As I waited for those three words that would end our hunt, my guide grabbed my elbow and instead whispered, “Deer in the field.” That was my cue. My heartbeat quickened as I moved in slow motion. I folded my right leg beneath me on my chair to give myself some added height. I lifted the gun from where it rested in the corner of the blind and painstakingly maneuvered it – onto my shoulder, through the slat in the blind.
I quickly ran through the “rules” in my mind … I released the safety, placed my finger gingerly on the trigger and looked through the scope. And, I couldn’t see a thing. I whispered to my guide for some help and he grabbed my shoulders to guide me in the right direction.
As if I wasn’t nervous enough, when the deer appeared between the cross hairs of the scope every sense was heightened. I could hear my own breathing as my guide reminded me what to do – don’t hold the scope to close to your eye or we’ll be stitching you up, center the cross hairs just below the deer’s shoulder, slowly squeeze the trigger. Check, check, check – I did it. I pulled the trigger.
Surprisingly, I barely heard the gun shot – it was silent compared to my practice round. It was after I pulled the trigger that I realized I was shaking and so was my guide who hands remained frozen on my shoulders. I think he was as shocked as I. (I’m quite certain that no one believed I would actually go through with it!)
“Did I get him?” I asked. “You got him, you got him,” my guide yelled. I think he was even more excited than I. He had successfully converted a Jersey Girl into a huntress. A task that very few thought he would accomplish, including myself and my husband. (He still calls me “killer”.)
I placed the gun back in the corner of the blind and followed my guide out into the field. He was walking so fast I could barely catch up. He told me to stay put, which thrilled me (note the sarcasm) since it was pitch black and I was in the middle of nowhere. I watched the light of his flashlight, so in case something started chasing me I would know which direction to run in. After what seemed like forever and was actually about thirty seconds, my guide called me over.
He asked me where I thought the deer went down. I pointed and by gosh, I was right. I picked up the blood trail with the flashlight and followed it into some brush, where the deer lay. My immediate reaction was, “oohhh”. I felt horrible. I was so sad. My guide was quick to remind me that we hunt for a reason – we hunt to cull the deer population. If we didn’t, the deer wouldn’t survive as there is not enough food or resources for a large population, so we keep the population in check.
The ride back to our meeting point was silent, I was still debating whether I had done a bad thing or not. Once we re-joined the group, spirits were high. I was the only one who got a deer that afternoon, on the last day of the season. And since it was my first, I was treated to a ritual – blood from my first deer was smeared on my cheeks and my nose, like war paint - paint that I proudly wore as I promptly got in my car and drove right over to my mom’s house where the rest of the family was having dinner. I just couldn’t resist!
This experience took place during last years hunting season. However, I remember it like it was yesterday. As the fall air chills - much to my own surprise - it seems I have a hankering for going hunting again. Who knew?
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Courtney Naughton is a Jersey Shore native who relocated to Bluffton. She is currently the proud owner of a pair of camouflage pants. Courtney can be reached at courtneynaughton@hargray.com.