Today is the Day I’m
Gonna Shoot the Big One!
by Tom Fassbinder
The author recounts his whitetail adventures
on the date of his deceased father’s 70th birthday
My father enjoyed a birth date that typically coincided with Iowa’s
annual December gun season for whitetail deer. During his 66 years on earth
Dad spent what free time he had hunting.
Some of my earliest memories as a child are of my dad and his buddy’s
celebrating after a successful hunt. In 1966 the local newspaper displayed
a picture of some hunters who had experienced a successful deer season
at a time when other hunters in the area were having a difficult time harvesting
any deer.
The caption under the picture read: “local hunters go 5 for 5 on whitetail
deer”. My Dad was one of the five guys’ pictured.
By the time I was 6 years old I knew I would be a deer hunter. On my
11th birthday Dad bought me a new 870 20-gauge shotgun. Later that fall,
he bought me a rifled slug barrel for the gun. A few practice shots later
and we were ready for deer season.
I woke opening morning to a temperature of –18 degrees Fahrenheit. Mom
dressed me up in all the clothes I owned, packed a peanut butter sandwich
for my lunch into a brown bag and sent Dad and I on our way. I had on 3
pair of socks along with my new rubber boots from K-mart but by 8:00 AM
my toes were so cold I thought they had frozen off.
The temptation to leave my stand and head for the warmth of the truck
was almost overpowering, but I didn’t want Dad to think I was not able
to “run with the big dogs”, so I stuck it out! At mid day a buck presented
a broadside shot at a distance of 50 yards. I was too cold to shoulder
the gun and pull the trigger. I tried but my body just wouldn’t function.
Later that night I overheard Dad telling Mom that he had “damn near
froze to death that morning”, but he knew he had to tough it out so I wouldn’t
think he was overpowered by the cold weather. He told mom that he was proud
of me and that I had proved to him that I wasn’t just there to tag along
and get in the way, I was there to hunt! Hearing those words solidified
my whitetail deer hunting desires.
With Iowa’s slug season usually commencing on the 1st Saturday in December,
Dad’s December 8th birth date would frequently take place during deer season.
Each year on the morning of his birthday Dad would announce to the hunting
group “today is the day I’m gonna shoot the big one”. Unfortunately, it
never happened. The lack of success on his birthday never seemed to bother
Dad. He was fortunate to live the life of a hunter and his participation
in the hunt seemed to be the only reward he needed.
After Dad’s passing, my brothers and I kept the tradition alive.
Each year on the morning of December 8th you could rest assured that one
of us was going to say, “today is the day I’m gonna shoot the big one,
- for Dad”. Each of us shot awesome bucks in following years, but unfortunately
none were taken on December 8th, Dad’s birthday
Recently, the season opened on December 5th and ran through the 9th.
Our hunting camp that year included 12 hunters. We generally concentrate
our efforts on mature bucks. It is well understood that if you want to
shoot big bucks, you’ve got to let the young ones grow up. The property
we hunt held several mature bucks and expectations were very high. After
3 days of hunting we had taken 8 bucks.
On the 4th day (December 8th) hunting was kind of slow. We had seen
several bucks that morning but none were shooters. In the afternoon we
abandoned our normal method of organized drives and decided instead to
do a little stand hunting. We were hunting on a 400+ acre farm with picked
cornfields and mixed hardwoods, bordered by a small river. My nephew chose
my favorite spot for his afternoon hunt so on a whim I opted to hunt an
area located at the far edge of the property.
I situated myself in a makeshift ground blind 40-yards from the property
line near the remains of a deteriorated old farmstead. Across the 4 strand
barbed wire fence, the neighbor’s property contained a picked cornfield
with one brushy draw along the edge. I found a comfortable spot on a small
log in a semi open area; although I felt I was well hidden by the surrounding
growth of multiflora rose. I could see 40 yards to my left, 150 yards to
my right plus I had a clear view to the wood line 100 yards out front.
The wooded ridge in front of me dropped of sharply into a large wooded
valley. I reasoned that as dark approached, the deer would leave the valley
and travel up a small saddle 30 yards to my right that led to the picked
cornfield on the neighboring property.
It was an unseasonable warm day, almost 45 degrees Fahrenheit, the kind
of day that Dad would have enjoyed. I however was not enjoying the day.
I was longing for my Dad’s companionship. That morning as we traveled to
our hunting location, we past by the cemetery where dad is buried. Speeding
by at 50 MPH, I picked out his tombstone and said a quick prayer. I prayed
that “today would be the day I’d shoot the big one” – as a birthday present
to Dad.
Now, as I sat in my little corner of the woods the afternoon wore on.
I began to think about the fact that Dad’s birthday was drawing to a close
and it was becoming obvious that the big one would not be seen today. My
thoughts turned to the changes that had taken place since that cold opening
day back when I was only eleven. Back then Dad hunted with a Winchester
model 12. It was a wonderful scattergun but by today’s standards its smooth
bore produced dismal results with lead slugs. The Model 12 pump gun had
an effective range of barely 40 or 50 yards. Today, I hunted with a semi-automatic
Remington 11-87, with an aftermarket trigger set at a crisp 4 pounds, custom
stock and fully rifled barrel topped with a Leopold 2x7 scope. I shoot
highly efficient copper slugs and my effective range is well over 100 yards.
The old rubber boots and nylon coveralls had been replaced by the finest
insulating and waterproofing materials available. Dad and the guy’s use
to shoot any buck that got close enough, today we let the small ones walk
and focus on harvesting only mature animals. Even the weather seems to
be warmer today than it used to be. The comparisons of my world to yester-year
brought back fond memories of Dad but left me very emotional and morning
the loss of my father. Tears filled my eyes…
Suddenly, movement in the brushy draw on the neighboring property shocked
me back to reality. A buck that had been bedded down in the brushy draw
decided it was time to move. I found him in the scope just as he landed
on my side of the fence. Jubilation turned to dejection as I realized
I was looking at a small 1-½ year old 6 pointer. The 6 pointer began
walking straight towards me. I looked at my watch. 15 minutes of daylight
remained. I thought to myself, if Dad was here he’d shoot it…instinctively
the gun came back up, the safety went off and the cross hairs were placed
on the deer’s vitals. Before I could pull the trigger movement at the wood
line out in front of me caught my eye. Eight does and a big buck were leaving
the valley and heading up the saddle to my right. Instantly I knew this
second buck was a shooter! I’d seen him several times during bow
season. He was a mainframe 8 pointer that had his left side damaged
while he was still in velvet making his rack seem twisted and unusual.
The G-2’s were long, maybe 13 inches or more. The doe’s were leading
the 4 ½ year old buck into my shooting lane. The sorrow left my
body and a smile filled my face.
The lead doe passed through my shooting lane but the buck needed to
go another 30 yards before I had a clear shot. Just then something awful
happened, the small 6 pointer smelled something he didn’t like and snorted.
The eight does and the big shooter buck turned tail and ran back towards
the security of the valley.
Needless to say, I was devastated. Once again my instincts took over,
I pulled up on the little 6 pointer, he was standing broadside at 20 yards
looking in the direction that the does and shooter buck had ran.
He was mine…the cross hairs found the mark, but I could not pull the trigger.
I wanted to, I tried, but I couldn’t pull it, my finger was locked much
like that cold morning when I was 11 years old. I was confused, what was
happening? It was 45 degrees outside! I lowered my gun and sat there wondering
what was going on. Why is this happening to me?
A few minutes passed and once again movement brought me back to reality,
this time the big shooter buck was re-exiting at the wood line and this
time he was alone. A quick check of my watch told me I had 10 minutes of
season left. If this was going to work out it needed to happen rather quickly.
My brother would be by soon to pick me up with the ATV. The buck needed
to travel another 50 yards to reach my shooting lane if I were to have
a chance. The buck was hungry and wanted to get to the cornfield, but he
was acting jittery and moving very cautiously.
With time running out I noticed the little 6 pointer had now circled
down wind and was about to cross my entry trail while the shooter buck
still had 10 yards to go to reach the shooting lane….5 yards to go….the
6 point hit my track, snorted and almost fell over backwards trying to
get away, the shooter buck turned and bolted for the woods, at the same
time I sprang to my feet darting forward in an attempt to clear the bush
while hoping for a shot at the big buck. I cleared the bush just as the
big buck stopped at the edge of the woods, 100 yards away and looked back
over his shoulder at me.
Once again I was overcome with a feeling that someone else was in control.
Then I heard my dad’s voice say, “I got him stopped Tommy, the rest is
up to you”. The gun roared and the big one dropped dead in his tracks.
A birthday buck at last! I looked to the heavens and asked out loud “how’d
you do that?” No one answered. That was okay, he didn’t need to answer.
It was obvious to me; Dad was having fun where he was at and he was still
enjoying the wonderful sport of deer hunting.
Dad proved something to me that day; his lasting memory wasn’t just
there to tag along and get in the way, he was there to hunt!
For more go to: www.whitetailfanatic.com
TO: Tom
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