The start of one amazing adventure

“There’s a buck!” Uncle Scott said, “ I think it’s a shooter!”

What happened next was a mad scramble for bows, releases and rangefinders, as our once well-organized gear became strewn about the ground.

The buck walked a mere 20 yards away from the outskirts of camp, watching us with an amused look on his face, his perfectly symmetrical 2x2 rack sticking out like a billboard saying ‘better luck next year!’

Having been in camp only 15 minutes, we all found this little guy pretty amusing and dubbed him “Leroy,” as he sauntered to the shade of a Sitka spruce only 20 yards from camp. The amused look on his face never left as he bedded and commenced watching us gathering our gear that had been thrown haphazardly around.

This was the start of our 2011 wilderness hunt.

Fresh off the excitement of having a “camp deer” and wanting to get a feel for the area, I quickly unpacked the rest of my gear and dawned my camo. Pete was the first to comment: so you’re going on a Jameson walk? It should be noted that a ‘Jameson walk’ has become synonymous over the years as either being filled with a. close encounters, or b. a successful harvest of an animal. Just the mere utterance means that something odd may happen.

This ran through my head as I eased my bow back down from full-draw. I had been working through the clearings near camp in hope that a mule deer or bear would take full advantage of the full moon phase and head for the open meadows. With the light fading quickly I progressed into the final clearing near camp.

Entering the opening I noticed the gray hind end of a deer not 20 yards to my left, half-obscured by berry plants. Quickly nocking an arrow I peered through the brush, looking for the signs of a shooter buck but all my binoculars showed was the perfect 2x2 rack of good old Leroy.

Another flash of gray caught my eye, as a deer fed away from the meadow to my right. Adjusting my Leupold binoculars once more I focused on another buck. He was a small-framed 3x3 with a small sliver of velvet hanging down on one side of his rack. My rangefinder flashed 34 yards, as he quartered away from me, his head lodged in the foliage.

Coming to draw, I settled my glowing sight pins behind the bucks shoulder blade. It was at this point a strange thing happened: I second-guessed myself. Easing my bow back down, still undetected, I thought of the 15 days of hunting yet to come and the realization that I had only been in the backcountry for a mere 5 hours and was about to release an arrow.

“Never pass up a buck on the first day that you would be happy to harvest on the last day,” was what Uncle Scott had told me not two hours before. ‘He’s right’ I thought to myself, as I eased my bow back, once again settling my pins on the buck, easing into my shot sequence.

In a flash my broadhead tipped arrow was in flight, contacting the exact point I had aimed for, connecting with a “CRACK!” The buck immediately sprinted for cover, lunging several times and crashing to the ground a mere 30 yards from the point of contact.

An incredible sense of relief rushed over me, as I replayed what had just transpired, pleased with the fact I had made a clean, ethical shot and would be able to fill my freezer with some amazing venison.

As we hung the buck in camp Uncle Scott, Pete, Rick and I joked about being in camp only five hours and having a 3x3 Mule deer down, and how it was sure to be the start of one amazing adventure. Little did we know what the very next day had in store…