Tell me about your first deer

Man what some good stories! Mine was 1976 in Alabama running deer with dogs. a nice 6 point point ran my way and came across the power line where thirty of us were "on stand". Two shots of double ought and he was mine. I still have that rack, and all the memories!!!

Very first deer was a button head. Stephens 12 gauge buck shot. Running dogs, me, and two of my cousins killed our first deer that day. Since we were moving with the dogs, I took an extra vest with me, drug my deer about 20 foot to the dirt road, put the extra orange vest in him, tied him to a tree and caught up with everyone else. I was 10 and wanted to make sure we could find my deer and he couldn't run off.

GOD Sent This One For Me!

This is an AMAZING story! It was the last morning of our 5 days in Meriwether County - Alvaton to be specific; it was November 21, 1993 and it was colder than a witches you know what. Jerry said, "I am gonna sleep in, but you should take the 4wheeler town to the swamp and walk down to the branch off the Flint- there is a climber on a sweet gum and I know there is a "big 'un" down there." What the heck?, I thought. I had never been down there and it was 5am and 28 degrees. But, I was determined to kill my first deer - a "big 'un" would be just fine... So I saddled up and drove down to the bottom and ambled through ankle deep water hoping I could fine this stand. " You can't miss it," Jerry said. "Follow the path into the thick bottom and just keep on walking until you come to the marsh, cross through it and pick up the path again and keep walking until you reach the branch off the river. It is about a 200 yards in. His trail is along the branch. Take a right and walk about 75 yards until you see the stand on the ground...you can't miss it!" Holy poop!! This was a long shot at best, I thought. But, believe it or not, after much walking and looking and walking and looking, there it was. This thing was ancient- a climber that you bungeed your feet into and PULLED yourself up each few feet by the upper arms of the climber section. Once to the desired height, you turn around and "wallah" you stand with back to the tree and wait, patiently. I was in the tree, feet 'unbungeed', turned around and cartridge in the chamber of my 30-.06 (actually Jerry's-I had not replaced my stolen rifle yet). I was facing the branch and it was just coming first light-and it was cold!!! My feet were damp, my hands were stiff and I looked down and yep - the stand was crooked and angled down, instead of level. I was worried it was gonna slip, so the compulsive I am, I decided to make it level. 'It will be fine', I thought. It was still just before dawn and I figured I had time. So, I unloaded the chamber, put the cartridge in the top left pocket of my 1972 Vietnam era field jacket, turned to face the tree, bungeed in my feet and made that old stand level -ATTABOY, I thought. Now, I was ready... So, I unbungeed the right foot, and mind you I am still facing the tree with an unloaded rifle, I bent down to unbungee my left foot. Yep, you guessed it - Prancer came loping down the trail from my left, just as I stood up! He passed me and I had no idea if he had kept going, or not. I FROZE. Thought to myself (and said to myself)some really choice words, and decided I had only one chance...

I SLOWLY unshouldered the rifle, VERY SLOWLY opened the bolt and removed the round from my pocket and paced it quietly in the chamber. I closed the bolt, lifted the rifle and slowly turned to my left, almost 200 degrees, and prayed for the best. HE WAS FROZEN THERE, 25yards from me, facing towards the way I had come in. INSTANTLY, when our eyes met, he did a 180 and I cracked off a shot!!! He fell immediately, but amazingly he fell with his back toward me. I was shaking uncontrollably, he was breathing rapidly and the smoke was coming from his nostrils every second it seemed. He wasn't moving, so I chambered another round and tried to compose myself...I cracked off another round and proceeded to send dirt flying into the air - I sent a round into the ground inches before his neck. To this day I can see the fear in his eyes as he lay there waiting for me to make my move...He still wasn't moving, just breathing hot air. I finally woke up and realized he was paralyzed.... So, I composed myself and "bungeed up" and climbed down to the forest floor to dispatch "Big 'un". Jerry, was correct - a 195lb, 9-point Meriwether County Swamp Thing. GOD is Good!!!

Cool thread. Mine was last day of deer season, January 9, 1997 if i remember right. I was 9. Daddy tied me into a 10' lean-to ladder stand with an old ski rope looking down a road thru the property with a sinlgle-shot Sears 20 gauge and a few loads of 00 Buck. I had strict instructions not to get down until he came back. About 8:30 this yearling pops out in the road behind me and works in to what I thought was close enough. I don't remember even aiming but somehow managed to hit her with the SECOND shot. She did the famous mule kick and ran off, I just went to pieces. Few minutes later Daddy comes walking up and couldn't believe I had been the one shooting as I had reloaded that break-action 20 so fast after the first shot he thought it was somebody shooting an automatic! She ran off 30 or so yards in the woods and we found her after a short search. Dad had an old disposable Kodak camera that took the long panoramic pictures, he's still got that picture framed in the living room. I had bruises on the insides of my knees from them knocking together during the adrenaline dump after the shot, thank goodness I was tied in that tree! I've been hooked ever since and to this day don't miss an opportunity to hunt with my Dad. I've got a 4 year old and a 2 year old of my own now and can't wait to get them introduced to it.

Well about 1974 there were no deer in GA. I was in my 20's and joined a hunting lease. I had a lever action 35 Remington, kicked like a mule. Sat in our plywood and 2x4 stands for weeks. Finally a doe appears with iron sights I shot. She did not go far. It was the only deer killed that day
Later on the same club, I had a scoped 30-06 pump, I killed a massive 7 pointer with some broken tines

I've been going hunting with my dad since I was knew high. If he went hunting and I didn't get to go I pitched a fit, i wanted to be with dad all the time. I can remember being 3 or 4 years old in an old wooded stand with a large platform where I would curl up in a goose down sleeping bag and nap. He'd wake me up when deer came around just before he'd shoot.

As I got older, 3rd and 4th grade, and we changed hunting clubs he'd put me in my brothers stand when he didn't go and instruct me not to get down for any reason until he came to get me. Back then the hunting club was rolling hills with large hardwoods and we'd walk 3 or 4 hundred yards into the woods to my brothers stand and dad would go on in to his stand a half a mile into the woods and climb a half a mile high, in the tallest tree in the county or so it seemed to me at the time, up stakes he drove into the tree in a lock on he built himself with a seat cushion 5" thick that he lugged in and out ever trip it seemed.... when my brother went I'd stay with dad and we'd hunt the ground on one of the two hollers he watched from his stand.

Back in those days, my brother who was 7 years older than me would get buck fever bad, I mean bad. He'd shoot deer and we'd trail them over four or five ridges before losing the trail most of the time. Since I hunted with dad those days, I'd hear all of his criticism of my brother and he'd tell me that if I did that when I started hunting he'd leave me home with mom...

In the fourth grade dad would let me carry an old single shot 12 ga loaded with 00 buck shot that kicked harder than two mules. That year he let me shoot at a spike 40 or 50 yards off. I was sitting in a short ladder stand and dad was on the ground next to the closest tree to me. The main thing I remember is I had to turn side ways to take the shot and it was all I could do to keep from falling out of the tree after those 2 or 3 mules kicked my shoulder. To this day I don't understand how the gun didn't fall and hit dad in the head cause I remember one hand grabbing the tree and the other grabbing the stand seat. Later that year the member who's stand I was in killed a spike with a single pellet hole in his front hoof...

The next year, when I was in the 5th grade, dad had gotten a new but used Winchester pump 12ga and just before the season started he told me that If I kill a deer or multiple deer and don't have any that are shot in the guts he'd get me a rifle the next year.

Also that year the hardwoods were clear cut with dad's mile high tree with the mile high stand still standing with no other trees except in the smz's in the bottom of the hollers he watched in the past. He built two identical 21 foot tall round tube metal stands and placed one to his left for me and the other to the right for mom the few times she went.

Opening morning '92 he takes me to my stand reminds me about our deal on gut shooting a deer and instructed me not to get down under any circumstance until he comes to get me and that he'd be able to see me except for the 200+ yard walk between us.

Here I am a little 10 year old sitting 21' high on the top of a 20' drop off to my left. Around 8:30 I see a little doe waking up the edge of the brush straight towards me just off to my right. As it gets about 20 yards from me I notice 2 spikes poking out from its ears. At this moment me and this deer are the only two things in the universe. A monster buck could have walked to my left fought with another monster buck and I'd have never seen or heard a thing...

At 10 yards i click the safety off it stops and lifts it's head. At this moment I remember having to hold on for dear life the year before when those mules attacked my shoulder. I quickly wrap my legs around the legs of the stand and grip them like a monkey as I place my bead on its shoulder. I think back on the deal dad made me about gut shooting one and decide to bring the bead to the base of the spikes neck and head as I squeezed the trigger.

I almost jump out of the stand with excitement when he falls to the ground in its tracks. Then I remember dads command not to get down and I think better of it...

I look his way and start waving for him to come as I notice the spike pick up its head I put the bead on it and it drops it. Repeat this cycle two more times and on the third time I verbally tell him of he lifts it one more time I'm going to shoot him again.

It seems like I sat there waving at dad for hours on end before he finally gets down. It was probably only 30 minutes but the longest 30 minutes of my life...

When he gets there he asked where he went and what he was and I can only recall telling him I got a rifle. He's like hold on we have a whole season to go and I quickly cut him off and said nope I'm collecting on our deal for a rifle... I didn't even consider shooting at another deer that year... it seems I recall dad saying he saw a large buck heading my way and ran as I shot and he thought I may have shot it. I don't remember much about that story as I was as happy as could be with my trophy spike. I do remember asking why he didn't shoot and thought he was crazy for not doing so if it was as big as he said, but it seems I recall he saying he wanted me to... I still think he's crazy...

My fist bow hunt/kill is quite the story as well but for another day... I'll just say that deer was named pin cushion by the folks back at camp...

Circa 1977 in ONF in Greene county. Was 25 feet up a pine in a Baker death trap and shot a doe. While climbing down the bottom piece fell all the way to the bottom of the tree so I had to bear hug the tree with the top piece banging me in the head all the way down. It was awesome.

I was sitting at the bottom of a "tractor path" with a thin woods to my left and the big woods to my right. Looking out in to the pasture in a valley from a little up hill in the tractor path. We had seen deer cross this from the little woods to the woods in general before.

I sneaked over and set up near a big stump and my buddy watched and when I was ready he went around the long way to walk down the thin line of woods toward me gently urging deer to move through and cross in front of me.

A doe came out sort of trotting about 20 yards or less away, boom, she ran across and turned to run back the way she came. Boom, I shot again. Can't believe I missed that first EASY shot and dropped her with #2? It's unreal but looking at the hole it was a perfect shot. Exactly what you would expect from a slug at that distance. 12 gauge hole right over the heart going in, another one exactly like it on the other side coming out.

How in heck could two shots from that close be that different that one is dead on and another completely misses?

On the cutting table we found one slug stuck right inside the heart. A big fat doughnut with a hole in the middle. It was the first year they sold hollow point slugs.

I've hated the stupid things ever since. 20 yards away broad side and a 12gauge slug only goes half way through a deer on a side ways heart lung shot? That's stupid you don't need expansion when you are shooting something a half inch in diameter. I want that hole all the way through it like it was bored with a lazer.

I may win for the most oddly dressed first deer.

It was November 1991. I had been a "serious" deer hunter at least 2 years. Lets say since I was 7 or so. My father kept a small plot planted in front of the house and I had a ladder stand I sat in most every afternoon when I got home from school. The deer had me figured out and always came into the plot after it got to dark to shoot and would run out as I climbed down.

On this date, I wasn't deer hunting though, I was headed to a peewee football game. I came out the front door of the house headed to the car wearing cleats, football pants and a t-shirt, carrying my helmet and shoulder pads. I glanced down the driveway and saw my plot was full of deer. I eased back in the house and told my mom, there was deer in my plot and I needed to try and shoot one. For some reason she consented. I grabbed the marlin .44 mag lever action I hunted with and eased down the driveway in cleats and football pants. Due to a high bank separating the field and driveway and looking back apparently a good wind, I eased within 40 yards of the herd of deer. I can vividly remember there being a nice buck and 5 or 6 does eating. But closest to me was a spike that might have weighed 45 pounds. With the bank covering me, I cocked the rifle shouldered it and eased out into the driveway from the ditch. The spike was standing broadside at 30 yards. I let him have it right behind the shoulder. The herd took off and the spike made a circle in the plot holding his off shoulder/leg out straight. If I had of waited 30 seconds he would have been done for. But my old man always told me to shoot as long as they were up and you could see them if you weren't sure of your shot. So I shot him again as he ran. At the second shot, he fell and got back up. I was sure he was going to get away, so I shot him again as he stumbled and wobbled in the field. With the third shot through the broiler room he collapsed. I ran the 30 yards to him as he lay dying there. With a 9 year old kid running up to him he kicked trying to get up. Oh no big boy, I shot him the fourth time in the neck at basically point blank range. He was finally mine. I was absolutely in uncontrollable shakes. My mom walked down the driveway to make sure I was okay. She said what are you going to do with it now. I said I have no idea mom. I had never thought about what would happen if I killed a deer. So she walked back to the house to call my dad at work. This was way before cell phones. When she returned to the scene of the massacre, she told me that dad was on his way home for me to drag it over by a log pile and cover it with a tarp and he would take care of it. I felt mighty dragging that little deer across the field.

Mom then picked me up and rushed me to the football game I was almost late for. My old man came home and took care of the deer for me. I have been slaying em every since and my old man is still the first phone call. The old .44 is wore out now and is mostly a sentimental piece. I did kill about a dozen deer with it before I wore all the finish off the wood and it begin to jam when ejecting. Good memories.

I killed my first one, a nice cowhorn spike at 13 from my Grandpas front door, Thanksgiving morning. We were running late going to sit that morning and Grandpa was drinking his coffee while I "patiently" waited...pacing back and forth by the front door. I saw this deer slipping thru the front field turn into the woods in front the house. I "calmly" told him what I had just witnessed, so we creeped open the front door and slipped outside where I again...ever so "patiently" waited for him to cross into this little cut that intersected the stand of woods we were facing. After what seemed like an eternity to my 13 yr old self....looking back probably 2-3 minutes, he stepped out and gave me a perfect broadside shot..the Remington 742 woodsmaster 243 spoke to him and he dropped after running in a quick circle and dropped about 5 feet from where he was standing.

I was 8 in 1990. Papa and I were slipping to a bluff overlooking a big hardwood bottom. Doe and a couple yearlings stood up beside the road we were using. I downed a button head after clearing the tarpaulin of an orange vest I was wearing. We went on down to the bluff and waited. Here comes a doe being chased by a nice 8. The doe stopped and I shot her. She ran out of sight across the bottom. We trailed her till papa saw the buck trying to get her up. He shot and missed. He went to shoot again and realized the clip on his 742 was about half out. After popping it back in he dropped the buck which hadn't even flinched when missed he was so rut crazed. We had deer hanging everywhere that weekend, my oldest sister killed 2 does that morning, papa and I had 3 and a man who's basically an uncle killed a great 10pt the next morning.

Dog drive in the Mississippi delta. Dogs jumped two does came out and I loaded one up with double aught and slugs. Remember it was Mississippi. I had been deer hunting for about an hour. First time deer hunting, it was December 27, 1967. Shot her with a Marlin 12 gauge bolt action , looks like the old goose gun but only had 28 inch modified barrel. The next deer I killed I was on guard duty on the Korean DMZ and I had movement out in front of my position. Requested to recon by fire. Permission was given and I wore one of those small Korean deer with tusk out with a m60 machine gun. Next morning we the recovered the deer and the whole company had deer stew. That was October 1970.

I drew a tag on a NWR. that had too many deer. The kind of place where you can drive through the HQ tract and see 50 deer at the right time of evening.

The head warden had a reputation of being fair, but a horses back side. "You're here to kill deer. Any deer you see. You're not trophy hunting. Kill deer! Or you're never coming back"

Three walked into the field 30m before dark. Couldn't get a shot. They disappeared. They came back about 10 minutes later.

Popped the one that looked the biggest. Nice shot. 50y with a slug.

Turns out the best part of the shot was hitting a target that small at 50y. That doe was VERY little. Grabbed the gun, pack and deer and jogged a across the field.

Truck came over and picked me and the deer. Back to the official weigh station.

Warden had loads of fun with that. Smaller than a dog. Rope weights more. Oh well. 42 lbs NOT dressed out. Probably just out of spots.

Learned to apply the lessons of gutting a goose to deer that night. Just started gutting, cut open, open it open and rip it all out. No finesse just have at it. In the dark.

Learned a lot since then, but that was the first gutting.

When two friends got their first deer, in did my best to teach them a better way to field dress than my first time.

(15) 1992, Barbour Wma, 1st ever youth hunt. Only 5 or so kids came to what was then probably 30 thousand acres, the same annual hunt is much more popular now. I had been getting dropped off to hunt alone for a couple years, having graduated from sitting with Dad. It was a 60's model 1100, 20 guage, from grandpa-to dad-to me-one day to my son.
We had a decent spot to hunt that morning as Barbour was and is our home turf. But we did not see a deer. So late in the morning Dad and I are up, slipping around the oak bottums trying to make something happen. We kicked up a bunch of deer in a place, we onlybsaw the tails. But Dad was savy. Having a decent knowledge of the terrain and (looking back) he knew where the deer had run off to. So he instructed me to set up, which I obliged, backing up to a nice smooth tree trunk, knees up, dragging limbs up around me quickly. Dad takes of walking in what I believe is the wrong direction. But no, he knows where he's going. He managed to make some crazy long quick hike, turn those deer, anf as luck would have it, in about 30 minutes, the deer cane at me full gate, and one unfortunate spike stopped 10 yards in front of me broadside giving me the what the heck is that look. So I blasted him. He ran. Dad shows up. "just shot at the biggest doe i've ever seen" I tell him.
So we start looking for blood. Nothing. "Where did he run?"-Dad, "He ran that way"- stupid teenager. After an hour of just pure not giving up, Dad finds a single piece of meat on the ground. Anither 50 yards- jackpot! About half a pound of intestines hanging on a sappling about knee high. So we pick up a good trail from there, finally find him (with awesome 4" spikes) laying there trying to get up. I had the honor to walk up and finish him off. Of course he ran a mile from the truck! The short version is I busted a spike on a youth hunt, but not to discredit my Father, or diminish that trophy, I figured to put it in detail on this fine thread you all have built. I've told this on here before, and posted the picture, but I can't seem to find it tonight. Thanks for the opportunity to re-live.

Carroll county circa 1982 off Lowell Rd hunting my distant cousin's 100 acer farm that sat/funneled between two large wood lots. Sitting on a 8' ladder stand before day break. Was classing a bottom about 75 yards away as the morning light broke. Sow movement... its a deer! Couldn't make out if it was a doe or buck. It didn't matter.. put my scope on it's vitals and pulled the trigger. After my heart slowed down I was able to get down from the stand. I made my way to where I thought I had shot the deer. After looking for a short while that seems like infinity I spot white... and there lay a small 8 pointer.. my first.