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The rut was coming up and the kids were coming for Easter, a great opportunity to take my son Connor on his first fallow-deer hunt. Hopefully, he would harvest his first deer to celebrate his upcoming 14th birthday. If we could get the drop on an unalarmed deer, set up the shooting sticks and get the boy in position for a shot, we might be able to make it happen. Fingers crossed.
Each morning and evening we hunted high in the hills, slowly stalking our way around each gully head. Despite covering plenty of country over a few days, we only managed to bump a couple of deer in the thick stuff. No doubt the deer were spooked and in hiding due to all the hunting pressure this area receives over Easter.
We were down to our last afternoon hunt; our last chance. We pressed on, quietly sneaking up the game trails on the upper slopes, scanning ahead for deer. Coming around yet another spur I looked to my right and, incredibly, through the smallest of gaps in the dense canopy I spied a bedded fallow on the opposite side of the gully.
I motioned for Connor to move forward. He quickly settled in for a shot on the sticks and I moved in behind him.
“Shoot when you’re ready, mate,” I whispered. He settled his breathing and fired. No movement.
“Again,” I said. Slickly cycling the bolt, he sent another round. The deer’s only movement was its head slowly sinking to the ground.
When he turned around he had the biggest grin on his face, as I’m sure I did as well. He had done it! His first deer! Well done, lad!
Eagerly making our way down to where she lay, we discovered that both his shots had been through the spine, only a couple of inches apart. Perfect shot placement. He had shot the .308 flawlessly; I couldn’t be more proud of him.
We took a few photos and shared the moment as the last of the light faded. He had taken his first deer with a good, honest hunt – on his birthday no less! These are certainly the times in life that we remember forever.
After butchering the animal, Connor loaded up the well-earned venison and proudly carried out his trophy.
by Steve Kruger
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