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Well, this year was my last year to go out hunting during the juvenile hunt, so I took it for what it was worth and went out yesterday and today. My uncle was nice enough to lend me a blind yesterday and a tree stand today, so I was pretty much covered on location. Everyone insisted on me using a scoped rifle because "..it would make a world of difference..." and "..it's better in those conditions to have one.." and all that, Hounddawg offered to lend me his .303, my grandfather offered to lend me his 30-06, and my uncle offered to lend me his 30-30, all of which were scoped, and all of which I refused to use. I just wanted to stick with "Big Nick", my Schmidt Rubin, iron sights. I know where it shoots as I shoot it often, and I had every confidence in it.

Saturday morning at 5:30 is cold, even in a blind, which I have to say was a whole lot better than the treestand, but whatever. It was my first day, and when I climbed up into the stand at first in total darkness, it was kind of harrowing. So I stuck with the little pitched blind and waited to see something. About 7:30, I noticed two deer come walking over from the other side of the road, one a large doe, the other a young buck, just a little spiker. I was taking aim when the doe saw me, but she just stood there and watched me, so I eased the rifle into my shoulder and prepared to put my finger on the trigger. She swore at me in deer (it sounded like someone trying to hack up a porcupine) and trotted off about 15 yards, stopped, and faced me again. I had her lined up in my sights, right where the neck meets the chest, slowly squeezing the trigger...!!!! planes. A sonic boom shattered the morning, the whole ground shook, and off ran my doe with buck in tow. So I put the rifle on safe and waited for about another two hours till I saw a doe coming off from the right where the other two had ran. She had two little fawns behind her, and I was going to take a shot, but she decided that she liked it a little better behind the trees and bushes than she did out in the open, so there went another chance. All in all, Saturday came and went, not a shot fired, but still a good feeling about today, seeing as I had actually seen something.

5:30 in a blind was cold enough, but 5:00 in a treestand is much colder. Thank god Hounddawg and I went out Saturday night and bought me proper gloves. My fingers would be frozen off by now. The day earlier I had climbed the treestand during the day at about 10, just to see what it would be like once it got lighter out. I didn't have a problem with it, so there I sat this morning. Heard nothing, saw nothing all morning till about 7:25-7:30. There was a bloody loud commotion off to the right and behind me, but if it was a deer, I didn't want to turn around and spook it off, so I waited to see if it would come around to the broad side of me or in front so I could see what it was. Then, off about 80 yards away, I saw movement inbetween the bushes. I looked, but couldn't really see anything except bushes, and then fawn-brown, and bushes again, so I slung my rifle to my shoulder anyway just in case it was in fact a deer I was looking at. I sat there watching this stationary figure for about 2 minutes, and just as I started to think I was crazy and seeing things, a beautiful buck stepped out from that spot and stood on the ridge overlooking the gulley that I was in. He stood there for a minute, looking around carefree, so I took the oppurtunity to slowly take aim. He must have seen me, because he jerked his head back and looked directly at me. I froze. He stared at me, ducked his head around a bit trying to figure out what it was he was looking at, then dropped down into the ditch that used to be an old road. When I knew he couldn't see me, I dropped my elbow onto my knee for some support and stared at where I thought he would be through the sights...I was NOT letting this one get away. He popped up over the edge of the ridge that was closest to me, only his body from the knees up showing. He was still staring right at me, but I moved very slowly and took aim right where the neck meets the chest, but before I could do anything more, he dropped down again. I waited, and again he popped his head up, still looking right at me, but only his shoulders and up showing this time. I sat for about 30 seconds, contemplating my point of aim and trying to slow my breathing so I could actually pull the shot off. He just stood there. Pulled the Schmidt Rubin's slack off. He still just stood there. Started to squeeze the actual trigger pull, and he didn't move an inch. Before I knew it, it was all over, and my buck was nowhere to be seen. I wasn't sure if he had run off or if he had dropped, but I was hoping for the latter. I racked another round into the chamber and sat. My uncle had instructed me to stay in the treestand until he got there with Hounddawg. Well that lasted about 2 minutes. By the time they got down there, I was down in the gulley with my buck jumping up and down and waving them over. 130 lbs. of pure muscle and a beautiful wide-spread rack of 7 points. My first deer. My uncle was pretty impressed, seeing as his first buck was only a 5 pointer. Hounddawg is still rather chuffed about it, and everyone who saw it was very impressed with my shot placement. It was a FINE day.






I like the second one better...hunter hat hair in the first. ^.^ But yeah. First hunt. First deer. Now not only do I get to enjoy seeing and bragging about his rack on my wall, I now get to enjoy the tenderloins and backstrap for a few months between breakfast biscuits. =D

Mini Dawg
 

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I have already told you that I'm proud of you, but since I won't see you all week,and I know you are going to come here to bask in the praise of the other G&G members, it is now my sad duty to inform you of my deep disappointment.

You did well to kill a deer that would feed your family in the weeks to come, yet you show a lack of respect for your aged father and your equipment. With rheumatism racking my anchient frame, tonight I shall painfully ensure that your rifle remains an accurate hunting instrument. Painfully - did I mention that? My dissapointment is so great that I'm afraid that I might miss a speck or two in the barrel. This would be because my failing eyesight would be further blurred by an aged father's tears. Tears for the daughter who disrespects her rifle. Did I already touch on the aged father's tears? Good! I weep. The daughter whose loving father taught her to always keep her rifle clean. Now the father laments. The daughter respects neither him nor her rifle, and both have served her faithfully! Oh... OK, I've already done that part...The rifle is no longer named "Big Nick", alas, no! Henceforth, the tool that served you well, lives in disgrace with the monicker "Filthy Nicholas".

Did I do the rheumatism and the aged teary eyes? Ok. I guess I'm done then. I'm going to go for a quick run, and then I'll clean your rifle. This had better not happen again! I'm serious now.
 

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I use a walker and rollerblades. I also use Hoppes no.9 on a rifle that I did not shoot. With aching rheumatic hands and bleary tear-filled, aged eyes. You know, so that it may last another week or so?
 

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Great story, MiniDawg!...and Congratulations! :ballons: Hope I do as well as you when I'm in a tree stand Nov 12th and 13. I, too, plan to use iron sights of my Winn 30-30. But...my bleary old eyes may not be strong enough to see past the tip of my rifle.:D
 

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"I just wanted to stick with "Big Nick", my Schmidt Rubin, iron sights. I know where it shoots as I shoot it often, and I had every confidence in it."

Again, great job. Deserving of a bask in the glory. As I am not the master of the pen, I will keep it simple, hopefully respectfull.

YES! A hunter, soldier, or anyone else who depends on thier rifle should keep it as if gold. Clean your gun young lady! I'm reading "my Schmidt Rubin" albeit from what I read, this is potentialy your property, it may not be someday. I'm sure whomever inherits it shall be glad of it's good care and game getting capability.

Also set good examples for those who come after you. It's a tradition worthy of keeping.

Again, congrats, & yes it's a real bummer to run with old people issues, I know.
 

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Discussion Starter · #12 ·
The little Dawg's pics are now in her post. They were linked to where they were posted in another forum, but those imbeciles decided that it was offensive. That has burned my arse, I'll tell you.

I'm becoming so tired of these Vegetarian-Fringe idiots who seem to think that my daughter just got out of bed and decided to kill a deer. They apparently don't realise that she has worked on her shooting, hunter-safety, field-craft and first-aid in preparation for this day. When they were still sniffing their own flatulence, she was out in the cold.

My kid behaved like a pro, and now these puddles of excrement want to detract from what she has done! I have only one wish for them. May they know hunger!
 

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Ahem.... Above post is mine. PC remembered last user log-in. My bad...
 

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That's a nice looking buck Mini Dawg!!! The picture may fade over the years, but you'll remember that day like it had just happended forever. Reading your story has really stoked the fire inside of me in anticipation for opening day here in Missouri. It's only 9 days away, but it can't get here fast enough. I've been deer hunting now for 21 years and still look forward to opening morning like a little boy waits for Christmas day. I can't wait to take my son to the deer woods for the first time, he's only 4, and I had hinted around at the idea of letting him sit with me one evening this season to Mrs.Copper, but since her vote is the only one that counts, I was over ruled. We'll see though.

I'm sure that your failure to clean you rifle was just an oversight due to your excitment and elation of killing your first deer. It's a forgivable sin, just don't let it happen again. I'm assuming Hounddawg made it back from his run despite rheumatism and bleary eyes????
 

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Last fall, a friend's 15 year old son shot TWO, count 'em, TWO deer with his newly acquired Ruger #1. There was quite a heap of praise for him that whole season. Even his older sister, who instead of getting a deer got a Weatherby Brow, spoke well of him for it.
 
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