This will be a very lengthy post, but I'll start this back in November of 2002. I was 14 years old, and was on my 3rd year of bowhunting, but it was my first season going by myself. My dad had hung a stand for me a few days prior, but instructed me not to hunt it until a few days later. Not because of any conditions, or strategy that it would be better, but because he had gotten busy, and was probably not going to have time to help me get a deer out of the big timber that this spot was going to take. As most 14 year old boys do, I didn't listen. I skipped school one afternoon, and after 20 minutes on stand I let the air out of my first ever buck, a 120" 8 pointer. I was ecstatic to say the least, and literally sat on the dead deer for 4 hours, completely clueless as what to do next, so I just waited until my dad would be getting home from work, then sprinted home to let him know. He was probably just as excited as me, and I never heard any type of complaint as he did all the dirty work for me as I sat and watched closely through the night. He was obviously worn out, but you wouldn't have known from watching and listening to him that night. He would return to this same stand a few days later and kill his biggest buck with a bow, which turned out to be the last deer he would take with a bow. Dad always hunted with a recurve, and as age crept up on him and Lyme's disease began to take hold on his health, bowhunting was judged more on how his body felt, than on weather fronts, rut activity, and spare time to go. Despite my attempts, he refused to trade in his recurve for a bow with wheels. He still gun hunted however, and in January 2009, during Illinois late antlerless only gun season, he harvested what was supposed to be the last deer of his life. On the morning of May 7th, 2009, my dad suffered a very serious stroke, that would leave him in the ICU for 6 weeks, most of which were spent in a coma. He had a bleed on his brain, which resulted in 2 separate drains being drilled into his head to relieve the pressure. There were other numerous complications that resulted during this time, including blood clots spreading rapidly through his body, that even further put his future in doubt. On June 2nd, the doctors came to us that morning and informed us his condition had worsened and they were going to do a procedure, but that it was a risky one and he probably wouldn't survive through it. I said my goodbye's to him just before I walked out of the room. Just as they were due to start, he made a very slight flinch to a pain test, and they called it off. Just a week later, he was out of the ICU and began his long journey to recovery. He was truly a miracle. I still remember one of his doctors telling him that his body and brain never read any of the books on how to act, and without missing a beat he quipped back "Yeah, but they never wrote a book on a country boy!" The first diagnosis he got, was that he may likely never make it out of the Nursing Rehab Facility he was transferred to after the hospital. He was there for a month. He went to a true Rehab Center after this, and on September 11th, just 4 months after the stroke, he came home. At this time, he was in a wheel chair most of the time. He wanted to get out of that thing, and he did. In fact, he worked so hard in rehab, that during one of his sessions, he gave himself a heart attack on October 30th that year, and got another nights stay in the hospital. Just a few days later On November 3rd, I killed my biggest buck ever, and probably the most special deer I'll ever take. A 155" 12 pointer. I'll never forget that night pulling into the driveway and helping him outside to look at it. All in all, from every doctor saying he should have died, he's in great shape. He has some double vision, trouble with the right side of his body, and uses a cane to get around, but he is still here. Over the next few years he would come sit with me during gun season. We never saw a deer, but that wasn't really the point for either of us. As a few seasons passed, he began to accept the realization that his days of hunting how he used to were in the rear view mirror, and he finally was willing to try out a crossbow for the 2013 hunting season. I prepped him up a hidden little food plot tucked back in the timber, where I could drop him off with the 4 wheeler right at a blind. Our own pastorandrew and the late Paul Knox from the QDMA forums were unbelievable resources for me, as I ventured into the food plot task for the first time. The 2013 season on our farm was terribly tough. EHD hit us, and deer sightings were tough to come by, but dad did see 2 deer on one of his sits, and in his eyes the season was a success regardless...he was hunting again. As we headed out the door for his first hunt, we stood there bickering at each other, like only a father and son can do, and my mom made the comment "It's good to see you 2 have picked up right where you left off". She was right. Except now, it was him telling me where he should be sitting, instead of me telling him what I thought. 2014 season was upon us before I knew it, and the plot was back and going, along with another blind location on a big bean field. One afternoon, after getting several deer on camera during daylight, dad was dropped off at the new blind and at last light he unleashed his crossbow at a very nice buck I had pictures of, but the bolt sailed over his back, and the buck was gone. Just a week later, he got a chance at redemption. In his food plot, a doe offered him a 20 yard shot and he drew blood. I tracked for a day and a half and never found her though. The bolt was recovered and had fatty slime on it with just a little blood. I pulled the card the last day I looked, and had a picture of a doe that had gotten a trim on her back from the old mans bolt. She survived. 2015 brought yet another new season. I had accepted a new job over the summer, and have been working a lot of overtime night shifts. I was able to get his plot in again, but haven't had much time to get him out there to hunt. We were waiting for me to have some time off, so I could have some time to help him out when he needed it. But last night, he hobbled out to his Ranger on his own and loaded up all his gear for what would be his first hunt of the season. I had made him leave his food plot alone until there was a perfect S wind, as I had 3 nice bucks visiting it and they were inching closer and closer to daylight. Last night he got his S wind, and at 4:30 a deer entered the plot. The deer fed towards his blind, and as it turned broadside at 30 yards, it was met with a crossbow bolt through it's lungs. Unfortunately, I was headed to work a 12.5 hour night shift so he went and employed the help of his cousin. The track was short, roughly 50 yards. At the end of it was a dead button buck. I got the phone call last night and couldn't have been happier other than wishing I was there to share the moment. I got off this morning and quickly gathered my butchering supplies as temps were going to reach 70. We snapped some pics, relived the story, and I got started as he sat there and watched me. At the end of it all, I realized I had been up nearly 24 hours straight and that there was nothing that I would have rather been doing. It instantly brought me back to that moment 13 years ago when I was just a kid, sneaking out when I wasn't necessarily supposed to, and thinking how the roles have reversed and how much life has changed over those years. You hear a lot of people say things like "Yeah it's just a doe", or in this case something along the lines of "Why'd you shoot a button buck?", but this is truly the definition of the size of the trophy not always being about antler size. This isn't just a successful deer hunt. It's a "Look at me doing what you told me I would never do again", a story of perseverance and hardships that culminated last night on a small 1/3 acre food plot in rural Illinois. As far as I'm concerned, this button buck was the biggest trophy walking in the woods that night. Updated: I just pulled the card off my camera on his food plot, and it looks like his quarry walked in front. You can see the blind in the background with the windows open. This was just moments before the deer made it's way within range.
You're a hell of a man, the man your dad made you and showed you to be and tip my hat to you sir. Must be the sinuses...
Great story and I'm glad your work paid off. Those are experiences you'll never forget. Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk
Damn you, Scott! You got me crying before my hunt... What a great story...a huge congrats to your dad!!! More st guys will never know the pureness of our sport like you now do...it goes so far beyond antler size....wow...great, great read...
Life as its meant to be lived. An amazing chain of events and wonderfully told. A huge congrats to your father, and to you.
