Jon Selander – Silver City, IA

Emily (my 12 yr old daughter) and I hit the timber at 2:15 pm. I had her all set up and comfortable by 2:25 pm. At 2:28 pm I decided that things were a little too slow. After all, we had been sitting silently (except for the occasional sniffle, and some light conversation) for 3 minutes. I stood up and told Em that I was going for a walk. I would try and scare some deer her way. We had a layer of ice on the snow, and every step I took made it sound like an elephant was walking in my shoes. I tried to make my steps sound like an overgrown squirrel by scampering a few steps at a time and then pausing, sometimes for up to 5 minutes.

After 20 minutes of this I was approaching the top of a hill from which I fully expected to see deer lurking on the other side. As I crested the hill, I was rewarded with the magnificent view of four deer (2 bucks and 2 does) gazing my way. They were apparently placing bets on just how big this squirrel was going to be. I did not have a good shooting lane at the bigger of the two bucks, but the smaller, (a nice 3×5) was standing broadside trying to intimidate me. I put my sights behind his front shoulder and squeezed the trigger.

Unknowingly, I had just shot the toughest buck in the state of Iowa. I watched as he careened to the bottom of the valley and started up the hill on the other side. He ran about 20 yards up the hill, slowed to a stop, then stumbled backwards five steps before falling to the ground. I watched his lifeless body for several minutes before turning my attention to the larger buck. He had moved out of gun range at this point, but was looking back at me with a smirk. I watched him for a few minutes through binoculars before he slowly turned away and ambled out of sight. 3 O’clock. Perfect. I started thinking about how to handle the situation. I needed to gut my deer, stop by and brag about my hunting prowess to my little girl, drag the deer to our truck, and then we could pack up and go to dinner.

I looked back at my dead deer. I looked harder. I put my binoculars to my eyes. Hmm, they must be broken. I could not find him through the lenses. Maybe he slid farther down the hill and was behind a tree. I walked to the spot he had died. Yep, blood all over the snow. His tracks led to his vacant impression in the snow. No deer. That’s funny I thought, dead deer can’t walk. Neither can they fly. Where did he go? I started the painstaking methodical search for clues by running in circles, wildly looking for evidence to help me uncover this mystery. Finally I found it. Spots of blood along the tracks ascending the hill. I took three steps in that direction before I heard him up ahead. He had lain down near the crest of a ridge in order to watch me abandon the search. When he saw the dogged determination etched in my face however, he decided it was time to move on.

I watched him stumble over the top of the ridge and out of sight. I had come to a crossroads. What to do. Should I go find my daughter and tell her what’s going on? I decided I’d probably better not do that. I mean, she knows I’m the best hunter she’ll ever meet. If I go back without my deer and ask for her help, I’ll destroy what she holds most dear in this world, my reputation. For her own sake I decided to leave her cold and alone, hoping that with all of the commotion, a curious deer would come by to check out the noise, and in doing so, would walk right into her waiting gun barrel. Lest you think I am a bad father, let me assure you, she is an experienced hunter. Her uncle had taken her hunting once before.

I scrambled to the top of the ridge and paused to catch my breath. Sure enough, blood and tracks cut across the ridge and down the hill. I cautiously followed at a dead run. When I finally got winded after 30 brutal yards, I stopped and looked around. No deer. I decided to take a more moderate approach. I started walking. Two hundred yards (and two ridges) later we again encountered one another. I saw him lurch to his feet in an effort to cross another ridge. I brought my 50 caliber Thompson Center muzzle loader to my shoulder and put another round into him. He stumbled, regained his footing, and cleared the daunting hill. Well, I thought, at least he’s heading back to where my Emily is waiting. I crossed the hill and found him in a small patch of timber. He was laying down with his head in the air and his eyes closed. I reloaded the gun and sat down to wait as he died. We were 10 feet apart.

Five minutes later found me still waiting. It was at this point that something totally unexpected happened. He opened his eyes, shook his head, looked right at me, and sprung to life. He heaved himself to his feet and hurled himself toward me. Being a grown man, and feeling perfectly at home in the wild, I panicked and pulled the trigger. He turned broadside and headed down the hill. I coolly walked after him. He crossed a clearing and stumbled into the woods ahead of me. As I neared the center of the clearing it occurred to me that I had carefully orchestrated the events of the afternoon to help my daughter shoot her first deer. Sure, I may have walked 2 miles already, but I was back to within sight of Emily; and remember, I had told her that I was going to scare some deer her way. I raised my hand and called to her.

As Emily covered the last few feet (of her uphill 200 yard walk through 8″ of snow) I informed her that I had strategically planned a way for her to get a big buck. I took some time to explain that I had painstakingly corralled him in her direction. She responded by asking me what all the shooting was about.

We walked into the woods together with me in the lead. I was trying to protect her in case the monster buck decided to have another go at grinding me into the dust. He lay 20 feet into the woods with his back to us but very much alive. “Okay, I told her, this is your chance to let me try again. Give me your gun.” She is a very obedient girl.

When I turned back to the buck, he jumped up and ran another 50 yards before laying down in some thick brush. We approached together as I prepared to shoot. When we were within 20 yards I carefully placed the cross hairs on his shoulder and pulled the trigger. This was one tough deer! He didn’t even flinch. I decided I must have hit an invisible branch. I’ve encountered those a lot while bow hunting.

Emily didn’t have any way to reload her 54 caliber Knight, so I pulled out my last 50 caliber sabot. I reloaded the Thompson Center and walked up the hill. When I was within ten yards I raised that gun for the last time and squeezed the trigger. Again, no reaction from the buck. (I am sure the dead log on the ground in front of deer will not run off again though.)

There we stood, my daughter and I, as I carefully explained to her that my sights must have gotten bumped as I beat my way through the brush pursuing this bruiser. She nodded in agreement. There is no other way her papa could miss such a simple shot.

We devised a plan in which she would wait by the deer as I trudged a half mile back to the truck to get my “just in case” shotgun. Thirty minutes later I was back, minus two muzzle loaders, but weilding a 12 gauge shotgun loaded with six slugs. We talked for a few minutes and decided that it would be best if I could hit the deer before dark. (It was dusk at this point). When I looked back at our quarry he was gone.

To make a long story shorter, we followed him for another half mile and six more shots before we had to walk back to the truck for more ammunition. My sixth shot went through his front shoulder but he hadn’t seem to care. (In my defense, after the fifth shot with the Winchester 12 gauge we learned that the rifled slugs were hitting 4 feet right and 3 feet high at just 15 yards)

At seven pm we were again with the deer. I was two hours late at this point from picking up my other two daughters from their Nana’s house so that we could embark on our shopping spree. When Emily and I approached the deer with our recently reloaded, but highly inaccurate shotgun, he once again sprung to life. (I should mention at this point that I had reservations about shooting him again because I didn’t want to destroy the meat, and it was well past legal shooting light.) He pulled himself almost erect as he tried to sprint for cover. He had already been shot through the left lung, the left rear leg, and the front right shoulder. His body though contorted almost immediately and he fell to the ground with his head facing downhill. Upon impact he slid toward me on the icy snow. I brought my gun to my shoulder as his antlers dug into the earth. This acted as an emergency brake for his head, yet his body continued to plummet downhill. In a split second his body slammed the top of his head into the snow before it catapulted sideways and snapped his neck.

Emily looked over at me as if to question what we had just witnessed. As a dad who has vowed to be completely honest with my girls, I answered her inquiring look.
“Honey, the Lord apparently doesn’t trust my shooting anymore so he decided to finish this himself!”

Jon Selander
Silver City, IA