Has to be my first. The day was November 7th 1987. I was 18. My dad and I were members of a dog club and even though we had been members for a couple years, I had never gotten a shot. I don't think I had ever even seen a buck in that club before that day. On the first drive of the morning we went way back into the swamp and I was dropped off in a beautiful spot, nice open woods. I set up my dove stool and sat down for the long wait. The other standers couldn't have been gone for more than 5 min when I heard leaves crunching to my left. I turned and there was a beautiful 8 point strolling straight towards me maybe 50 yards away without a care in the world. I was dumbfounded, the dogs hadn't been let out yet and I doubt if the next stander had even been dropped off yet. I tried to slowly raise my shotgun and pivot towards the buck but he either saw me, heard me or smelled me. Without warning he spun around, blew and hauled ass back where he came from. That was that. I was sick. I didn't see another deer during the morning drive. When the drive ended the other hunters razzed me to no end when they heard my story.
For the 2nd drive, we again went deep into the woods on another tract of land. I was dropped off in a spot so thick I couldn't see 20 yards. I heard several shots during that drive and right towards the end, a deer came bounding by me. I thought I saw spikes but it was moving so fast and it was so thick I couldn't swear to it. There were no does shot in this club at that time so I just held my fire. Within a few seconds two shots rang out just down the line. After the drive was over, it was clear that the next stander had clearly seen the spikes and killed him. I was REALLY bummed now! The only two bucks I had had opportunities at and I blew it both times.
Normally that would have been the end of it for the day. Very rarely was there enough time left in the day for a 3rd drive. We got back to the club shed a little earlier than usual and there was about an hour of daylight left. Somebody suggested going down the road a little bit past the skinning shed and turning the dogs loose to see what would happen. I really wasn't interested. I was tired and frustrated and I really didn't see us getting any action that close to the club shed where so much activity went on. My dad said "Come on, we might as well go with them. Big boy might be hiding back there." I gave in and we strolled down the road, maybe 200 yards past the shed. As we walked, Dad said a verbal prayer. He said "Lord, please let Mark kill a big one so he can redeem himself and get those other fellows off his back." He laughed and I just grinned. We stepped into the woods maybe 40 yards off the road and stood by a creek. We didn't even carry our stools and I had only the 5 shells in my gun whereas normally I would have a pocket full of shells and a 9mm S&W 659 strapped on my side. They turned the dogs loose and they didn't seem to be too hot on any trails for the first 30 min. Dad and I just stood there talking about my two previous encounters. All of a sudden the dogs got pretty excited and it sounded like they had jumped something. A minute or two later 5 shots rang out deeper into the swamp. Then 2 or 3 more shots a little closer. The dogs were going insane. Dad said "You stay here and I'll go down the creek aways and maybe one of us will get a shot." A few minutes later I heard splashing in the creek and Dad yelled out "He's coming to you, get ready!" Within seconds a big buck jumped out of the thick stuff along the creek and nearly ran me over! At a range of feet rather than yards I threw my Benelli 121 SL 80 up and popped off three shots as fast as I could jerk the trigger before he was swallowed by the thick stuff. In my youth, I thought it a neat idea to load my gun with a load of #4 buckshot for the first shot followed by a load of #1 buck, then a #0 buck for the 3rd shot, a #00 for the 4th and a #000 for the final shot. The deer hadn't even flinched to my first three shots, so I didn't know what to expect as I plowed into the thick brush. I went maybe 40 yards until I came out into a little open area and there was the buck, standing about 25 yards away, staggering and lunging to try to stay on his feet. I threw the Benelli up and let go my last two shots. The buck went down but was so adrenalized he was still trying to get back up. I was now without ammo and my 9mm that I had religiously carried for a coup de grace was back in the truck. I yelled out to my Dad, "Dad! Come here! I got him but I'm out of shells and he's still alive!" A few seconds later the buck gave up the ghost and my Dad came to where I was. He slapped me on the back and said "Always remember, the Lord DOES answer prayers!" My Dad was a minister so maybe his prayers carried a little extra weight that day! The buck was above and beyond anything I had hoped for for my first deer. I'd have been thrilled with a doe or spike but my first was a hefty 10 point, 6 on one side, 4 on the other. The side with 6 points had a prominent palmation, somewhat like a moose or fallow antler. The spread was a about 16" and he weighed 165 pounds, which is considered pretty big around here. Turns out he was one of the best bucks killed on the club that entire season.
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