It’s been said the kill is not the best part of the hunt. But the hunt itself, the anticipation, the preparation, and possibly the recollection, are the elements that we enjoy the most. While the kill may be the climax, its duration is so short and the result so final, it can never be best. Most agree that we enjoy the hunt even without the kill, but lacking it your freezer will stay empty.
Of course, I know of no one who would starve without venison in their meet cellar. And time and again you’ll hear hunters say, “It was just a spike.” or “Since it was the last day, I settled for the forkhorn.” Even trophy hunters make concessions when they cannot connect with the one they want. They may use the excuse of a desire for tenderloin, but you know, like they do, wild protein can be had much easier with an antlerless tag. And it will taste every bit as good.
Many may not actually realize why they settle for a buck that may be under their expectations. It may be that the true reason is too “moody” for campfire conversation. But if you are a deer hunter and you have ever taken a buck, you know. You may not understand it, and likely you will not be able to explain it, but you know, because you’ve felt it. Not when he dropped at the shot or later when you saw the smile on your proud father’s face. And it didn’t happen at the check station when the old-timer by the woodstove said, “That may be the biggest buck I’ve seen come off of that mountain.”
It happened the first time, and it will happen every time from now on, when you first kneel and reach your trembling hand out and touch the buck’s antler. That exact moment can never be repeated. It’s your time and it is the buck’s time. That first touch of antler, no matter how large in size or score, is when you feel his spirit. His wild. That touch with your hand, not the shot, is when you make him yours. Your buck. Your antler.
Nothing can duplicate it. Not touching the rack of the big eight-point your brother killed on the old home place, not holding the antler of the first buck your son takes, or even fondling the rack of the world record on display at some hunting exhibition. There beside your buck, with the wild under your feet and all around you, with the sky blue and endless, and with the air sharp-cold in your nostrils, when you first touch his antler, you feel it.
It feels good and it doesn’t make a damn if anyone else is watching or not. Hold it tight and hold on to it as long as you want, for when you let go, the buck’s spirit and that moment are gone, and a memory is as close as you’ll ever get. Remember the exact spot where you first touched the antler, remember how it felt. There is no use trying to explain that feeling, it’s different for everyone. That feeling and all the pride, sadness, joy, and pain, it might bring is yours – all yours. You’re not required to share or justify it with anyone, anywhere, ever. You ended the hunt, you ended the deer, and you and you alone deserve the gift the antler will give.
From a spike to heavy antlered brute, all antlers hold the same power. Never under any circumstance touch the antler of a deer another hunter has taken until they have experienced that moment. That moment, that touch, belongs to the hunter. He earned it, and he alone deserves and must live with whatever it gives him.
Yes, we all deer hunt for different reasons. It gives us an escape from work, leaky roofs, ands broken washing machines. It lets us experience the campfire and the camaraderie of other hunters. We get to feel the bark of the hickory, hear the crackle of the brook, and smell the earth; it lets us celebrate and revive the ancestral spirit that is imbedded in our DNA. But when you take a buck and touch his antler for the first time you know why you are a deer hunter. You know why antlers of all shapes and sizes are placed on walls and woodsheds. And you know why you stayed on stand in the bitter cold and rain.
Someday – hopefully a long ways down the trail – you may be too old and too tired to hit the timber. As the leaves turn and the winds cool, you’ll remember and you’ll wish that just once more you could prowl the old pear field, climb the mountain, set the stand, and hunt the buck. But more than anything else you’ll wish you could, just one more time, touch antler.
