As you can see from this picture, I recently killed my first deer. I have been interested in hunting since I was a small boy, and I have recently taken several necessary steps to become involved in deer hunting. However, as this incident proves, I am still almost a complete novice.
I shot this deer near Forest, MS, with the help of Amelia's Uncle Mike, who is a guru of outdoorsmanship. He basically talked me through the whole thing, using urgent and descriptive commands. For example, when we heard a group of deer (including the one I eventually shot) approaching the green field that we were observing, he whispered, "Go ahead and get your gun." As I began slowly and noisily fumbling around to pick up my rifle that was stowed safely out of the way, he reached over and tapped me on the leg and in a more excited tone instructed me to "Gitcha gun in ya hand." Yes, it took a statement that explicit for me to finally realize what I needed to do.
Once the deer were positioned in a good spot in the field, he talked me through the actual firing of the gun. In spite of his sound instruction, I managed to hit a tree roughly 100 yards behind the deer in question on my first shot. I followed up my miss with decisive action: I sat there and watched the deer and its friends run around in a circle in the field. As the deer ran up to the edge of the woods and paused, Uncle Mike filled me in on another secret of hunting: you can shoot more than once. "Bolt another one in there, man!" he rasped, jogging me from my momentary lull. The deer, being particularly cunning, had run toward the shooting house where we were located and stood still, presenting her side to me and waiting for me to take another shot. Based on my previous shot, this was probably the safest thing she could have done.
Alas, her limited experience proved wrong. However, in one last act of spite toward me and my hunting prowess, she hopped over a small ditch filled with about 6 inches of mud and into a bramble patch. This proved to be possibly the most hilarious part of my hunt, since once we found her, we had to carry her back over the ditch and into the field. As we crossed back over the ditch carrying the deer, I managed to get my left foot stuck in the mud and lose my balance. As I tumbled into the mud (nearly face first), I yelled out the only logical statement that came to my mind: "My hat!" Why that was my first concern, I do not know. As I lay there in the cold, wet mud, Uncle Mike looked down at me and summed up the situation very well. "Ohh, Dave," he said with an air of pity in his voice. If you look closely at the picture, you can see that my left leg is completely black. That is the mud that covered my camo pants completely and soaked through all the fabric on my left side.
To sum up, I had an awesome time. I couldn't have done it without Uncle Mike's expertise, or the deer's willing cooperation. Now, I can't wait for next season.
dave