What Memories Are Made Of

Memories…we all have them…some good, some bad and most just somewhere in between. Some of them we just want to erase and forget they ever happened, but others, those precious others, we want to hold onto for as long as our minds allow. The kind that remain as real and vivid as the moment it was made and you can see it and feel it when you close your eyes. The kind that can bring an instant smile to your face, and maybe even a tear streaming down your cheek. On a balmy, breezy November morning, I had the privilege of receiving one of those memories that I’ll never forget…

My 11-year-old son, Drew, and I hustled to make it into our two-person tree stand along the edge of a cut soybean field. We had gotten started later than I had hoped, and the pinks and oranges of daybreak were already cracking through the clouds. It was one of those mornings where it just didn’t seem right. It was unusually warm for November 7th, and windy. Not just any wind, but a stiff, steady breeze that can dash the hopes of even the most seasoned hunter. As we settled into our stand, I cursed the breeze that was blowing our scent directly down the hollow that I anticipated deer to come from. In the same breath, I whispered a prayer in hopes that Drew would get his opportunity this morning despite the annoying wind. We didn’t have the luxury of time or of multiple stand sites, so this was our spot. I had taken several deer from this location over the years and this particular field corner acted as a natural funnel for the deer skirting the edge of the bean field. I hoped that Drew would have the same success from this spot that I’d enjoyed. If nothing else, we’d get to spend some good father and son time, laughing and cutting up with each other, discussing what dads and 11-year-old boys discuss.

Drew was full of anticipation as daylight came in full force. Our plan was simple, Drew would focus to our left toward the open bean field and I’d keep my eyes and ears open to the thicket to our right that opened into mature hardwoods. The wind was making it difficult to hear, and the few remaining diehard leaves rattled in the breeze. To make matters worse, the nuthatches and squirrels were doing their best to be as loud as possible, but their antics made the time pass quickly. Just as I looked at my watch, thinking to myself that we’d be done within a couple of hours, I heard a sound. Faint, but distinct. That far off crunching of leaves that can only be found in a deer woods. The crunching blended in with all the other sounds of the woods that morning, but I was certain of what I had heard. I strained to hear it again. Were my ears and mind playing tricks on me? Could it have been a squirrel or some other animal? There it was again, and this time I knew exactly what I had heard. Those steady footfalls that can only come from a deer in a dry November woods. I scanned the thicket for any sign of the deer, but nothing. I looked to my left toward Drew and then back to my right and there he was, like a gray ghost, a beautiful basket-racked buck was 25 yards away and heading straight for us. The buck was closing fast as I elbowed Drew to get his attention. If the buck followed the trail he was on, he’d pass at less than Drew’s lethal range of 10 yards.

I whispered to Drew to pick his spot and put it right behind the deer’s shoulder. My heart was pounding and I can only imagine what Drew’s was doing! The buck was quartering by at a slow pace and just as I was telling Drew to take his time, I heard that loud thunk as his arrow left the bowstring, and then the hollow thud of the broadhead hitting the deer. At the strike of the arrow, the buck jumped and bolted toward the bean field at full tilt! I stood up to see him run across the field toward a CRP area about 100 yards away. I could see half of Drew’s arrow bouncing as the buck bounded away and knew the shot was marginal at best, but tried to keep a positive attitude.

As I looked at Drew, he was dejected. The first thing out of his mouth was, “Dad, I rushed and hit him too far back.” I told him that the shot was high and back, but we’d give the deer some time and that it’s possible we’d find him. Drew had gone from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. It was almost painful to see him slump back into the seat with his head down, angry with himself over a misplaced arrow. The plan was to wait for an hour, but 30 minutes was all that Drew’s 11-year-old body and mind could take. He was ready to take up the track.

Not finding any sign of the hit where the buck was standing at the shot, we entered the freshly cut bean field. Within minutes Drew’s young eyes spotted the first sign, a pencil eraser-sized spot of blood. From that point on, it was a few interspersed drops and specks of blood scattered every few feet to a few yards apart. The blood was bright red in color and I was thankful that the field had been cut or it was doubtful we’d have found any sign. Drew and I continued to hop scotch the blood trail with him moving forward to the next spot, me moving up and so on. I again whispered a prayer, hoping that it would be answered in finding Drew’s deer at the end of the track.

After nearly 100 yards through the open field, we found where the buck had entered the brushy field edge. To my surprise, the sign became a little heavier and easier to follow in the high weeds. We stopped and I asked Drew where he thought he hit the buck and he said he wasn’t sure, but it was high and toward the back. As we played it over again, he told me that he could see blood streaming down the side of the buck as he ran across the field. His 11-year-old eyes are much better than my 40-year-old vision! We took up the trail again and now the blood was getting more frequent with bigger drops. The specks were now turning into quarter-sized splatters and smears on the weeds. Drew looked up the trail and said, “Dad, there’s the arrow!” I picked up the arrow and saw what every bowhunter hopes to see…it was soaked in crimson and it was completely intact. At that point, I turned back to Drew and told him that I was certain we’d find his deer. His face lit up and I let him take the lead again on the track. We made our way to the edge of the woods and followed the blood trail into a thicket. We fought and hacked our way through rose bushes and briars, all the while finding good sign. As we came over a small rise, I looked ahead and there he was! A beautiful sight, and a huge relief! I shouted with pure excitement and joy! Drew was beside himself and I don’t know who was happier! I wrapped my son in a bear hug and laughed with total abandon! My eyes welled up and then the tears came. Tears of joy, pure unadulterated joy! Tears of happiness for my young son, who is growing up all too fast.

As we walked up to Drew’s deer, I felt a sense of pride that is hard to describe. I watched as Drew ran his hands across the antlers and the coat of the buck and saw the joy in his face and again, more tears came for me. As we stood there in the woods and talked about what had just happened, the reality of what Drew had accomplished started to sink in with both of us. Drew asked me if I thought very many 11-year-olds had taken a deer with a recurve and I told him probably not, and at that point I realized just how special this moment would be and the blessing that this memory will become for both of us. I whispered a thank you as I looked up above and then let Drew enjoy his moment.

I truly hope that everyone gets an opportunity to share a moment like this with their son or daughter. To see Drew enjoying the outdoors and developing his own passion for hunting is, without question, one of the happiest, most satisfying experiences of my life and I’m grateful that I was able to experience this hunt with my boy. The memory of this day will forever be etched in my mind.

Drew is an avid outdoorsman and has been raised on a steady diet of hunting and fishing. This is his first deer with a bow, but he has four others to his credit. On this hunt, Drew used a 35lb. Colt recurve, cedar shafts and a Delta broadhead. When Drew isn’t hunting or fishing, he can be found pestering his 14-year-old sister Olivia. David, Drew and Olivia make their home in Southeastern Indiana. David is the police chief of the Rising Sun Indiana Police Department, an avid traditional bowhunter and a regular reader of Traditional Bowhunter Magazine.