The First Time

I still remember the day my dad took me out hunting for the first time.  It seems like only yesterday that I was lying in bed, waiting for the sound of his footsteps walking up the stairs to come and get me up.  It is a memory that shall remain with me forever and one that someday I will hopefully get to share with my kids.

            It was 5:30 in the morning of October first, the smell of coffee overwhelmed me as it roamed throughout the house.  He was cooking up some breakfast as I got all of my gear in check.  It wasn’t 15 minutes before we were stepping outside into the frigid air anxiously waiting to get on the road.  The deadness of the town belonged to me and all of the other hunters from around the area.  I have never seen the streets so bare, to me and this image was memorizing and it was something that I look forward to every time I now go out.  Driving down the road I remember a thin blanket of fog that covered the ground, making the road difficult to see. 

            Making our way to our stands was also not the easiest thing to do in this fog.  Trying our best not to stomp on any twigs or leaves we arrived at our tree.  Climbing up our ladder stands we would get settled in and then wait.  There we sat waiting, watching, and hoping for something big to come walking in.  At my age I wasn’t to concerned with how big it was, I just wanted to see something.  I could see the intensity in my dads’ eyes as he would comb over our woods trying to spot something.  Little did I know that there was a decent sized 10 point walking our way.

            There it stood, 20 yards away, just waiting for my dad to take his shot.  As he drew back his bow my blood was pumping, then all of a sudden, schwack.   The deer has been shot, just looking at the blood streaming out I knew that we weren’t going home empty handed.  As we stood there, adrenaline rushing through our veins he reaches down to me and gives me a high five.  It wasn’t long after the tracking started.

            Tracking the deer was one of the hardest things I’ve done; being is how I’m color blind I can’t see any of the blood barely unless it’s real thick.  Luckily, he didn’t have any problem spotting the trail that he created.  As we crept along we spotted a set of antlers sticking up from the ground.  There it lay, 50 yards from our tree. 

I will never forget these images, from the coffee, the fog, the dead town, and this deer that lay at my feet.  It has grown to be apart of me, and in some ways, formed me into the person I am today.  This is a memory that will not be forgotten not only for me but for my dad as well.