I suspect that my brain might be getting pretty full since I am having a hard time remembering things these days. However, I still remember my first deer hunt like it was yesterday.

I’m not sure where I got the hunting bug. My dad was a car guy, and not all that fond of the outdoors. He told me he killed an elk once and by the time they got it back to the car, he had had enough fun to last a lifetime. My mom grew up on a ranch and liked to hunt, but hadn’t done any for a long time.

However it happened, it happened early. I have wanted to hunt since I was just a little guy.

About the time I turned 11, ODFW raised the minimum age to hunt from 12 to 14. I thought I was going to die. After what felt like a couple of centuries, I finally had a tag and must have acted like a jackrabbit on crack.

Dad owned a perfectly serviceable rifle, but in a supreme act of love, took me to the hardware store and bought me my very own rifle. A Winchester 30-30 that kicked like a mule.

Of course, the night before the season I didn’t sleep a wink. I was terrified Dad would go without me, which was a laugh. He didn’t even have a tag.

I had been reading Louis L’Amour westerns and the hero cut X’s in the nose of his bullets so they would expand better, so I did the same thing with my bullets. Today I look back and just shake my head.

Finally Dad got up, made us his signature cheese and egg sandwiches and we were off in the predawn darkness. I have no idea where we went, but we didn’t see any deer the first couple of hours and I was slipping into depression.

Dad suggested we circle a little knob and we jumped a deer, but didn’t see what it was. Back at the truck we talked and decided to do it again, and again jumped a deer without getting a look at it.

When we got back to the truck I glanced down the road, and standing there 50 yards away was a buck! To this day I am still amazed I had the composure to shoot at it, much less hit it, but hit it I did.

I would have been happy with anything, but it turned out to be a pretty nice three point.

I was a little surprised Dad knew how to clean it, but it is a good thing he did. It was nothing like the description in my hunter safety class.

We drove home, and hung him up in the garage, and the next weekend, Mom showed me how to butcher him. It has been a downhill slide ever since.

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