by Lee Powell
I was laying down on my stomach with the crisp, late-autumn air making my face red. My elbows propped up my shoulders and head so I could see over my bag, which my rifle leaned on, with the stock under my chest and the muzzle pointing into the field. I did this so when I saw a deer, all I had to do was twist the rifle upright, mount it upon my shoulder, and aim. I was laying down in the woods on the edge of the field, but the muzzle of the rifle was barely stuck out in the field when I took a deep breath and aimed on the first deer. It was Thomas’s land I was hunting on, and he told me not to shoot a buck, so I was trying to respect that. It was early evening with the setting sun giving the east side of the field an orange glow. This glow ended about halfway between me, on the West side of the property, and the East side. The half I was on was already in the shade, for the low sun could not shine where I was with the pine trees blocking out the rays.
The field I was in is shaped like a leg, but a leg where the shin bends back out over the toe. The calf side of the leg is nonexistent, and where the top of the ankle would turn into the calf, instead of continuing to go up, it folds over, forming a peninsula of trees between the ankle of the boot and the rest of the field. The ankle of the boot is about the middle of the field, and everything within the boot is the West side of the field, and the rest is the East. Thomas was located in the rest of the field. I was located on the top of the foot looking into the toe, with about 15 yards of trees between me and where the shin bends out over the toe. I located myself in this position so I could see into the toe of the boot, and also have a short distance between me and where the shin bends back. I could see as far as the peninsula, but that was about 350 yards from where I was, and in the direction of Thomas, so I would not shoot anything that way. It was about this time when two walked out of the trees on the bottom of the foot, one after the other, with the second one delayed about 15 seconds behind the first one. The latter had a very visible cow-horn sticking out of one side of his head, but it was only one horn, not two. He was lackadaisical in his pursuit of the first. This made me think that the first was a doe being chased by a lazy buck in early December.
I examined the first deer and saw no antlers, but it was possible that my eyes were deceiving me from 150-175 yards out. I was laying down on my stomach with the crisp, late-autumn air making my face red. My elbows propped up my shoulders and head so I could see over my bag, which my rifle leaned on, with the stock under my chest and the muzzle pointing into the field. I did this so when I saw a deer, all I had to do was twist the rifle upright, mount it upon my shoulder, and aim. I was laying down in the woods on the edge of the field, but the muzzle of the rifle was barely stuck out in the field when I took a deep breath and aimed on the first deer. It was Thomas’s land I was hunting on, and he told me not to shoot a buck, so I was trying to respect that. I waited until it stopped walking, and I squeezed the trigger. The deer fell instantly, with no further movement. Its one-horned companion ran back to the wood-line, stopped, looked for the source of the sound, sensed nothing, then disappeared.
This made me happy. Not just because we wouldn’t have to trek through the woods searching for a blood trail, and not just because it re-affirmed how good of a shot I am, but because this deer died instantly as it happily ate away at left over soybeans forsaken by the combine. It never had any worry or pain. I laid there, settled down, and answered the text from my friend. “Get her?” The adrenaline caused a typo in my answer: “yesdir”. About thirty minutes later, when it was almost dark, I peaked into the shin of the boot. I saw many doe and took a literal shot in the dark from the middle of the field and missed. It was a stupid shot with little chance of success, but at least I made sure if it was safe shot. I then walked to dead deer, drug it to the truck, and took it to Flower’s Beef slaughter.
The deer I shot turned out to be a small buck, but Thomas was forgiving and said that he didn’t want bucks that size on his land anyway, so no harm done. I was grateful to him for this. When I returned home, my family was in the middle of supper, and they had grilled a steak for me. I sat down, relaxed, and enjoyed a perfectly marinated steak. I turned on college football and dozed off to sleep as I once more lay on my stomach to end a perfect Saturday night.
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