SHELDON NATIONAL WILDLIFE REFUGE, Nev. (AP) – There are only a few events in life that stay with you. A first hunt is one of them.
Hunting never was a tradition for me. This year, at age 29, friends encouraged me to try it.
I filled my tag. The antlers are being mounted. My freezer is full of venison.
But along the way, I made some mistakes and learned a few lessons during a three-day outing in the Sheldon National Wildlife Refuge on the Nevada-Oregon line.
I decided to apply for a mule deer tag after I rode along on a desert bighorn sheep hunt last winter to become more familiar with the sport. I had some trouble reconciling that an innocent sheep was shot. But I also learned it’s not just about killing animals.
Hunters are participating in a heritage and history that goes back centuries, to when their ancestors hunted to survive. They believe they are showcasing the animals’ beauty.
I love being outdoors, whether it’s hiking, camping or spending time with family and friends. Hunting is all of that and more. That made me want to give it a try.
When tag results were released, I learned I received one for the late-season hunt in the Sheldon National Wildlife Refuge, about five hours north of Reno. It was one of just 25 tags issued to Nevada residents. Nearly 200 applied. I began to realize how fortunate I was to win this lottery on the first try.
Now that I had a tag, all I needed was to buy a rifle and learn how to shoot it. I had five months until my season started.
My vulnerability was my experience. My confidence was shaky.
Had I practiced enough at the range? Is my rifle really sighted in? Am I ready to skin, gut and quarter a dead animal? What if I miss? What if I come home empty-handed?
I was incredibly unprepared for this hunt. It started Oct. 21, but because of scheduling conflicts, I couldn’t start until Oct. 29. The season ended Nov. 2.
My friend’s brother-in-law, Gary Coleman, a professional guide, would come out with me for one day before he had to leave for Montana. If we weren’t successful, my buddy Randy would come for the final two days. A few others who’d planned to join me bailed.
Talk about coming down to the wire. You should be nervous before a hunt; it’s a big deal. But I never, ever want to be nervous about whether I’m going to have to hunt alone.
After scouting for a few days and staying at the Badger Camp inside Sheldon, Coleman arrived, and we set out the next day, Oct. 31, at 6 a.m.
At camp, I set my alarm for 5:15 a.m. and woke up early. I reached for my water bottle and nothing came out. Turns out it’s better to hunt with someone who has an RV. The water bottle was frozen because it was 15 degrees inside my tent.
We arrived at the northeast side of Badger Mountain and waited for the sun to pop up so we could take a spotting scope to the hills.
We tracked a nice buck about a mile away. He was busy chasing around a few does. The males were in a full rut (mating season), which was perfect because they were out and about looking for females instead of hiding in the brush.
Around 7:30 a.m., we came to the end of the road and it was time to hike. We trailed the base of a hill and headed up with the wind directly in our faces. This was typical strategy, stay low and against the wind so deer don’t pick up our scent.
Coleman is a great hunter, intense and enthusiastic. When he spotted a five-point buck, he dropped to his knees and made sure I did the same.
We scooted to the top of the hill and through the mahogany trees for a better look. The herd was too far away, so we went in for a closer look. Three hours later, we decided to move on.
Coleman had to leave at nightfall, and we had about two hours left before we had to stop hunting. On a hunch, he drove toward Gooch Table on the other side of the refuge. It was a familiar spot we had scouted two months earlier.
He stopped at an intersection and asked me if we should turn left, or go farther down and come in through the back road. Because I was getting restless, I said turn left.
No more than 20 yards after the turn, he stopped the truck abruptly. About 125 yards down the road, three bucks and three does were standing watching us.
We pulled off and slowly got out. I had to choose between a four-point buck and a three-point buck. The more points, the better. But in this instance, it made sense to go after the three-pointer because it had more mass and was more mature.
The herd was spooked and scattered up the canyon wall, then stopped in some thick sagebrush. It was time.
I hoped to get a one-shot kill, like most hunters do. The one I wanted was about 285 yards away. Ideally, I wanted a shot from 200 yards, but you take what you can get.
All the tips and preparation tactics I learned from hunters and the Washoe County Shooting Range staff disappeared when the time was right.
Hunters coined the term “Buck Fever” to describe inexperienced hunters who can’t control their emotions when they’re hunting. I can relate. It was hard to keep the gun from shaking. It was like trying to keep your hand still after three cups of coffee.
I thought I had a good shot, and I took it.
“You winged him,” Gary said.
“Winged him? No!” I thought. I forgot to account for the descent of the bullet after 200 yards.
The herd scattered again. A few passersby were watching as I just committed the biggest no-no in the hunting fraternity: wounding an animal.
I was sick to my stomach and embarrassed. There is no worse feeling when hunting.
Gary kept tracking the deer and, luckily, it hadn’t gone far. We drove closer, and this time I had a more comfortable rest and the shot was about 100 yards closer. On my second shot, I dropped it. The bullet entered directly through the lungs. It was the perfect shot. If only it had been the first.
We sewed the buck’s mouth shut so its tongue wouldn’t slip out, placed the carcass in an open spot and took photos. The setting sun made for beautiful light.
Gary has quartered deer his whole adult life and showed me the ropes. I never felt queasy; I had watched too many YouTube videos about how to do it.
I drove home down Nevada Highway 140 by myself and thought about the experience. I’ve always been a man who is willing to try new things. I wasn’t sure if hunting was going to be a one-time thing.
I’m still bothered by the fact that I made the deer suffer after missing the first shot, but I really enjoyed my first hunt.
Now that it’s done, I only wish I would have started sooner.
Next time, there won’t be a second shot.
