NPO Guest Blog: First time and last time

First time and last time

By Ben Ehrgood- NPO Guest Blogger

I can remember the first day I went hunting as a 12-year-old 'man' like it was yesterday.

The smell of the fuel as my dad’s truck warmed up in the cold, crisp mountain air of that ceremonial Monday after Thanksgiving; the feel of the large camouflage suit we picked up at a yard sale- the one I still wear to this day; and the heirloom 35 Remington, given to me on my 12th birthday, in my young hands. I had finally arrived to a moment in my life that would alter my direction forever.

The feeling was exhilarating, cold and dark. Shortly after my dad and I arrived to our pre-scouted public game lands rock, a pair of flashlights appeared pointing in our direct location. We had made it just in time to beat the crowds- the second success of an early and still dark morning.

Just after the first glimpses of familiar trees and rocks came into view, so did a mystical creature with 8 mahogany-colored, perfectly symmetrical antlers. Buck fever got the better of that 12-year-old who never squeezed the trigger on that perfect specimen of a mature whitetail buck. But I digress; this is the story of another first.

Entering my 20th year of chasing the elusive whitetail buck, I had still left every beautiful sunset back in the woods without dragging a deer by his antlers. Though there had been many encounters, the stars had just not aligned in my favor until this most recent walk into a small patch of woods in Deleware, far from where it all began 20 years earlier.

I had been very fortunate to meet a friend in college who was also an avid hunter but, unlike me, he had extensive knowledge with bow and arrow. He and his father showed me the way of the archer, and so on this day, October 23^rd, 2015, I walked into the woods a 'seasoned' archer; seasoned like a cast iron pan waiting to be sold in a big retail store- one that hasn't felt the sting of hot coals or the sear of hearty meat. This was all about to change.

As my friend and I entered the woods, we had hopes of harvesting a deer in order to put some delicious, lean, genetically pure venison on the plate of our friends and family. I've always enjoyed seeing the smiles and hearing the pleasure of those eating the venison that was harvested by my own two hands.

So there the two of us sat in a ground blind, replaying the action of the morning’s duck hunt, and so many other stories that only those who share in the experience can share in the memory.

The sun began to sink and my hopes began to rise. We refer to it as the 'Witching Hour,’ when deer leave their beds and begin to roam the woods in search of food and possible companionship. 

It was just at this moment, when we saw movement 100 yards off in the distant trees. "Live action" was the call, and the stage was set. Our heart rates rose and so did my bow.

We quickly noticed this deer was alone and had tall legs, characteristics of a buck during this time of year. My heart rate about shot through the roof of the camo ground blind.

As I began to gather my thoughts, replaying my summertime lights-out 3D shoots in my head gave me confidence. "Bone,” my friend whispered, and if my heart rate had been through the roof before, it was now on a rocket ship towards the waxing moon.

The buck quickly approached within 25 yards, and when his beautiful crown of antlers went behind a large tree, I drew my bow as I've done countless times before- but never in this current situation.

24 yards was the distance- anchor points set, sight level even, deep breath in, let the release surpris... shwaaaaap went the arrow, true in its course, validated by the lighted nock of my arrow. The flood of emotions poured out as if the Hoover Dam was made of paper mache; it was truly remarkable.

I was overtaken. I looked up through that ground blind and thanked the good Lord for his beautiful creatures and for giving me the opportunity to harvest such a beautiful animal.

We watched as he ran off 100 yards and he disappeared into the trees as he was camouflaged to do. After some handshaking and fist pumping I made the call to wait half an hour before beginning on the blood trail.

Sometimes in life, we find ourselves in situations where time seems to stand still. Well, time took a headfirst dive into liquid nitrogen and froze solid. Seconds became hours and minutes became days!!

When time began to thaw and we made our way onto the blood trail, it became evident my arrow hit its mark. As I approached the magnificent antlered whitetail deer, I was humbled, for I knew this time also marked the last time I would wrap my hands around a buck for the very first time.

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