I called my dad for help he wouldn’t answer because he hardly ever gets up this

early. I decided to wait 15 minutes before I went after the deer, and sat my phone in my lap still

shaking. ​That happened so fast I can’t believe it. ​While I was sitting alone in the blind calming

down, a thought struck me. I do not exactly think rationally when there’s a deer that big in front

​ y stomach sank to what felt like the

of me, and I knew I was nervous. ​Was the shot even good? M

ground, and I became jittery for a whole new reason. When 8:45am came, I took the empty shell

out of the gun and put a new one in, if I should need it. I opened the door to the blind and set out

towards where I thought the buck was standing when I shot.

All my original enthusiasm was diminished. I began to panic when it took me a while to find

the first blood. Finally I found a patch of crimson red against the deep green hay. I left my gloves

by it since I would be tracking alone and may lose my spot. Looking out across the field I knew I

had a long way to go. Birds had begun to sing their gentle morning song as the wind began to

pick up. A chill rushed down my spine, but I moved forward without looking back. I took off in

the general direction I watched him run, and it didn’t take me long to find the next blood.

Crouching down, I examined the blood on the blade of grass and found bubbles. ​I hit at least one

lung.

The news elevated my mood, bringing back some of the confidence I had taken away from

myself. Again I began walking until the next blood, and continued to do so until I almost reached

the road. I marked my spot with my coat, I was now sweating from nervousness and the walk.

My truck was parked near the road, so I jogged over to throw my binoculars and coffee inside.

As I was walking back over to the coat my phone began to send vibrations up my thigh. I pulled
it out of the pocket of my blue jeans and found my best friend’s number on the screen. When I

held the phone up to my ear and heard his soothingly deep voice ask, “Any luck?” I let out a

huge sigh of relief.

Stuttering, I explained everything about what had just happened, and he said he would be right

over. While I was waiting I ran back to pick up my gloves. It was almost quarter after 9 when I

heard his truck coming down the road, and he pulled in next to mine. We walked back over to

the last blood I had found and kept walking towards the road. One of us would find blood and

stand by it, then the next would go find the next spot, and we continued like that until we reached

the road. Daniel went ahead of me and found the crossing point. I walked over to where he was

standing there looking at the ground. The weeds were matted down and blood covered the area.

“He’s laid down,” I said quietly.

“I don’t think we have much longer to go, but big deer are tough.” Daniel answered.

We continued across the road and found the trail had become consistent. My heart rate leapt

inside my chest as I began walking through the beans looking for signs. I stopped and looked

ahead of me, noticing an area where the stalks had been knocked down. I rushed forward, only

20 yards off the road, and found my buck laying there lifeless. It was undoubtedly a low shot.

Daniel walked up next to me after noticing I’d become quiet.

“I must have barely clipped the lungs, I can’t believe how far it went.” my voice trailed

off.

He turned to look at my pink face, from wind burn or shame I wasn’t sure, and said,

“You haven’t even gone up to look at the deer yet, you have a great buck on the ground with a

clean shot, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

 When I went over and crouched next to the buck and held his head up, my previous worries

went away. ​1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, no way.

I tilted it’s head to the side and looked up at my best friend to catch his smile, “He’s got a

drop tine!” I started laughing and the excitement kicked back in. “It happened so fast I- I didn’t

even know what he actually looked like.”

He came over and gave me a short embrace with an awkward smile on his face. I checked the

time, and it was 10:24am so I finally called my dad to tell him the news. “Dad, I got a big one.” I

swear you could hear his smile through the phone; it’s a wonderful feeling to know you made

your father proud. Daniel and I dragged it back over to the road, our old work boots drumming in

unison. For the second time this morning, I turned the key to my Ford and listened to the engine

roar back to life from the cold. I pulled up alongside the field and we threw the buck into the bed

of the truck. I turned the truck towards home and took off down the road but this time I had a

buck in the back, my coffee was cool enough to drink, and Loretta Lynn was singing to my soul

through the radio. ​It absolutely cannot get any better than this. ​The thought ran through my head

for the rest of the day, I couldn’t be more thankful for the life I was given from above. As I

pulled into the driveway, my younger sisters poured out of the front door to our house

surrounding me on all sides. They shouted things like “Did you get one? Is it big? Can I see?”

and all I could do is smile. This time they weren’t an annoyance, their little voices were like

music to me. Dad walked out of the barn while my mom followed the girls out of the house.

“You always shoot bigger deer than me.” my dad commented with a teasing tone.
 The buck ended up being a beautiful 5 on the left, and a 4 on the right with a 1.5 inch drop tine.

For the first time in a while it was my turn to brag to the neighbors about my accomplishment. I

soaked up every bit of the morning, because after all, these are the mornings I live for.