Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Deer Hunting Remembering your first deer seasons

I remember from my first deer season building a "stand" which was a cedar board nailed to a nice branch in a huge white pine along a trail that paralleled a small river. The steps to get to the branches were large spike nails. The first morning I had two does come down. I shot the second one in line. The memory is etched in my mind right down to almost every little detail. Actually, I can recall the details of almost every deer I have shot since then, but the emotion of that first experience really stands out. I really didn't know much then since my father didn't hunt, but figured things out as I went.

Anyways, the next season I sat in the that stand for several days seeing just one other deer, a doe that I passed on. It snowed 18" one night and I went out tracking the next morning. It was mostly sunny, bitterly cold and windy from the NW so I struck out into the wind. About 2 miles in I came over a little rise and there was a good sized doe browsing about 15 yards from me. I could only lift my rifle a bit at a time when she put her head down to browse before jerking it back up as she was wary with the heavy breeze obscuring her senses. Finally I got the Marlin to my shoulder. That last little movement was sudden and she literally jumped straight into the air while doing almost a 180. In that instant I shot her quartering away through the boiler room tagging my second deer. The drag out would have been very hard by my standards today, being much older, but I was walking on air that day as a young man.

I went a couple years passing on some other does determined to get a buck. We don't have a lot of deer where I hunt and was about 10 days into my fourth season and loosing some hope, but if anything else I am persistent. Finally one day walking south of our home I stopped against a tree and instantaneously heard something coming toward me from the south with the wind. It was a doe followed by a buck with his nose right in her behind. He ended up being a decent 7 pointer. The very next morning I was some scouting around a beaver pond in some new country and no sooner had I stopped to survey my surroundings, when a nice 8 pointer walk right in. As he was facing me I dropped him is his tracks with a shot in the center of his neck right under his chin.

What do you folks remember best from those early days?

I started hunting at the age of 11, and it was 10 long years before I filled my first tag. This included several hunts out of our camp in Central Pa., and several hunts around our northeast Ohio home. If my grades weren't good, I had to hunt around home. On the better years I got to go to camp with Dad. Shortly after my 21st birthday Dad and I made a trip to camp for the second week of deer season. Dad hadn't filled his tag yet, and we got in on a Tuesday afternoon. The Red Gods smiled on me when a little spike stepped out in front of me back behind camp at about 4:30 in the afternoon. Two shots from Dad's old Mauser and the work began. I got back to camp in full darkness at about 6:00, dragging the deer around the cabin to the game pole. Dad came running out the door, very excited and gave me a bear hug that just about took the stuffin' out of me. He was very proud. It was by far my best moment with him. I'd done good, and he was very proud.

Life takes some strange twists. Sometimes things happen for a reason. Dad died the following spring, but no one would ever take away this very special moment spent between a loving father and his youngest son.

Dad took me mule deer hunting 42 years ago, when I was 11. I've been hooked ever since. God bless Dad.

Yup, same here, but it was a bit over 50 years ago. In Oregon you had to be 12 to hunt big game back then. At about age six dad would always take my brother and me along for the ride. Up at 4am; pack into the old Land Rover; a stop at the Rainbow cafe for pancakes and hot chocolate; then the drive to the overlook. We'd be at the observation point at first light and watch dad scan below. We were well-behaved and quiet for about 2 hours, then all bets were off. Watched him take some amazing Mule Deer with incredible shots. I loved every minute of it. I had the opportunity to express to him my appreciation for those hunting trips before he passed. We both were pretty teared-up.

My first deer hunt was in 1964. We had few deer in the state and the season was only open for a few days and in a few counties. I used a nice pre-64 model 94. I never saw a deer. I didn't hunt deer again until 1971 when the season was for five days statewide. If I remember correctly, the herd was estimated at 30,000 statewide. I didn't kill my first deer until 1977 as all tags were "antlered deer only" and those bucks were far and few between. I have not missed a season since that 1971 year. They are a lot easier to find now as the herd in the state is well over a million.

Our rifle season starts the second Saturday of August. Some time in July I would take a shell out and put it in my pocket. Every time I put my had in my pocket, I was reminded that deer season was just around the corner. By deer season that shell was as shiny as a new one fresh out of the factory and it was THE SHELL that was going to get THE BUCK.
Back then we used to have a lot of friends, family and clients hunting the ranch so on the first weekend of deer season we might have up to 30 or 40 hunters. One year we took 40 bucks off the ranch on the first weekend. It was a big deal and as good as Christmas to a little kid.

Dad took me for the first time in 1979. I've not missed a season since.

Deer season is still the highlight of my year. In fact, lots of things in my life have been influenced by deer season. I bought the land where I live so I'd always have a place to hunt. The entire off season is spent preparing for the season in some form or another.

It's more than just a season to me -- it's a way of life. I wouldn't trade it or the experiences I've shared for anything.

I was 12, almost 13. My great grandfather was 92. Passing of the torch. He was there for my first buck. It was the last day he ever hunted. He died a year and a half later at age 94.

Tom

I was out of college and off on my own before a buddy of mine offered to go boar hunting with me. On the way back from a successful boar hunt in Tennessee we cooked up a scheme to bow hunt deer.

Jerry had an apple tree in his back yard that was getting savaged by a big buck night after night. He was breaking limbs and making a mess of things. Jerry had a bow, and started posting on his roof above the tree. I went out and bought a used bow and used the concrete roof of an abandoned communications shed on the adjoining hill. The buck was walking past the shed on the way to Jerry's apple tree.

Jerry managed to spook the buck somehow before I had a chance to hunt. I made it out on the weekend, and went to the blockhouse.
The sun started to come up. I heard a rustle below in the gloom. I got ready with my bow. Then I saw him.

The massive 12 pointer? No, it was a teenage kid that had squatted in the shack. He'd run away from home, because his folks told him to get rid of his dog. The dog came out too-- big German Shepard. There I was with an arrow nocked-- the kid nearly peed himself.

"Don't shoot, Mister."

Long story short, Jerry's idea of bowhunting his backyard was a miserable failure. However, it got me started. It took until mid-December to line up another place to hunt. This one was a farm 80 miles from town. I got a chance to scout it one evening for a few minutes after talking to the landowner.

Jerry and I set up a big hunting trip. I took off work. It started snowing about Noon. Jerry was late getting to the house. He finally showed up in his big white Caddy about dark. I wanted to get going, but Jerry said it had taken him 4 hours to get down from the north side of Cincinnati, and he was planning on staying the night. By morning we were snowed in.

The weather stayed cold the whole week. I finally took off work early one day and drove like a maniac out to the farm-- got in a half-hour of hunting before it was too dark to see. I stopped off at the farmhouse to get warm. On the drive back to town, I had to stop fast to avoid hitting a large buck. I heard something shift in the trunk, and when I got home, the limb of my bow was cracked.

So ended my first season of bow hunting.

in 1970 i shot my fist deer with a 410 slug in squirrel season,wasn't exactly legal and dad almost killed me. my older brother slipped me a slug and said shoot a deer with it if you see one,so i did just that. 2 years later my first legal rifle killed deer was shot with a 7.65arg at about 50yds between the eyes. i believe to this day that it was the biggest doe i've ever seen.it took 3 of us to fold her up enough to stuff her in the trunk of my old 70 nova.

in 1970 i shot my fist deer with a 410 slug in squirrel season,wasn't exactly legal and dad almost killed me. my older brother slipped me a slug and said shoot a deer with it if you see one,so i did just that. 2 years later my first legal rifle killed deer was shot with a 7.65arg at about 50yds between the eyes. i believe to this day that it was the biggest doe i've ever seen.it took 3 of us to fold her up enough to stuff her in the trunk of a 70 nova

Love these stories.

Speaking of the old .410. Back when this was legal for deer in MN, my college roommate shot and killed a huge black bear with his single shot. The bear came up on him and he got behind a tree and shot it from the hip on the other side. It was in Chisago County, not exactly great bear country. His uncles and father helped him get the big bruin back to the farm and cut up. He still has the rug in his home after finding a guy that would do it without a tag.

I was in my 20's before I discovered that people sit in stands.

In a week at my deer camp, most of the four of us that hunt every year, will take a stand for up to a full day or two, which I enjoy for the experience in and of itself. I may get there at 6:30 and don't climb down until at dark, which is about 5. Some days I see a nice deer to shoot or some to pass on, maybe a fox, an otter, a wolf, a few grouse, a bobcat, fisher, or just red squirrels and some chickadees and such.

When I started hunting there were no hang on stands. I incorporated those into the repertoire about 20 years or so ago. I started using a harness about 5 years ago. I used to move my hang on stands several times in a season, or even a day, but I am older now and it seems more like too much work. Although last hear I got a feeling and got one moved and hung in a large balsam fir by 4 PM and had a nice buck down on the ground by 4:20 PM. The day before I had wolf come right into a my doe bleat while still hunting a mile and half east of that spot. The year before two of the three bucks I shot were still hunting, and one from a hang on tree stand. I still like both, but can see the day where I will not climb a tree anymore.

Of course one's first success is a mile stone.. But the hunt I remember was my very first.. I was 12.. We didn't kill a deer that year, but my grandfather had a little lean to we watched out of for the first day.. Then we hunted some other spots as the season went on.. He was the guy who got me started hunting.. He took me with him when I was 5 and only had a little bow.. A year later, I got a pellet rifle.. The die was cast.. Hunting and shooting became life..
I remember the only shot we fired that year was grandfather shot at a rock the last day of season.. Made a good hit with his old model 54 .30-06.. That first season I was of legal age to hunt, was also his last season... Life takes some difficult turns..

When I started hunting deer were very scarce and a hot tip was when someone would relate that they knew a guy that thought he might have seem a deer track on a particular farm once in the past. Shoot a doe and go to jail.

One of the things I remember is going scouting with a old fellow my dad knew and we found a place where someone had put salt out on a stump. That old fellow about had a fit and I thought he was going to set up on the spot to not shoot the deer but the dirty poacher that would do such a unsportsmanlike like thing. I think about every once in a while when I see all the corn feeders deer attractors etc. that are in use today.

I started killing deer very young. Deer hunting was not fun, mostly it was a lot of work. I grew up in a very German family and kids were mostly the dogs. Deer hunting was making meat period. I liked eating venison, so I kept doing it.

I don't know as I got better at deer hunting, but over the years I have sure as hell have gotten a lot more efficient.

My wife's family is very German too. Hunting and all food procurement was part of work on the farm before the days of agribusiness and subsidies. It was more of a subsistence model. They are very business like and efficient about all work and activities. Once in awhile that seem like they are also having a little fun, but old ways are ingrained, and they mostly seem rather taciturn throughout it all. Later after a beer they talk about how relaxing the time away was�.only after any other urgent work needs to be done.

First hunt was in the late '60s on national forest land in Michigans upper peninsula with my dad, uncles and a couple cousins. Camp was two pickup campers and a tent. No 4wd or quads, you walked where you wanted to go. Does were strictly off limits. Tree stands and bait were illegal and people who attempted such were thought of as scum of the earth. Enclosed blinds found on federal land were set ablaze. I carried a Remington 141 in .30 Rem equipped with a "climbing Lyman" peep sight that belonged to my uncle. Found out I hunted all of opening day without a cartridge in the chamber. Didn't matter, I saw one deer (a doe) in a week of hunting and IIRC the only deer taken was a spike horn by one of my cousins. I was cold, wet and hungry most of the time, but I loved it! Hooked ever since, although hunter ethics of the past couple decades leaves me cold.

Food procurement. That's pretty well it. During the slave labor stints on the farm one of the "chores" was to walk out into the back part of the farm which was intermixed open and woods/brush to get the cows and bring them back for milking (more chores). From when I was old enough to be sent a mile or so out into the woods to get the cows I carried a .22 to what varmints and any grouse were willing to commit suicide. And, you didn't shoot them other than in the head a second time.