It's not very often that I get to go hunting with just my son. In fact, it has never happened before. Ever. So when Hunter invited me along, how could I say no?
Hunter had drawn a white tail deer tag out past Meteetsee. He had gone scouting a few times with various friends and had seen a couple decent bucks, but none he wanted to pull the trigger on. One sunny, windy Sunday afternoon, he decided to head out for an evening hunt and I was lucky enough to be invited to tag along. We jumped in the truck and sped off.
Let me preface this next bit with saying that sometimes conversation between a 17 year old boy and his mom is not always super intriguing. It's more like talking to a dog, except with a dog you get at least a tail wag or a lick on your cheek that says, "I don't know or care what you're saying but I want you to know that you're my FAVORITE!" The conversation between Hunter and I was only slightly different. He didn't ever lick me on my face. Or wag his tail. But I could totally tell that I was his favorite.
"Wow! There are sure a lot of deer out here! Look! There's a decent buck."
"Unh."
"Do you always see this many when you come?"
"Yep."
"This sure is pretty country out here."
"Mmm."
"Are you hungry? I packed some snacks for you."
"Thanks."
"School's good? You're good? Your friends are good?"
"Sure."
"Is this all private property? Where does your unit start? Can you hunt here? Do you usually get out and walk or stay in the truck? Doesn't that sun feel good on your face?"
"Mom."
Also, hunting with Hunter is different than hunting with Michael. Or hunting by myself. When I'm alone, I can accidentally sneeze or blink and I won't get a look that says, "Really?" When I hunt with Michael, we walk for 76 miles before we reach a suitable place to sit and glass. And glass. And glass. And then we walk another 22 miles before he tells us to stop breathing through our mouths because we are within 700 yards of a deer and also because breathing through our mouths involves us releasing our scent and it's kinda loud. And then after holding our breath for 91 minutes, we arrive at our hunting spot.
Hunting with Hunter was a combination of everything and nothing I've ever done while hunting before. We drove, stopped, and glassed. Then drove, stopped, got out, hiked a little ways, and glassed. Then drove, stopped, he got out, and leaving his door open so as not to spook the deer he had spotted just up ahead off the road, snuck around the back of the truck and set up about 30 yards in front of and away from the vehicle where I sat nestled in the front seat, totally protected from the wind and savage beasts.
Or so I thought.
Remember how I said it was windy? Well, knowing that Hunter had left his door open worried me that the wind would blow it closed, also blowing his chances at shooting one of the bucks up the road if he so chose. I was faced with a dilemma. Do I reach over and quietly try to close the door and risk the deer seeing me move? Or do I sit still and take a chance that the wind would blow it closed, also spooking the deer? I could hear something rustling just outside the open door which I thought meant that the wind was picking up enough to stir up some leaves or brush under the truck. I looked between the open door, Hunter and the deer, and back to the open door. Just as I was getting ready to make my stalk on the open door, I saw one of those savage beasts I thought I was protected from sitting nestled in my camo jacket. A skunk. You guys. That wasn't the wind that was rustling the "something" under the truck. It was a skunk wrestling with a bag of chips that was JUST INSIDE THE TRUCK DOOR.
He must have given up and decided it wasn't worth the work it would take to jump inside the cab, and walked away. I kid you not, he was less than 5 yards from me. I looked back at Hunter as I tried to pop my eyes back into my head and pick my jaw up off the floorboards, and he was looking my way, with eyes just as wide and pointing. I was all, "I know!" And he was all, "What?" And I began miming the actions of a skunk, which I think really confused him because he looked super confused. Then he shook his head and motioned up on the ridge just to my left, in the same direction where the skunk had disappeared. I followed where he was motioning and there on the skyline was a big, beautiful, whitetail buck. How did I know he was big and beautiful? If you can see his antlers from far away, chances are he's a nice buck.
But no sooner had I seen him than he disappeared behind the ridge chasing some does. Hunter took this time to readjust and aim his rifle in the direction of the big buck, in hopes that the deer would reappear. We waited a solid 2 minutes before we saw one doe followed by another, and another and another. And finally, the buck. The deer stopped, looked our way, and before I could tell Hunter to "SHOOT!", I heard a BOOM and watched the buck drop. I looked over at Hunter and he was shaking, and talking and more excited than I had seen him all day.
This was the deer that he and Michael had been watching, but had never been able to get within legal shooting distance. (He was always on private property.) To say that Hunter was excited would be an understatement. To say that I was happy this buck was within sight of the truck and would involve packing it downhill, would be an understatement.
We began our short walk to the top.
When we arrived, we were thrilled to see that this buck did not suffer from ground shrinkage.
I love Hunter's face in these pictures. He just could not contain his excitement. And why would I want to make him? This is the buck of a lifetime. And Hunter allowed me to experience it with him.
Now would begin the tricky task of gutting and caping this animal. I say tricky because whenever I go hunting, I consider myself to be treated as a princess would be treated. I only have to hike to where the deer are magically feeding, waiting for me to shoot; shoulder my already loaded and sighted-in rifle; pull the trigger and then allow my super sexy guide to do the rest of the work. I had never harvested an animal without Michael and didn't know if Hunter knew what to do or not, since he and I had never been hunting together before. I needn't have worried. Our son knew exactly what do to. He was so careful not to cut too high up on the belly so as to preserve the cape. He knew exactly how to reach up in there and remove the innards. He didn't even gag or have to breathe out of his mouth, like I did! I was so impressed! (OK. I might be exaggerating a bit. I didn't gag. Just mouth breathed.)
After gutting the deer, the next task was getting him to the truck. Thank goodness the truck was within sight and the haul was downhill (did I already say that?) because I am a super wimp. Hunter is not. And he was so patient with me as I had to take break after break as we tried to get his buck to the truck without ruining the hair. After what seemed like 1,000 miles and 14 hours later, we finally made it to the pickup, where we loaded the deer and headed out.
Hunter is such a sweet, patient, good-natured, responsible young man. I loved being able to experience this time with him. I saw him in a whole new light. I saw him not as a little boy and mouthy teenager, but as the (almost) man he is. It brought a lump to my throat and a tear to my eye. The drive home was one permanent smile that I could not erase. It was a natural high that I never wanted to come down from. And I am ever so thankful for and proud of our son.
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