The Time of My Life

November 20, 2010
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One hand holding my gun, the other, making sure that I don’t fall and shoot my dad. Walking, hiking, climbing, that’s what we’ve been doing since the sun had been awake for a while. We took a cow trail up the hill, or mountain I should say. It was pure torture, I stumbled, and nearly fell more than once. It was steep, rocky, and narrow. Each step had to be taken with extreme care, so as not to dislodge any loose rocks, and sound the alarm to all mule deer around that the hunters are here! Finally upon the hill/mountain my dad takes out his binoculars and scans the area. Nothing. He points to a little draw, and whispers to me that that was our next stop. I nod, and breathlessly take a water bottle from my pack, and take a large gulp. Keeping to the shrubs, and yucca plants, we head carefully to the draw. Once there, I sit upon a large boulder, and watch my dad, waiting for his instructions on what to do. If there’s a deer, we either sneak up on him or scare him so he stands up. If not, we continue on our death hike. He looks down into the draw, but sees nothing, but just to make sure he grabs a rock the size of a softball and lobs it down there. Out of nowhere a deer jumps up. I grab my gun and start to load it, but its already to late. My dad isn’t to frustrated after all it is my first deer hunt. We take off again going to the opposite edge of the hill/mountain. On closer inspection, I see that the edge of the hill/mountain is a bluff. I sit down on the nearest boulder to catch my long lost breath. My dad grabs his binoculars once again and inspects the bottom of the bluff. My dad is two steps from falling down the bluff. If he did fall it wouldn‘t be a little fall. He would most likely hit the rock wall a few times, then land awkwardly among the jagged rocks, and boulders below. I shudder at the thought of this while he gets closer and closer. Taking the binoculars away, he turns, eyes wide, with a huge smile on his face. That can only mean one thing, down below is a deer. He brings me to the edge and hands me the binoculars. I scan the area he indicated and see a little two by two, barely even legal, grazing with some does. That’s when the fever began. I started shaking, I couldn’t even hold my gun steady. Shooting down from the bluff was a challenge, so we moved to a position that was a little improvement but not much. I steady the gun on a rock, and it helps a bit, but still I’m shaky all over. I aim the gun right above the shoulder, take a deep breath, and gently squeeze the trigger. My eyes close. Did I hit it? I open them, the doe scattered but my deer is still there. I look to my dad, and he mouths gut shot. Crap. He hands me another bullet. Lets take you out of your misery. I aim, take a deep breath and shoot. I see dust fly up from under the deer’s belly. Dang it. I take another bullet, miss, and another, miss. Three shots later I finally hit him in the heart. I couldn’t even feel the kick of the gun when shooting. I was so excited. My first deer! I look up to my dad and see he’s looking farther down the bluff. Running off, is an even larger deer than mine. Probably a five by five. It must’ve been there all along. We were probably just to excited to see it. A couple of days later, my brother, got a huge five by five. When I look up and see the five by five’s mount, I wonder “Are you the deer that I saw that day?”





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