I was hunting squirrels and rabbits as far back as I can remember. but I didn't shoot my first deer until I was 10 years old. It was a doe that I shot with my open sights 30-30. After that, dad said if I was going to get serious about deer hunting then he was going to buy me a serious deer rifle. He bought me a Ruger Mark II youth model 243 with a redfield scope. The next year he got us on a lease in nacogdoches. It was 80 acres next to an airport and it's where I shot the biggest buck of my life.
The stand i hunted was just a triangle shaped platform, nailed between three trees, close to 30' high. It backed up to somewhat of an open forest behind me and overlooked a small food plot. I had been in the stand for close to an hour when I heard what sounded like dogs running through the woods. I turned around and seen a huge buck trailing a doe. He had his nose shoved right up her butt, and they were coming my way. He dogged her in, right until he got to the small trail where I had walked around to my stand. That smart buck stopped, smelled the ground right where I had walked and decided to let that doe go. As he slowly turned to head back the way he came, I waited until he turned broadside and the 243 dropped him in his tracks. The doe ran right under me and I dropped her. I looked back and the buck was still kicking. I thought he might get up, so I shot him again. I sat there shaking, not believing what had just happened. It wasn't 10 seconds later when I heard the same rustling coming through the woods.
Another buck was coming. I threw the rifle up and sent one at him. I was shaking so bad that I missed. The buck took off running. I followed him in the scope and chambered another round. At the sound of the bolt, the buck stopped for a split second to look back, and I drilled him. Right behind the shoulder. My dad was hunting around 500 yards away, and at this point I had shot every bullet in my gun in alittle over 10 seconds. Dad couldn't imagine why I would be shooting so much, he got scared, and ran all the way to me. It didn't help that when he found me I was crying. That poor little doe looked me right in the eyes when I pulled the trigger on her. I still remember her trembling. I had just shot a huge buck, and then another one. I don't know why I was crying, I think I was just having more emotions than I could process at the time. Dad asked what's wrong and I told him that I got greedy. He looked down at the doe and the buck and said, "son, you just shot a monster!" I told him I had shot another one too. He said what, where is he? I told him, and he asked, how big is he? I said I don't know, about like that one.
We went and found the second buck and he ended up being a tall 6 about 15" wide with no brow tines. Not even close to the first buck, which ended up being a 160" 10 point with a split brow tine, making him an 11. He was 19 3/4 inside. My dad mounted both of them. I was 11 years old and the next year the price went up on the lease and we didn't get on it again. That was almost 30 years ago, and I've killed a lot of good deer since. But I still haven't beat that one.
Unfortunately I lost those mounts, and that rifle, in a house fire in 96'. By the grace of God no one was hurt, and that's all that really matters, but I sure wish I had that deer head back.
The stand i hunted was just a triangle shaped platform, nailed between three trees, close to 30' high. It backed up to somewhat of an open forest behind me and overlooked a small food plot. I had been in the stand for close to an hour when I heard what sounded like dogs running through the woods. I turned around and seen a huge buck trailing a doe. He had his nose shoved right up her butt, and they were coming my way. He dogged her in, right until he got to the small trail where I had walked around to my stand. That smart buck stopped, smelled the ground right where I had walked and decided to let that doe go. As he slowly turned to head back the way he came, I waited until he turned broadside and the 243 dropped him in his tracks. The doe ran right under me and I dropped her. I looked back and the buck was still kicking. I thought he might get up, so I shot him again. I sat there shaking, not believing what had just happened. It wasn't 10 seconds later when I heard the same rustling coming through the woods.
Another buck was coming. I threw the rifle up and sent one at him. I was shaking so bad that I missed. The buck took off running. I followed him in the scope and chambered another round. At the sound of the bolt, the buck stopped for a split second to look back, and I drilled him. Right behind the shoulder. My dad was hunting around 500 yards away, and at this point I had shot every bullet in my gun in alittle over 10 seconds. Dad couldn't imagine why I would be shooting so much, he got scared, and ran all the way to me. It didn't help that when he found me I was crying. That poor little doe looked me right in the eyes when I pulled the trigger on her. I still remember her trembling. I had just shot a huge buck, and then another one. I don't know why I was crying, I think I was just having more emotions than I could process at the time. Dad asked what's wrong and I told him that I got greedy. He looked down at the doe and the buck and said, "son, you just shot a monster!" I told him I had shot another one too. He said what, where is he? I told him, and he asked, how big is he? I said I don't know, about like that one.
We went and found the second buck and he ended up being a tall 6 about 15" wide with no brow tines. Not even close to the first buck, which ended up being a 160" 10 point with a split brow tine, making him an 11. He was 19 3/4 inside. My dad mounted both of them. I was 11 years old and the next year the price went up on the lease and we didn't get on it again. That was almost 30 years ago, and I've killed a lot of good deer since. But I still haven't beat that one.
Unfortunately I lost those mounts, and that rifle, in a house fire in 96'. By the grace of God no one was hurt, and that's all that really matters, but I sure wish I had that deer head back.
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