By Cameron Pauli
My first time came shortly after turning 25. I guess you could say I was a bit of a late bloomer. General lack of interest and years of inexperience had plagued earlier feeble attempts, but this time things were different. Despite sweaty hands and a racing heart, I felt confident that I could finally seal the deal on one of the most intimate and unforgettable moments of a young man’s life.
Harvesting a whitetail with a bow.
The memory of that first deer will forever burn bright in my mind. A light northeast wind rolled across my face as I sat in my treestand. For the past two evenings, a mature twelve-pointer had shown up, but at a distance that made for an uncomfortable shot. It was the peak of the rut and moving my setup would be risky, but the opportunity to harvest a mature buck for my first deer made it worth the gamble.
Sitting there, I visualized the shot. The deer had come down the trail from the same direction each time he passed behind me. Surely he would follow a similar pattern tonight, and if so, I would have an easy 15-yard broadside shot right before dark.
Two hours into my sit, a smaller buck came down the trail from the opposite direction. I counted four points on one side, and two on the other. He was nowhere near as big as the buck I was after, but then doubt set in I began debating with myself on whether or not I should take a shot at this smaller deer, to fill my buck tag.
After a few minutes of munching on twigs, the deer moved in and presented me with a 12-yard broadside shot – just as I had visualized the bigger deer doing. This was the moment I had been waiting for; an opportunity for an ethical shot on a whitetail. I no longer cared about the twelve-pointer – my heart raced as I made my decision. I cleared my mind and focused my entire being on the buck in front of me. I remember the sound of his breath, his calm demeanor as he strolled through the woods, and I took it all in knowing that my arrow would soon find its mark. I let the arrow fly.
The buck barely made it 20 yards before collapsing. My arrow had flown straight through his heart, a shot that I was thankful to make for the deer’s sake. Kneeling next to him, I quietly thanked him. .
For me, killing an animal has always been a sacred experience. Those moments when I stare down a barrel or look through a peep sight are very intimate, as I know the next action I take could end the life of a living creature. An action that has only intensified my respect for the fragility of life.
That responsibility and those feelings just don’t happen when pulling a cellophane-wrapped steak from the cooler at Wal-Mart.