Two years ago my cousin and I agreed
to host each other on hunting trips. I took him elk hunting in Montana
last year, and even though we didn't get him on many elk he did manage to
harvest a mule deer, which was his first. His turn to be the host came over this past Veteran's Day. He
works with Powder Burns Outfitters, and while they primarily hunt turkeys they
have some exceptional whitetail country.
It had been ten years since I had seen
Kansas, and so much has changed. There are run down buildings and empty
homes. Signs of a broken economy are everywhere. But there are also
incredible military monuments. One at the American Legion is dedicated to
all the veterans from the area that served in wars, and another on the town
square next to the county courthouse is dedicated to those that served in
Vietnam. Despite the economy and the troubles everyone is facing, the heartland is filled with folks that remember those who risked everything for our country.
I was in a tree on Veterans' Day. It
was the very first time I had ever been in a tree stand, the first time I had
hunted whitetails, and the first time I had hunted in Kansas since my grandpa
had passed away. I miss him. And I reflected on him often during
the week I was there. The time spent in a tree stand is nothing like I
thought it would be. I thought about many things, took in all the sights
and sounds, and made sure to enjoy every moment. It was tough getting
used to being so high off the ground. I hate heights, and spent most of the
first day getting used to my feet dangling off the front of the stand and
trying to pull the seat cushion from between my tightly clenched cheeks. But I started to enjoy everything around me and quickly forgot the distance
between me and the ground. The cardinals were working hard, red squirrels
chattered and fed, turkeys slipped from field to roosts and woodpeckers
hammered the trees. And there were deer. Lots. Small and
big, does and bucks. I was surprised at how quickly and quietly
they worked through the newly fallen leaves on the ground. Just roaming
about, not making a noise. This was going to be tough even though the rut
was about to explode.
Day two passed with a few sightings and a
close encounter with a yearling that has potential. Powder Burns will
help him grow to be a stud one day. On Day three it was clear and cold. The morning was slow, but the afternoon had the promise of good weather and
buck activity. The only problem was the
wind. I did everything possible to kill my scent, and hit the tree on a
very bad wind. It was risky – a south wind that took my scent right up the
trail these bucks worked all fall. But I was committed to this spot and
wanted to make it happen. At 4:30 I got
a weird sense that the "witching hour" was upon me. A doe
popped up, then a small buck.
And then from behind me, I saw a broken up
buck with so much character that I knew I was in business. We had trail camera photos of this guy
fighting, and he had the scars to prove it – his right eye guard and G2 were
broken off and his back had a deep scar.
He wasn't a giant Kansas buck
like you see in the magazines or on TV, but he was a brute. Like so
many of those vets commemorated around town, he had battle scars to show what he
had been through in his life. I didn't hesitate to draw my bow, and I
kept my eyes focused on his shoulder instead of his antlers. He walked in
on a trail, I stopped him, and double lunged him at 24 yards. He died
about 30 yards away behind a cedar. My hunt was done, and I was a happy
man.
Going home was more than going hunting for
me. It was about realizing what had come before me. So many great
generations of Peaks had given up so much so I could have the opportunity
to enjoy this magnificent hunt. And it certainly wasn't lost on me that
this battle buck gave up so much for me to enjoy it, too. I am honored to
have hung my tag on such a Soldier of the Hardwoods.
I'll be back. I now see why people
love to hunt whitetails so much. It
isn't easy. It isn't
physical. It is a mental fight that I enjoyed very much. Maybe next
year I will cross paths with that little buck again, and let him walk. Maybe another bruiser will come out, or one of those giants we all see on the
internet. Or maybe I will just quietly sit in a tree stand again and
enjoy everything around me and remember to appreciate those before me that gave
me so much.
Thanks to all you veterans. Thanks, Grandpa. Go
easy.