Deer hunting has always been a part of my life. From an early age I can remember my dad spending opening day of gun season on the family farm alongside his brothers and brother-in-laws. When I was 8 years old, I was finally able to partake in a long standing family tradition: deer drives. My uncles, who were the real deer hunters in the family, had been hunting the same 300 acres for the vast majority of their lives and no one knew how to move deer around those woods like my uncles. In the fall of 1990, I went on my first deer hunt as a stander on the traditional “Beech Grove” drive with my dad by my side and my uncles doing all the hard work.
Dad and I made our way to the edge of an oak flat via a long and winding logging road that eventually dropped off the flat and circled back below us in the creek bottom. The beech grove for which this drive earned its name was situated at the head of the holler about 300 yards west of our stand. In order to move deer from A to B on this drive, my Uncle Jason would have to walk nearly a mile out of the way in order to approach the beech grove from the right direction. The goal was to push deer from the beech grove and out the ridge opposite our position. Another old logging road came off the ridge and dropped in to the bottom below our stand where it joined the road we walked in on. Once the deer reached the bottom, they would usually stop before moving on to nasty thicket to the east of us. Over the years this drive produced more deer than any other drive on the farm and this day would prove to be no different.
For an 8 year old on his first hunt, it seemed like DAYS that we waited for my uncle to get to the business end of the drive. However eventually all hell broke loose in the woods across from us and an entire herd of deer exited the beech grove in textbook fashion. I was hunkered down next to an old stump with my trusty New England single-shot .410 when dad said: “Here comes one. Cheek on the stock. Bead right behind the shoulder.” Sure enough, a really nice 8-point was tearing down the logging road and came to a skidding halt in the creek below me. “Take the shot.” I heard dad whisper as I tried to deal with my first ever case of buck fever. To this day, I can still remember how far off the stock my face came and how hard I was looking clear over the end of my barrel at that buck when I pulled the trigger! lmao
Needless to say, I had to donate a shirt tail to my uncles when they all joined us at the end of the drive! I took a ration of shit from Uncle Jason for whiffing after all his walking and I can recall taking it pretty hard. Everyone decided to try another drive, but I was ready to head for the house after the letdown. So my dad’s brother-in-law said he would walk me back to the house. He and I took off down the creek and eventually came to a spring in the hillside below the deer cabin. The scene from that morning is etched in my head like an Ansel Adams picture. As we stood in the moss surrounding the spring, a hard frost from the night before was melting off under the intense morning sun. My uncle picked up an old turtle shell that was laying nearby and cleaned it out in the creek. He proceeded to fill it up with spring water and took a long, hearty drink. As a young boy being raised by a germaphobic mother, my mind was blown! My uncle filled up the turtle shell again and handed it to me saying: “It’s alright, I won’t tell your mom.” I grabbed the shell and took a big swig of the coldest water I’d ever drank. I felt like a man standing there drinking from that turtle shell, not a little boy. It was a defining moment in my life.
As I grew older and deer hunting become a bigger part of my life, I often replayed that hunt in my mind. The years passed and the memories of what that buck looked like faded, but the recollection of drinking from that turtle shell seemed to grow more and more vivid. A few years back, I had the chance to tell my uncle this story and let him know how much that day stuck in my head. To him, it was a simple gesture. To me, it was a momentous occasion. I got to be a man. Doing manly things. In the deer woods. With one of my heroes. And that is a memory I’ll cherish forever.
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