Was hunting with my dad on the last day of the season, a small fork horn walked out and my dad let me shoot it because it was my first deer and we hadent seen much all season. Only to get yelled at by the landowner for shooting a deer he deemed too small (which it was), but it was my first deer and i was proud of it. That kind of ruined trophy hunting for me, im all for land management and only taking mature deer, but sometimes you just have to enjoy yourself. People take it too seriously sometimes and i feel like they miss the whole point, like a kids first deer.

http://huntingwithmydad.blogspot.com/?view=flipcard#!/2012/12/first-deer.html

Few of my deer stories

My first deer was a spike, back around 1960. The dog guys let the dogs loose, and the spike jumped up from a briar patch and I let fly with my Savage single shot 410. My first experience in poor shot placement, but we did find the deer. I was super excited. I can close my eyes now and see those spikes shining in the morning sun.

But that pales in comparison with my buddy Walter's first deer. He blasted it with a 12 ga and buckshot. He ran to it, and every time it twitched, he shot it again. That was before anybody got to him and suggested he quit shooting. His dad told me later that there wasn't much edible meat left.

Spring Break 2007. My third ever hunting trip. We were on 300acres high fenced in London, TX, then known as the Serengeti Ranch. Started off hunting safari style from a mule with guide Victor, me, dad, family friend, and uncle. Then we did some walking and glassing; almost had a shot but we couldn't tell if it was a buck or a doe--fallow deer. Got back on the mule and did more driving, seeing zebra, waterbuck, oryx, ram, whitetails and sika. But no fallow!

As the day drew to an end, Victor decided to put us in blinds. He put my uncle and family friend in a blind with the feeder at about 70yd and took me and my dad with him to another, more open area in which the blind was 100yd from the feeder. We got settled in--Victor had already taken the sling off of my gun to make it easier to shoot off sticks--with me on my dad's lap. We opened the window, put foam on the sill, and I lookrd through the scope to make sure all was good. Then, we opened the left window a tad bit, and hung the rifle between the two openings.

A little while later, 3 fallow shed bucks--in all 3 colors too--started making their way towards us from the feeder. They got to spitting distance! As the deer got closer and closer, Victor told me that a) if they spook nothing else will come, b) if they don't spook then they'll come back with the rest of the herd, and c) don't let them see you blink. My dad and Victor both looked down but I locked eyes with one of the bucks and didn't move a muscle. I still remember how hard that was--we stared down for 15 minutes, but for some reason my blinking didn't bother him. Also, I was at the age where I wouldn't stand in manicured lawns without shoes and socks, because the grass would make my feet uncomfortable--darn city slickers, right? So, in the heat, with Daddylonglegs, gnats, and flies, I managed not to shriek and eventually the deer made their way back into the brush.

30-40 minutes later, the whole group of mixed bucks, doe, and youngsters came in. They were about 30 of them, and clustered together. I was getting neither a broadside nor a clear shot. Finally, a chocolate doe veered off to the left. But she went too far! A cluster of branches the fit her silhouette exactly was in my line of fire. I was super excited by now. My heart was racing as I placed the crosshairs on her armpit. She went deeper into the trees and I got disheartened, but Victor said she'll come back--and she did! Soon as she was clear--well her haunches were covered but vitals and head/neck were clear--I pulled the trigger behind her shoulder. She dropped on the spot! I had aimed behind the shoulder like you're supposed to in the video games, but ended up hitting her where my dad wanted me to: smack dab in the neck.

The whole video for this hunt and the rest of the trip is somewhere on a lost computer, but my dialogue after watching her fall is forever etched in my family's memory: a high pitched and very enthusiastic "Oooooh yeah! Oooooh yeah!" Now, a decade later, my last deer kill was solo, @ 108yd, and a brain-spilling head shot. The excitement and happiness will always remain, but the wow-feeling of my successful harvest has eluded me since then.

So sad....I can't remember the first deer that I killed. I know I was 10 and that was 57 years ago. But what worries me more is that I can't remember the first girl that I kissed.......It really really sucks getting old.

I had hunted several years before finally getting my first buck. In those days in Mississippi you got one buck tag for the season and deer sightings were few and far between. It was about a week into Christmas break and I had hunted since season opened without having seen a buck at all. Got up to go hunting and it was pouring rain so decided to sleep in. About 8am the rain stopped so went hunting to a stand in a large pin oak in a thick overgrown field where visibility was short but good deer trails through there. I had not been in the stand very long when what I thought at first was a doe came by but as it stopped to browse on a low hanging limb of the tree I was in turned its head and I saw large flat buttons on its head. I opened fire with the lever action 30-30 First shot the deer went down and got back up almost as quick, second shot same result then it came up running back from where it had come from. One other shot at it running off and it was gone. I sat there for about 15 minutes and got out of the tree. There was lots of bright frothy blood on the wet ground and the trail it took leaving. I followed that about 50 yards and there he was. Have killed lots of deer since but never have recovered another that had was on its belly with front legs folded back and back legs stretched straight out the back. Looked like it hit that way and slid about 5 feet in the leaves and briars.

I drug it about 150 yards to the edge of a field where I saw my Dad and neighbor walking across the field. By that time I was glad to see them with a half mile drag left across muddy fields to where we could get the truck to it.

A state biologist stopped by when he saw us with the deer and ask if he could age him, he pulled the jaw bone and aged the buck at 9 1/2 or more. There wasn't much left for teeth. The "antlers" were polished knots about the size of a silver dollar only a little over a quarter inch high. He ask how I saw them and when I explained about him browsing on the tree I was sitting in he said ok.

almost 40 years later I still remember that one well.

There is a bit of a lead in to my first deer killed story. My dad had a large group of guys (10-12) that hunted together for years before I came along. They had gotten to know the area sheriff’s deputies and Game Wardens pretty good, most being business owners/ranchers/construction from the same local area. They had the tradition of inviting the hunter’s families (wife & children) and the Game Wardens out for dinner the evening before deer season to clean out the last ruminants of wild game from their freezers making room for the fresh kills of the coming season. Most of the hunter’s showed up during the day on Friday to go check stands, finish clearing shooting lanes, etc. and then back to camp to start preparing food the feast for the evening with all the guests. This was well before anyone used feeders (at least in our hunting circles) and most stands were a couple boards nailed up in a tree 8-20 feet off the ground or a hollowed out brush pile with a metal folding chair in the middle, generally on a trail or a cross fence line for a shooting alley. The lease was so much $ for the hunting rights, not per hunter and each of the hunters could bring their immediate family to hunt with them. Hunting season always started the Saturday following Nov. 16 and ended on January 1 regardless of when it fell, doe tags were issued to the land owner and they would hand out (or not) to the hunters. Dad’s lease was up on top of White Bluff overlooking Lake Buchanan, the old Garrett place, 900+ acres up on top and about 120 on the bottom including an old fishing camp that was our camp house. It was about a 1 mile drive down a FM road to a gate, passed thru 4 other land owner’s property and some really nasty steep rutted out roads to get up to the top of the bluff to enter into the larger portion of our lease. I had been going to deer camp dinner the past 2 years with mom & my brother but I was too young to stay overnight much less hunt. I had been working on my shooting with a bb gun and an old single shot .22 in the back yard killing birds out of our fig tree. After a similar test to what ZK-315 posted on hitting a quarter 3 times at 25 yards, Dad had deemed me as ready to actually get to hunt this year, I was just shy of my 5th birthday.

The first deer I shot … it was the Friday before the opening day of season in 1963, midafternoon my dad and one of his hunting buddies (Cliff) decided to drive up to the top to put a few more nails and boards in a couple of the tree stands and work on replacing some of the boards that were nailed into the trunk that was used as a ladder. It seemed it took an hour to make the horrible drive thru all the other ranches and up the rough rutted hill just to get to our gate. As we approached the last wire gap that led into our pasture, I saw a doe and a fawn. I got buck fever and showed dad and Cliff (his buddy). As we got thru the gap, the road turned left directly up the fence line where I saw the deer. I had an eagle eye and finally found them again about 100 yards up the road. Dad stopped the truck and he & Cliff talked about me shooting the doe, I wasn’t paying too much attention to them, I was focused on the deer. Finally dad grabbed the little Winchester 1982 lever action 218 Bee and pointed it out the driver’s side window as I crawled up into the stock getting ready for the shot. Dad started whispering to me, remember, deep breath and sque “BOOM” (eze the trigger, he never got to finish his directions to me). I saw the deer drop but Dad and Cliff were violently shaking their heads in shock as the smoke cleared out of the cab of the truck. Evidently the end of the barrel wasn’t quite outside the cab and we all couldn’t hear a thing from the sonic boom concussion that just transpired inside the cab of a 1957 Chevy truck. Once we all came back to our senses, dad said “you missed!!! I saw the doe run off!!!” … I said “no, it dropped right where I shot it!!!” as I was about to crawl over dad’s lap to get out to go see my deer. Dad and Cliff looked at each other and we all bailed out of the truck. I was over the fence in a heartbeat, while they walked back to the wire gap to go investigate and see if I was right. By the time they got to the gap, I was holding up the head of my first deer, proud as could be. They both had a shocked look on their faces, since they both thought I missed AND realized I had just killed a deer, over the fence, the day before season opened and we had Game Wardens coming to dinner. Cliff grabbed my deer by the leg and took off almost running to the gap, dad and I in close pursuit. He chunked the deer in the bed of the truck as dad and I got in, started the engine, Cliff jumped in and off we went towards the middle of the pasture to get it gutted and skinned, quickly. Dad handed me a shovel and said dig a hole. They quickly got the deer quartered and into a cardboard box, then tossed the skeletal remains, head and hide into the hole I dug and quickly covered it up. My dad ribbed me until the last season he was living (2003 season) about me shooting Bambi and the 218 Bee knocking to spots off that fawn along with the milk from its lips. It couldn’t have field dress much more than 25 lbs. Anyway, we quickly headed back down the hill, didn’t get any of the stands worked on since we had fresh meat in the truck and wanted to get back to camp well before guests arrived. We got back to camp and finishing cutting up the entire deer, battering and frying along with home fries and cream gravy … just as the guests started showing up. In all, there were about 25-30 people, wives, children and the two local Game Wardens and their families. Everyone had a nice time visiting and eating. One of the Game Wardens made the comment to my dad and a couple of the other hunters that had done all the cooking how wonderful everything was … and one of the GW asked “I want to know your trick on how to keep you venison so fresh and not to have any freezer burned meat after 10 months in the freezer?” … Dad’s response (classic) was “oh, we just went out and shot one this afternoon so we had fresh meat for ya’ll” … and then he broke out laughing like it was a joke. They took the bait and laughed it off as well. Later than evening after all the guests had left, the hunters took a deep sigh of relief over the stress of a 4 y/o kid shooting a deer to feed to the local GWs … it became quite a joke around camp for many years to follow but they never offered for me to shoot another one before the season opener. Although that was about 53 years ago, I still remember everything vividly including the concerned look on dad & cliff’s faces when I shot. AND, that was the best tasting and most tender venison I have ever eaten …

My first (and so far only) was just two years ago. A buddy of mine invited me to hunt on his lease as a guest and so I went out two months before the season and picked a spot on a game trail and dropped a bag or two of corn. I kept corning the spot through deer season but work kept me from actually doing any hunting. It wasn't until the very last weekend of the doe/anterless season that I finally got a chance. On Friday night I dropped one of those popup doghouse blinds near my corn spot and sat in it until 1 in the afternoon. Not much happened. I came back that evening and after a while I noticed two does standing about 20 yards from the blind and staring at me hard. Finally, they circled around to the pile and started eating. About that time I realized I had forgotten to bring my shooting sticks so I had to shoot offhand. After the shot the doe ran off to the north. Great ... either I had missed or I was going to have to track her. Either way I was feeling like a failure. So I walked up to the corn and found some blood. I was elated! I hadn't missed after all. I started walking in the direction she'd run and there she was. Only about 40 yards away. It was getting late so I called the processor to make sure they'd wait for me then I got busy field dressing. Having only field dressed small game before I'm not sure that I did that good a job at it. But I got it done and the processor didn't seem to think I had butchered it too bad. I also got to meet our game warden as he was there checking deer as they came in. Best tasting deer ever! Well ... until the next one.

My family didn't believe in deer stands for generations. My dad built a plywood box stand with an elevated chair mount so I could see out. First time we sat in the blind together, dad killed an 8 point. The second night, dad killed a 9 point that I spotted first. I was 2-3 years old at the time....and I was hooked. This was in Kerr county.

I was 7 when I killed my first deer. 3 point buck with a British .303 with a shortened stock for youth. I may have hit the deer in the leg, but dad's .270 knocked him down. I was pumped! This was in Hamilton county on family land on opening afternoon.

A few weeks later, we were back in Kerr county for the annual family Thanksgiving hunt. I was sitting with my grandma. I had just finished taking a leak out of the door of the stand and grandma told me to hurry up because a buck was coming in. The British .303 rang...the buck went 10-15 yards and piled up. I was really pumped!

I'm 28 now. I've never missed an opening morning of deer reason, rain or shine, since I was 7 years old. My grandma remains one of the best shots in the family to this day although she has become more selective in what she shoots.

Blessed to be raised in a hunting family.

My first was when I had just turned 7. Dad had had me practicing with a 22 for a couple of years and finally, that year, started me with a little 30 carbine he'd borrowed from someone. We hunted on a ranch just north of Georgetown (just past where the Dell Webb community is now). The Game Warden had told them they needed to take some 200 does off of the place but didn't have any way to 'tag' that many. He just gave the land owner a pile of doe permits (remember those?) and told him to 'have at 'em'.
Dad and I were out early that weekend. In those days, the season opened in Williamson county on Nov. 15. Regardless of the day of the week. I'd turned 7 the week before and Dad took me out of school to go hunting. We were driving along and saw a small herd of deer go across the two-track in front of us so Dad stops and we start a 'stalk'. We walked up about 50 yards from the road and spotted a little doe (there were so many, they were ALL small). Dad found me a short forked oak tree for a rest and I lined up the doe in the peep site. One shot and she was down. I ended up filling all 3 tags that first season. I didn't take a buck until I was 10 or 11.
The most memorable part of that hunt was finding out that my Dad was also my 'hunting buddy'.
Dad left us in 2008 and every hunting season hasn't been the same without him. I now have a grandson that I get to take out hunting. He's my new 'hunting buddy' and I live for the days we get to spend in the field. I now know what my Dad had in me because I have it in my Grandson.

gut shot a doe right before dark when i was 8. things drastically improved from that point forward.