A Short Story of Firsts - by Native Texan
“He’s just five and a half years old and on his first real deer hunt,” I thought as I gazed upon my grandson, Cooper, quietly asleep next to me in the old box blind. “That single shot .223 rifle is about as long as he is tall.” I mused. Pride and love overwhelmed me like a warm, cozy blanket as I savored the moment for which I had prayed for so long. Cooper and I were hunting on our very first deer hunt. My dream had finally come true.
It was late December, 2007 and it was really cold. The predicted cold, rainy day dawned upon us all too slowly. There was no heat in the blind except for our insulated clothes and a blanket for Cooper. Our blind overlooked a well-used feeder that sat in a clearing where several well-used game trails culminated at the feeder like spokes of a wheel.
As dawn gently lit the brush that surrounded us, I gently nudged Cooper awake and coaxed him upright as he yawned and stretched. He looked at me with sleepy eyes and then looked out the window at the frozen brush around us, no doubt eager to see a passing deer. I whispered for Cooper to be alert and be ready, adding to his excitement by getting his rifle ready as he peered out the window.
Cooper had talked about our trip for over a week, frequently reminding me of his upcoming hunt. This morning, the 3:00 AM alarm went off with an unwelcome clatter and instantly Cooper was awake and on the floor reaching for his hunting clothes. His excitement had not waned a bit. He quietly dressed himself in the dark, calling to me, “Paw Paw, get up! It’s time to go hunting.” I did so with great enthusiasm as my little buddy and I were going hunting. With the truck loaded, and on the road, my little man took a welcomed nap on the hour and a half-long ride to our place.
This is a story of “Firsts”, not a story about harvesting a monster buck, bear, or some exotic game animal. Rather it’s a story about a little boy’s first real deer hunt, with his first real rifle, and the love efforts that were invested into making it happen. It’s a story about a little boy’s first triumph over an animal senses and instincts, a harvest of pure excitement and joy, and a harvest that was going to be fun and exciting as well as for the most primordial reason: to bring home meat for the table. It’s a story about a first for a Paw Paw who loved his grandson so much that he unselfishly spent a great deal of time and patience to make his grandson's first deer hunt a very memorable one. Finally, it’s a story of the training a child who is learning to hunt and being introduced to hunting experience in the outdoor world of hunting.
Daily, children experience many “Firsts”. In order to help produce a stable and productive citizen, we must create a controlled, loving, and patient environment for a child to experience healthy “Firsts” where the child is taught good ethics and morals. That environment may also aid in creating skilled and ethical hunters. This goal may be effectively achieved when the molding or teaching process contains a lineage of seasoned, ethical hunters from which the child may draw from their experience. Proper parenting is paramount in the child’s future. When it comes to hunting with any weapon, a child must learn “Firsts” correctly and safely while under the supervision of patient hunting mentors.
I so appreciate and completely agree with Dr. Dave Samuel’s article, “Kids Must Learn to Hunt”, (Bowhunter Magazine, May/June, 2008). The word “Learn” in the title impressed upon me a responsibility to teach a child to hunt; whether it be with a bow or rifle. It starts with me and it’s never too late for “children 2-100" to learn. The word “Learn” has three components of responsibility. Learning to hunt involves experiencing many new Firsts: (1) Teaching correct fundamentals to impart knowledge and experience, (2) Requiring a child to read or be read to from quality magazines and books adds to knowledge, and (3) Apply the knowledge in the outdoors and experience the hunt. Proper hunting knowledge and experience that is not applied is useless. Take a child to the field, forests, woods, and brush. Walk, observe, point out, and talk to him or her. Let the child talk to you. You will learn what the child is thinking. You may add, correct, and/or teach further. Experience that does not immediately produce success allows us to learn from our mistakes. We can then create a useful database of knowledge to instruct our children to be better hunters. A child must have skilled, willing teachers even before the child is allowed to go into the field with a bow or rifle. The word "learn" also carries with it the implication that all hunter-parents, grand parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even friends who hunt, have a moral and ethical responsibility to provide a child with the opportunity of at least a “First” sacred hunting experience. Acquiring the desire to hunt is an important first for any child. I am certain that all I did kindled Cooper’s desire and excitement to hunt.
At five, Cooper was tall enough and weighed enough to shoot the single shot, youth model, .223 caliber rifle. Since he was two years old, I had cultivated and nurtured his hunting interest by watching hunting videos together, talked about both bow and rifle hunting experiences, watched quality outdoor TV, and role played hunting scenarios as if we were in the stand on an actual hunt. Since I did not have a hunting place of lease yet, we "hunted on the couch". Cooper learned how to sit still, whisper, and point if he saw a deer on the screen. I was hoping that by starting his instruction early, supervising his practice, these would contribute to Cooper's success in the field. I was hoping that he would absorb all the elements of hunting and they would become second nature to him as he continued his hunting experiences in life. In January 2006, the Lord blessed us with a place of our own that had deer, hogs, turkey, and small game on it.
By summer’s end, in late August 2007, Cooper turned five. For Christmas, I had purchased a single-shot, youth model .223 for him at a local sporting goods store some months earlier. Cooper received his new rifle in October as an early Christmas present. Cooper got his first rifle range experience in early October. I was deeply concerned that the muzzle blasts from all the large caliber rifles might scare or at least distract Cooper to the degree he would not be able to shoot. I decided that if he got scared, I would remove him from the line and try again next year. As Cooper began his trigger time, and with his ear protection on, I was very much surprised and pleased that his first 50 yard groups were bulls eyes and 2-3 inch groups overall in spite of the big guns nearby. He repeated this feat during the second shooting session. A few more trips to the range and, "Wow!". He was ready to shoot from the box blind at our place. The distance to the feeder was ranged at exactly 60 yards. “BBB.” I thought.
In the dark blind, Cooper and I sat cozily out of the cold, damp wind. The temperature hovered below 30 while a stiff north wind blew a slow, steady drizzle which pelted the blind’s tin roof like a snare drum. Cooper sat bundled up from head to toe in mossy oak, his pockets filled with hand warmers, He looked really stealthy in his face mask and gloves. He was holding his deer rifle in his lap. Carefully he rested the forearm of the small black .223 on the padded window sill. Already he showed the steely look of a hunter: wide-awake, silently scanning the edges of the thick woods for any bucks or does sneaking toward their beds. It was getting light and the brush was coming alive.
About 7:30 AM, Cooper’s alert senses caught sight of deer running down the tree line in front of us. I saw them enter the clearing just after Cooper whispered breathlessly, “Paw Paw”, “There’s some deer!” I nodded helping him raise his rifle to his camo-clad shoulder. The deer were about 80 yards away and walking parallel to the feeder. They appeared to be all does but I knew that from earlier scouting, I had seen at least one shooter buck and a spike running with the does. He took up his practiced shooting position behind the little rifle. Just as suddenly as the deer had appeared, they vanished into the thick brush. Cooper and I looked at each other through our masks. I saw his First raw look of disbelief and disappointment in his eyes even though the rest of his little face was hidden by mossy oak. It was getting later and the deer did not return.
Slowly, he lowered the rifle. It was damage control time. “Not all deer stop for us to shoot, even though it may look that way on the hunting shows," I told him. "We’ll have to work a little harder next time to make them stop buddy, and we’ll try late this afternoon,” I added. He nodded his head in understanding and accepting the reality that he did not get to harvest a deer this morning. Hoping to see more deer, we stayed in the stand a while longer. Coloring books, Batman and Spiderman figures soon replaced alertness. Paw Paw took over the vigil but from time-to-time in between Batman and Spidy flights, Cooper returned to the window to lend a hand until 9:30 AM. We had seen nothing after the deer ran past us at dawn.
After a much-needed lunch and a short nap, and with improved weather taking the place of the drizzly cold, we geared up, sprayed ourselves down, and returned to our blinds for the evening hunt. Cooper looked every bit the hunter except in miniature size. Before climbing into our blind, Cooper learned about the hows and whys of putting out scent attractant and spreading a little feed around the perimeter of the feeder. Minutes of scanning the tree line and brush piles, more coloring, little catnaps, and quiet superhero fights with imaginary villains helped pass the time until that magic hour before dark.
About 4:30 PM with light fading, and recalling the lesson that deer appear near dark, Cooper became super alert as he saw the fading light produce long shadows over the clearing; hearing for the first time the critters of the night beginning their concerts. With about 10 minutes of daylight remaining, I concerned myself with some small house-keeping duties and packed away small things. Suddenly, Cooper caught me off guard with an excited whisper, “Paw Paw, there’s a deer!” My blood pressure ramped up a few points right then as I was both proud he had been alert to see the deer and had not shouted it out. "Where's the deer?", I asked quietly. “Behind that brush pile.”, he whispered. I couldn’t see the deer so I reached for my binoculars behind my chair and came up with nothing but air. Then I remembered I had packed them away. Rookie mistake! I’m blind as a bat without binos. I took the rifle and I looked through the scope. There, behind the brush pile just like Cooper said, about 80 yards away, stood a big doe with her head sticking straight up like an old gobbler. It looked like she was looking right at our blind with interest.
“Get ready. They’re coming to the feeder.", I whispered. I took one of my gloves and put it on the bare windowsill. Cooper quietly got into position. We watched the deer; several does and yearlings walk quickly to the feeder and begin to feed on the scattered corn on the ground. There did not appear to be any bucks with them, at least not that I could see. As deer settled in to feed near the feeder, two nice does about five feet apart turned broadside. “Perfect shots,” I thought. As quietly as I could, I cocked the hammer back on the little rifle. “Put your crosshairs on the doe in the front; right on her shoulder,” I coached. “I can’t see the deer, Paw Paw.” “Oh no. He won’t get his deer today” I thought. Panic-stricken I looked at the scope. “The caps are off. What’s wrong?” I looked at the angle of the gun and saw it was pointing away from the feeder. “He can’t see the deer because he can’t find them in his scope,” I reasoned. Leaning in behind him I “sighted” down the gun barrel and straightened the rifle toward the broadside does. Again I said, “Put the cross hairs on her shoulder. The one in the front. Do you see her?” “I got it; I got it!” was Cooper's excited and breathless reply. “Ok. Hold steady. Shoot her,” I said. Nada. “Shoot her!” I was hoping and praying the doe wouldn’t move. BOOM! The roar of the little rifle startled me as I was looking at the feeder. The doe went down in her tracks. Deer scattered everywhere from the feeder and behind the brush pile. “Did I get her?” Cooper asked, wide-eyed and breathless. “Yes you did, buddy! Yes you did!” I whispered with equal breathlessness and excitement. A sixty yard shot and a big doe was down in her tracks.
Cooper and I gave each other several high five’s. I pounded him on the back and hugged him telling him what a great job he did and that I was so proud of him. He was smiling from ear to ear behind his mask. I looked again. The doe was down for good.
A short while later, as Cooper stood admiring the harvest of his first doe, we thanked the Lord for His beautiful and healthy gift, and for the lessons of that made his first-ever deer hunting experience a success. I looked at Cooper and asked him what he was feeling before he shot his doe. He looked up at me and said, “Paw Paw, I was shaking so much.”
It was late December, 2007 and it was really cold. The predicted cold, rainy day dawned upon us all too slowly. There was no heat in the blind except for our insulated clothes and a blanket for Cooper. Our blind overlooked a well-used feeder that sat in a clearing where several well-used game trails culminated at the feeder like spokes of a wheel.
As dawn gently lit the brush that surrounded us, I gently nudged Cooper awake and coaxed him upright as he yawned and stretched. He looked at me with sleepy eyes and then looked out the window at the frozen brush around us, no doubt eager to see a passing deer. I whispered for Cooper to be alert and be ready, adding to his excitement by getting his rifle ready as he peered out the window.
Cooper had talked about our trip for over a week, frequently reminding me of his upcoming hunt. This morning, the 3:00 AM alarm went off with an unwelcome clatter and instantly Cooper was awake and on the floor reaching for his hunting clothes. His excitement had not waned a bit. He quietly dressed himself in the dark, calling to me, “Paw Paw, get up! It’s time to go hunting.” I did so with great enthusiasm as my little buddy and I were going hunting. With the truck loaded, and on the road, my little man took a welcomed nap on the hour and a half-long ride to our place.
This is a story of “Firsts”, not a story about harvesting a monster buck, bear, or some exotic game animal. Rather it’s a story about a little boy’s first real deer hunt, with his first real rifle, and the love efforts that were invested into making it happen. It’s a story about a little boy’s first triumph over an animal senses and instincts, a harvest of pure excitement and joy, and a harvest that was going to be fun and exciting as well as for the most primordial reason: to bring home meat for the table. It’s a story about a first for a Paw Paw who loved his grandson so much that he unselfishly spent a great deal of time and patience to make his grandson's first deer hunt a very memorable one. Finally, it’s a story of the training a child who is learning to hunt and being introduced to hunting experience in the outdoor world of hunting.
Daily, children experience many “Firsts”. In order to help produce a stable and productive citizen, we must create a controlled, loving, and patient environment for a child to experience healthy “Firsts” where the child is taught good ethics and morals. That environment may also aid in creating skilled and ethical hunters. This goal may be effectively achieved when the molding or teaching process contains a lineage of seasoned, ethical hunters from which the child may draw from their experience. Proper parenting is paramount in the child’s future. When it comes to hunting with any weapon, a child must learn “Firsts” correctly and safely while under the supervision of patient hunting mentors.
I so appreciate and completely agree with Dr. Dave Samuel’s article, “Kids Must Learn to Hunt”, (Bowhunter Magazine, May/June, 2008). The word “Learn” in the title impressed upon me a responsibility to teach a child to hunt; whether it be with a bow or rifle. It starts with me and it’s never too late for “children 2-100" to learn. The word “Learn” has three components of responsibility. Learning to hunt involves experiencing many new Firsts: (1) Teaching correct fundamentals to impart knowledge and experience, (2) Requiring a child to read or be read to from quality magazines and books adds to knowledge, and (3) Apply the knowledge in the outdoors and experience the hunt. Proper hunting knowledge and experience that is not applied is useless. Take a child to the field, forests, woods, and brush. Walk, observe, point out, and talk to him or her. Let the child talk to you. You will learn what the child is thinking. You may add, correct, and/or teach further. Experience that does not immediately produce success allows us to learn from our mistakes. We can then create a useful database of knowledge to instruct our children to be better hunters. A child must have skilled, willing teachers even before the child is allowed to go into the field with a bow or rifle. The word "learn" also carries with it the implication that all hunter-parents, grand parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even friends who hunt, have a moral and ethical responsibility to provide a child with the opportunity of at least a “First” sacred hunting experience. Acquiring the desire to hunt is an important first for any child. I am certain that all I did kindled Cooper’s desire and excitement to hunt.
At five, Cooper was tall enough and weighed enough to shoot the single shot, youth model, .223 caliber rifle. Since he was two years old, I had cultivated and nurtured his hunting interest by watching hunting videos together, talked about both bow and rifle hunting experiences, watched quality outdoor TV, and role played hunting scenarios as if we were in the stand on an actual hunt. Since I did not have a hunting place of lease yet, we "hunted on the couch". Cooper learned how to sit still, whisper, and point if he saw a deer on the screen. I was hoping that by starting his instruction early, supervising his practice, these would contribute to Cooper's success in the field. I was hoping that he would absorb all the elements of hunting and they would become second nature to him as he continued his hunting experiences in life. In January 2006, the Lord blessed us with a place of our own that had deer, hogs, turkey, and small game on it.
By summer’s end, in late August 2007, Cooper turned five. For Christmas, I had purchased a single-shot, youth model .223 for him at a local sporting goods store some months earlier. Cooper received his new rifle in October as an early Christmas present. Cooper got his first rifle range experience in early October. I was deeply concerned that the muzzle blasts from all the large caliber rifles might scare or at least distract Cooper to the degree he would not be able to shoot. I decided that if he got scared, I would remove him from the line and try again next year. As Cooper began his trigger time, and with his ear protection on, I was very much surprised and pleased that his first 50 yard groups were bulls eyes and 2-3 inch groups overall in spite of the big guns nearby. He repeated this feat during the second shooting session. A few more trips to the range and, "Wow!". He was ready to shoot from the box blind at our place. The distance to the feeder was ranged at exactly 60 yards. “BBB.” I thought.
In the dark blind, Cooper and I sat cozily out of the cold, damp wind. The temperature hovered below 30 while a stiff north wind blew a slow, steady drizzle which pelted the blind’s tin roof like a snare drum. Cooper sat bundled up from head to toe in mossy oak, his pockets filled with hand warmers, He looked really stealthy in his face mask and gloves. He was holding his deer rifle in his lap. Carefully he rested the forearm of the small black .223 on the padded window sill. Already he showed the steely look of a hunter: wide-awake, silently scanning the edges of the thick woods for any bucks or does sneaking toward their beds. It was getting light and the brush was coming alive.
About 7:30 AM, Cooper’s alert senses caught sight of deer running down the tree line in front of us. I saw them enter the clearing just after Cooper whispered breathlessly, “Paw Paw”, “There’s some deer!” I nodded helping him raise his rifle to his camo-clad shoulder. The deer were about 80 yards away and walking parallel to the feeder. They appeared to be all does but I knew that from earlier scouting, I had seen at least one shooter buck and a spike running with the does. He took up his practiced shooting position behind the little rifle. Just as suddenly as the deer had appeared, they vanished into the thick brush. Cooper and I looked at each other through our masks. I saw his First raw look of disbelief and disappointment in his eyes even though the rest of his little face was hidden by mossy oak. It was getting later and the deer did not return.
Slowly, he lowered the rifle. It was damage control time. “Not all deer stop for us to shoot, even though it may look that way on the hunting shows," I told him. "We’ll have to work a little harder next time to make them stop buddy, and we’ll try late this afternoon,” I added. He nodded his head in understanding and accepting the reality that he did not get to harvest a deer this morning. Hoping to see more deer, we stayed in the stand a while longer. Coloring books, Batman and Spiderman figures soon replaced alertness. Paw Paw took over the vigil but from time-to-time in between Batman and Spidy flights, Cooper returned to the window to lend a hand until 9:30 AM. We had seen nothing after the deer ran past us at dawn.
After a much-needed lunch and a short nap, and with improved weather taking the place of the drizzly cold, we geared up, sprayed ourselves down, and returned to our blinds for the evening hunt. Cooper looked every bit the hunter except in miniature size. Before climbing into our blind, Cooper learned about the hows and whys of putting out scent attractant and spreading a little feed around the perimeter of the feeder. Minutes of scanning the tree line and brush piles, more coloring, little catnaps, and quiet superhero fights with imaginary villains helped pass the time until that magic hour before dark.
About 4:30 PM with light fading, and recalling the lesson that deer appear near dark, Cooper became super alert as he saw the fading light produce long shadows over the clearing; hearing for the first time the critters of the night beginning their concerts. With about 10 minutes of daylight remaining, I concerned myself with some small house-keeping duties and packed away small things. Suddenly, Cooper caught me off guard with an excited whisper, “Paw Paw, there’s a deer!” My blood pressure ramped up a few points right then as I was both proud he had been alert to see the deer and had not shouted it out. "Where's the deer?", I asked quietly. “Behind that brush pile.”, he whispered. I couldn’t see the deer so I reached for my binoculars behind my chair and came up with nothing but air. Then I remembered I had packed them away. Rookie mistake! I’m blind as a bat without binos. I took the rifle and I looked through the scope. There, behind the brush pile just like Cooper said, about 80 yards away, stood a big doe with her head sticking straight up like an old gobbler. It looked like she was looking right at our blind with interest.
“Get ready. They’re coming to the feeder.", I whispered. I took one of my gloves and put it on the bare windowsill. Cooper quietly got into position. We watched the deer; several does and yearlings walk quickly to the feeder and begin to feed on the scattered corn on the ground. There did not appear to be any bucks with them, at least not that I could see. As deer settled in to feed near the feeder, two nice does about five feet apart turned broadside. “Perfect shots,” I thought. As quietly as I could, I cocked the hammer back on the little rifle. “Put your crosshairs on the doe in the front; right on her shoulder,” I coached. “I can’t see the deer, Paw Paw.” “Oh no. He won’t get his deer today” I thought. Panic-stricken I looked at the scope. “The caps are off. What’s wrong?” I looked at the angle of the gun and saw it was pointing away from the feeder. “He can’t see the deer because he can’t find them in his scope,” I reasoned. Leaning in behind him I “sighted” down the gun barrel and straightened the rifle toward the broadside does. Again I said, “Put the cross hairs on her shoulder. The one in the front. Do you see her?” “I got it; I got it!” was Cooper's excited and breathless reply. “Ok. Hold steady. Shoot her,” I said. Nada. “Shoot her!” I was hoping and praying the doe wouldn’t move. BOOM! The roar of the little rifle startled me as I was looking at the feeder. The doe went down in her tracks. Deer scattered everywhere from the feeder and behind the brush pile. “Did I get her?” Cooper asked, wide-eyed and breathless. “Yes you did, buddy! Yes you did!” I whispered with equal breathlessness and excitement. A sixty yard shot and a big doe was down in her tracks.
Cooper and I gave each other several high five’s. I pounded him on the back and hugged him telling him what a great job he did and that I was so proud of him. He was smiling from ear to ear behind his mask. I looked again. The doe was down for good.
A short while later, as Cooper stood admiring the harvest of his first doe, we thanked the Lord for His beautiful and healthy gift, and for the lessons of that made his first-ever deer hunting experience a success. I looked at Cooper and asked him what he was feeling before he shot his doe. He looked up at me and said, “Paw Paw, I was shaking so much.”
He will be 8 this year and he hasn't missed yet. Memories like this never go away! Great job, Dad!
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