GRIZ BEAR COMMENTS

A daughter named 'Quigley'

I’ve had some pretty good deer hunting stories to tell in years past. There was the year my oldest son shot a deer with a bow just before sunset and then needed help tracking in dense fog so thick a fellow could get lost in familiar territory. We took two flashlights and followed the trail until the first light died. Not wanting to spend the night afield, we decided to use the second flashlight to make our way back to the car and still came out a considerable distance off course. We returned and found the deer as soon as the fog lifted.

I took a nice whitetail buck one season with unbelievable marksmanship, a shot under the left eye with a 30-30 and at least 150 yards. Of course, I won’t tell you at what part of the deer I was aiming.

But my last year of hunting was the best. My then-17-year-old daughter decided to take up deer hunting for her senior project at school - a little more surprising than her twin sister’s choice of crocheting.

Having never hunted before, she had to study and pass a hunter safety course. She then had to learn to shoot a highpower rifle, another first for my daughter. After a little practice, she went out several times with her older brother and saw a few deer in the distance. She got to experience taking cover because of an idiotic road hunter shooting from his pickup truck into the trees and thickets where she and her brother were sitting and watching for deer. But with the season more than halfgone, she hadn't gotten the opportunity for a clean shot and was afraid the season would pass without her even firing a rifle at her intended game.

Well, I decided to go along one afternoon and take her to a place where I’ve hunted and taken several deer before. We saw deer and turkey out in an adjoining field when we arrived - surprising for how early it was in the afternoon. We tried to move to a spot where we would be hidden and she would have a shot when the deer crossed the section of land where we intended to hunt. As we moved toward our intended position, I reminded her about taking careful aim and just squeezing the trigger if the opportunity came.

Before we had even crossed the open area to the location I wanted to take her, a whitetail came trotting across the field from behind us about 100 yards off. I wanted her to at least get a shot at a deer, but didn’t know if she should try for one on the run; so I whistled, hoping the deer would stop. It did. She aimed, shot, and off it started to run.

About that time, another group of deer came running up behind the first. They all stopped to look and she dropped to one knee and again took aim and shot at that first deer. It dropped on the spot, but a second deer had stepped up behind the first and was hit too.

I had neglected to tell her to hold off on shooting if two or more deer lined up in the cross hairs. I guess it wasn’t a scenario that I had thought much about before that moment. Anyway, thesecond deer went down not far from the first.

We walked over to the first, took a few photos of my daughter with her first deer and she watched with only a little horror on her face as I field dressed the animal and showed her the various internal organs. Then she and her brother followed the tracks to find the second deer in the tall prairie grass. I was glad my son also had a tag to fill. Having crudely demonstrated the art of field dressing, I gave her the opportunity to do the second. She helped a bit, but passed on the dirty work.

Then came the hard part, dragging two animals back through ice and snow to the place we parked and loading them up. I was glad to have my son and daughter along to prevent this old man from suffering a heart attack. It made me wonder how I ever got deer out by myself in years past.

On one of the many catchmy-breath rest stops on the way back to our parking spot, I asked my daughter if she had now had her fill of deer hunting. After all, shooting two deer with one shot and then helping a bit with field dressing and dragging the animals through the snow might have been enough for her.

To my surprise, she said, “No, I want to try for a big buck next season!”

Though I didn’t get to go with her, she decided to try out goose hunting that year too. She shot her first goose before the hunter she was with even had the opportunity to get things set up for the hunt.

I’ve now given my daughter a new nickname just to remind her of her shooting skill and hunting experiences. I call her “Quigley.”

Randy Moll is the managing editor of the Westside Eagle Observer. He may be reached by email at rmoll@ nwaonline.com.

Opinion, Pages 6 on 10/18/2011