An early Christmas present: English harvests her first buck
By Ford Walpole
For me, this year was a deer season like no other. On the surface, it might have been particularly unsuccessful but on a metaphysical level, it was unrivaled indeed. This year, my wife English accompanied me in the deer stand on most occasions (or rather, I accompanied her).
Towards the end of last year’s season, English began hunting with me more often. She explains her renewed interest in deer hunting: “Our son Ned shot a 10-point last year which gave me the incentive to go more often. At the beginning of this season, my husband Ford saw two or three bucks on his first hunt, so I knew there were deer out there.”
A Moultrie trail camera provided additional motivation: “The camera was a Christmas gift from my daughter’s boyfriend. I became excited about watching the deer. Every morning while drinking my coffee, I would check the camera and send the pictures to Ned and Ford. It definitely encouraged me to go hunting more often. But on the other hand, it can be frustrating to see the deer on camera but not in person,” English says.
This year, English and I hunted together in a stand I built more than a decade ago. In that first season, all four members of our family occasionally hunted together. In following years, our son Ned would harvest his first deer, his first buck, his first trophy buck and many other deer from the same setting.
When you sit in the stand, the camera is positioned to your left, in view of a mineral block and corn pile at a crossing on a road in the woods. Out in front is a field, which included tall grass that since has been converted into round hay bales.
On those Saturdays when we weren’t in Clemson for a football game, English arose early for morning hunts and we often stopped for breakfast at Waffle House afterwards. It’s funny just how sacred certain hunting traditions soon become. Ned still considers a chicken dinner from Dodge’s an essential component of the return home from an evening hunt.
A few regulars joined us for the majority of our hunts: There was a healthy button buck that often foraged near us for more than an hour at a time yet somehow rarely appeared on the camera — perhaps foreshadowing that he will grow into a mysterious and elusive target buck. A doe and her fawn also routinely emerged during our hunts. The nice-sized doe apparently got wind of English’s edict that she is off-limits this season and although the animal seemed carefree, she was still training her young. A spike-buck and a four-point also occasionally walked out, and throughout the season, we saw several nice bucks on camera, and these seemed to prefer the hours from midnight until three in the morning.
By the end of the season, I could tell that English was losing hope in getting her buck and as her hunting guide, I was feeling the weight of the pressure to produce. Nonetheless, I continued to remind English that hunting remains one of the most optimistic endeavors in which a person can engage. It is hope that compels you to wake up early and continue sitting for a little while longer. The entire time you are hunting, there is always a chance, an opportunity to see an animal that has never presented itself to the camera.
English describes the call of the outdoors: “I enjoy being outside in the peace and quiet. I love to watch the sun rise or set. I also love to hear the birds waking up and the owls hooting. I like watching the deer come out to feed, and I always laugh at the fat raccoons feasting on the corn pile. The squirrels’ antics are definitely entertaining and annoying at the same time — because of the constant noise they make. We have heard a fox scream, and the Merlin app has helped me identify bird calls of the kestrel and several owls.”
She discusses what led her to persevere: “Many times, I began to think I might be wasting my time, but I remembered how much I enjoy being outside. In addition, I have been reading Advent meditations emphasizing the “joy of waiting.” My daughter’s boyfriend kept reminding me: ‘Good things come to those who wait’. That’s why it’s called hunting — you have to be patient and wait.”
The field in front of the stand has been planted with winter ryegrass and soon will be fenced for cattle. The deer have been appreciating the ryegrass, which the poet James Dickey referred to as a “green frosted table” in “Deer among Cattle.”
A few days before Christmas the property owner — Mr. Roy Smoak — called me while Ned and I were on the way home from a morning hunt to say that Jamie King (the farmer who planted the field) had spotted a nice buck in the field between 3:00 and 3:30 p.m.
“That boy has seen a lot of big deer, so for him to call me about one it must be a big buck!” Mr. Roy exclaimed. “Y’all need to come hunt and you ought to get in the stand early — and you tell English that I ordered up that buck just for her!”
We left the house early the following afternoon and headed for the deer stand. It was a Sunday, so we did not expect much traffic, but a wreck in Red Top held us up for a half hour. We managed to get in the stand at about 3:30 that afternoon. About an hour later, the button buck emerged and continued to graze for quite some time. Shortly before five, he looked up curiously across the field just as the doe and fawn appeared off to our right.
About 15 minutes later, I heard English whisper, “There’s the buck!” I ducked down on the floor and crawled to my left so we could switch places. It would be a tough shot: The deer was 130 yards away and she would have to position the rifle between limbs and Spanish to get him in her sights.
“I had been waiting a long time to see a buck, so when I saw the antlers, I got really excited and couldn’t believe a buck had finally come out!” English says. “Then the nerves kicked in — I started to shake and didn’t think I was going to be able to get a good shot. Buck fever is real! I’ve always heard about it, but I was able to experience it firsthand and seeing the buck and knowing I finally had my chance was a crazy, adrenaline-filled moment. My heart raced when I called in a turkey, but it was nothing like when I saw this buck.
“I honestly didn’t think I would be able to calm down enough to get the shot. I felt like my eyes couldn’t focus and I was shaking so much I didn’t think I could get a firm grip on the rifle. It seemed like forever, although I know it was less than a minute. When I saw the deer raise its head from eating, I knew I had to pull the trigger,” she recalls.
“Since Ford was on the other side he couldn’t see the buck’s reaction to the shot. Afterwards a deer ran into the woods to the right, but then I didn’t see anything,” English continues. “A few minutes later as my husband was climbing out of the stand to look, a big deer ran to the left across the field and into the woods. I told him that was the buck and that I must have missed him!
“Ford walked over to look for signs of blood. When I joined him a few minutes later, we heard a thrashing in the woods and he said, “that’s a shot deer!” So, we went to search. At this point it was getting dark; I was worried we may not recover the deer. Ford eventually spotted the buck lying on the ground. I was able to see the antlers and the deer’s size — he was beautiful! He originally had nine points but one had been broken off.”
For my wife, the successful hunt triggered a myriad of sentiments: “Honestly, at first, I felt sad,” English reflects. “It was such a big, beautiful deer. I didn’t expect to feel that way, but it was a very emotional experience. I had wanted it for so long and then to see the buck lying there was difficult at first. But when Ford went to get the truck, I was able to be alone with my buck. I petted him and prayed over him, thanking God for setting up the perfect hunt for me — the time of day, the broadside position of the deer, the distance and the effectiveness of the shot. After that I felt proud for shooting my first deer!” she declares.
The staff at Cordray’s Processing congratulated English on her 153-pound buck when we arrived — a healthy size for the area we hunt, especially for this time of year. It being English’s first deer, Michael Cordray and I painted blood upon her face, a rite-of-passage that he explained is “our way of honoring the animal.” He asked if she would be willing to join the Cordray’s Hall of Fame (a dubious accolade she soon realized consists of being held over the gut bucket).
Mr. Cordray instructed English to pick out a complimentary hat or t-shirt for her conquest. She chose the latter, which displays the hunter’s verse from Acts: “Arise, kill and eat!” The decision to mount the buck was an easy one — we wanted to immortalize the special experience. “I want to honor my first deer with a mount so I can remember that amazing day,” English says. “And I definitely will be at it again next year, especially now that I feel more confident in my abilities.”
Ford Walpole lives and writes on John’s Island and is the author of many articles on the outdoors. He teaches English at James Island Charter High School and the College of Charleston and may be reached at fordwalpole@gmail.com.
