Our original plan called for morning and evening hunts both Saturday and Sunday on a beautiful little spot. A monsoon-like rain canceled our Saturday morning plans but the weather moderated for the evening hunt and we crawled into the ground blind at 3 p.m. Ninety minutes later Cody's first-ever encounter with buck fever reared its ugly head.
Cody first spotted the buck off to our right and whispered not to move as it was looking at us. Immediately, his breathing went from calm to labored and he was shaking. As it moved in front of us I was able to help Cody get the .243 rifle up onto the shooting sticks. The buck turned and was slightly quartered to us and stopped. We'd rehearsed where to aim during commercials of the KSU/ISU football game with a deer hunting DVD and a laser pointer before we left the house. Cody was spot-on with his quiz. Add to this the fact the buck was standing just outside bow range and I figured it was a done deal.
But throw buck fever into the mix and our best intentions flew right out the front window of the blind. The buck bolted at the shot and I didn't see any visual evidence of a hit. I could only see him for 15 yards before he got into some thick cedars. Cody asked if he got him.
But throw buck fever into the mix and our best intentions flew right out the front window of the blind. The buck bolted at the shot and I didn't see any visual evidence of a hit. I could only see him for 15 yards before he got into some thick cedars. Cody asked if he got him.
"I don't know, buddy, we'll have to go look," I told him not overly optimistic.
We went to where the buck stood and found nothing. Scanning the grass and leaves where he exited we also found no sign he had connected on his first buck. The more we looked the more dejected Cody became. He couldn't believe he could have missed as last year he killed his first deer, a doe, at 110 yards with a perfect shot. He wondered aloud how he could miss such an easy shot.
As much as I tried to console him it was obvious he was heartbroken and the huge disappointment was soon evident in a stream of tears. I tried to tell him that even adults with plenty of experience get shook up and miss deer on a regular basis. But that doesn't do much to help a 12-year-old cope knowing a near-perfect opportunity got away and the buck of his dreams was not to be on this day.
Sunday's hunts were on a beautiful, chilly day. The morning hunt yielded a near-shot opportunity when we fooled two of three does trying to get ready. The third one pegged us and they all bolted. The evening hunt found Cody with the cross hairs on a doe perfectly broadside in front of us. The bad news was there was another deer right behind her and he couldn't shoot. As we waited for one or the other to clear for a clean shot, coyotes cut loose way too close and the already edgy deer bolted.
As we topped the pond dam on the way back to the truck at dusk we watched as a half-dozen mallards left the mirrored surface of the water as silhouettes. It was a beautiful sight. I told my son I loved him and was glad to spend those hours hunting with him, even if he didn't get to put his tag on a deer.
These times with my boys, successful or not, are like shooting the buck of my dreams.
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