The screaming of the wind, that’s all that I could hear sitting in my stand, on November 19. Opening day, a pretty boring one at that. Until that late afternoon.

The giant gusts of wind were like listening to the radio with the volume as high as it can go. You could not hear anything besides the wind. There were times where it would calm down a bit, to where you could hear something scrunching through the light blanket of snow. The chirping from the birds being carried through the wind. The covering of pine needles with a light snow, the leaves that poke through the blanket of snow. And then there is my brown stained stand out in the middle of the woods, sitting in a clearing.

My stand, at a height of about four feet, was part of my old swing set. It is the box part of the set, that the slide would run off of, and the ladder to get up to the slide. My dad had put in old carpet from our cabin, and I have two white plastic chairs for me, and anyone else that wants to sit with me. My dad also put on a door with a latch, and plie board all around the outside of the stand, so the deer cannot see in my stand. But, none of these things block out the nasty wind that we are having today. Sitting still, is not a good idea for weather like today. I get cold since my body is not generating a lot of heat, because I am not moving.

I have been sitting on my phone for a while, when the wind dies down a bit. I have an hour until the season closes for the day, thinking nothing will come in, this late at night.  Crunch, crunch, crunch. I pop my head up, scanning the perimeter of the woods. There it is, the brownish tan figure that I have been waiting silently all day to see.

Stalking toward the woods from the back corner of the corn field. The animal moving lazily, as if it was too tired to move. Rustling through the soft blanket of snow, I notice the two tan or white structures on top of its head. It’s a buck. This is the first buck I have ever seen while hunting in my lifetime of hunting. Making his way into the small opening of the woods, where countless other deer have passed through. My heart quickens just a little, as he makes his way through the thick layer of brush at the entrance of the woods.

Proceeding with caution, like every deer does, he makes his way down our old, unused, four-wheeler trail. With hibernating plants, there are bare twigs and branches left behind to push through the winter months. Every step he takes, there are snaps and cracks of the twigs. Turning his head with every step, taking in every little detail of his surroundings. The uneasiness of the area around him, makes him go at a slow and steady pace.

The gusts of wind have died down greatly, letting me hear every step he takes. I can hear the shallow breaths he takes, as he moves himself up the trail. I lose sight of him for just a split second, when he is behind an enormous pine tree. With the long, smooth, bright green needles, the tree stands taller than most around us. He inches his way past the gigantic trunk, toward one of the three shooting lanes my Dad and I cut. My heart starts to race even more, knowing that I could possibly have a perfect shot in the near future. Trying to keep my noise level to a bare minimum, I gradually position my body at an angle that will be the easiest to shoot from.

I calmly reach down to grab my ice cold, silver, 223, and set it lightly on my lap. I was too occupied with getting in the right position, that I do not notice that he is facing the direction behind me. Broad sided to me, I have the perfect shot. I have never seen a more perfect shot than this, ever in my whole hunting career. I gradually bring my gun up, past the cherry stained wood of my box stand, and balance it on the top 2 by 4 of my stand. Since there was snow sprinkled on the 2 by 4’s around my stand, it made a little crunch noise as I balance my gun on it.

Lifting his head, ever so slightly, he is now unable to see me or my stand. Knowing that this was the perfect time to get my shot, I bring my cold, red cheek up to the icy shock of the gun. Raising it to where I have a clear picture of him through my scope. The cross hairs are directly on him, right behind the front right shoulder. I can now hear my heart racing in my ears, enough to where I cannot hear anything else. I place my finger lightly over the trigger, getting ready to shoot my very first buck.

Right as I am about to pull that trigger, something behind me spooks him. Holding his head high, he brings his two front legs up into the air, and spins around on his back two legs, taking off. Dashing down the old four-wheeler trail, through another shooting lane.

He stops abruptly in the shooting lane to my left, as if he was waiting for something. Out of nowhere, these two doe start prancing after him. “Where in the world did those two come from,” I ask myself disappointedly. They dash away, so fast, as if they are being chased by something.

Bringing my gun down, I try to relax, noticing how tense my muscles are. Slouching back in my chair, I close my eyes. Imagining the feeling I just had. The blood pumping through my veins, my heart racing so fast, I thought that it would hop out of my chest. Wishing that I would have been a split second faster, knowing I could have bagged my first buck. Really disappointed with myself, I lazily pick up my frozen water bottle, and took a big gulp. Trying not to make too much noise, I sluggishly lean my 223 against the cold, hard wood in the corner of my stand.

“Kenzie…. Kenzie you got a copy?” My dad whispers.

“Yea Dad, what’s up?” I answer.

“Just seeing if you were awake. Have you seen anything?” He asks.
“Yea, just saw a 7 point. I had a great shot, he just got spooked before I could take it.” I whisper back.
“Well dang. I guess we will have to get ‘em next time” he mutters. “Over and out.”
That feeling of disappointment that just eats you alive, that is what I am feeling at this moment.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. Seeing blaze orange through the thick brush, of the lining of the field, I know it’s my que to leave. I gradually get to my feet. Making sure I do not scare anything off, grabbing my satchel, and my two seat cushions. As I take soft steps, I feel the fluffy snow being compressed underneath my feet, making an obnoxious noise that the whole forest can hear. Each step was like a giant rock falling from a cliff. Stepping as softly as I can, I make my way toward my homemade door, a piece of plie board, and push it open. It makes a creaking sound; I cringe as the show of the hate I have for that sound. Sluggishly getting out of my stand, I undertake the long walk, that takes about 15 minutes, to get back to my house.

The next morning, I get up at 6:30, a little later than we are supposed to get up. Preparing myself for the long and boring morning hunt.

After an uninteresting hunt, of seeing nothing but twigs, and rabbits, I trudge up to the house. Where I see my dad’s girlfriend has gotten a deer. Advancing toward the lifeless body laying on the ground, I notice something. This big buck, was the one that was at my stand, about 24 hours ago. I sit there stunned. Where in the world did she find him? I have been waiting all day to see him, but alive, not dead. I take a good look at him. The first buck I have ever seen hunting, dead in front of me. Slayed by someone that wasn’t me. I feel the disappointment set in. That was the first time I have ever seen a buck while hunting, and I didn’t shoot it. I trudge up to the house, more disappointed with ever step I take.

As I stalk into the house, my Dad asks.

“Kenzie was that the buck that you saw at your stand yesterday?”

“Sadly, yes it was.” I look at him with a sad expression.

“Well, now you know what an adult deer looks like then.” He chuckles. That just isn’t the problem I am thinking about. Yes, I have been shooting young does for the past two years, but that isn’t my problem at that moment. My problem is that I didn’t get to shoot the one deer that would change all of my hunting experiences. Dad doesn’t understand that.

I take off my hunting outfit: consisting of blaze orange camo winter jacket, snow pants, my tall black insolated boots, and my orange hat and mittens, and toss it in the musty basement.

Since I am really not in the mood to go skin the deer that I should have shot, I go up to my bed room and flop onto my bed. Being pulled into a deep and needed sleep.