The first deer I shot wasn’t with a rifle. It was with a compound bow I bought on Craigslist for $200. It came with a dozen arrows, a release that was two sizes too big, and the previous owner’s handwritten sight tape that was definitely wrong.
I practiced all summer in my backyard. Twenty yards, good groups. Thirty yards, decent. Forty yards, let’s just say the target had some new ventilation. By October I could hit a paper plate at 30 yards nine times out of ten. I thought I was ready.
Opening Morning
I was in a ladder stand before first light. Freezing my ass off because I wore jeans under my camo pants — nobody told me cotton soaks up morning dew and then turns into an ice pack. Live and learn.
Around 7:30 a small doe walked out of the tree line, maybe 25 yards. Perfect broadside. I drew back slowly. She didn’t spook. I settled the pin behind her shoulder. Released.
The arrow flew. The doe jumped, ran about forty yards, and dropped. Just like that.
I sat in the stand for another twenty minutes. Not because I was waiting to track her — I could see her from where I was. I just didn’t know what to do next. Nobody tells you about that part.
The Part I Wasn’t Ready For
I climbed down okay. Walked up to her okay. Then I just stood there. She was small — maybe 90 pounds. The arrow had passed clean through. It was a good shot. But the whole thing felt different than I expected. Heavier.
I’d grown up wanting to hunt. Watched all the shows. Read the magazines. Nobody in those shows ever stood over their first deer and had to take a minute. They high-fived the camera guy and said “smoked him.” I’m not saying that’s wrong — I’m saying that wasn’t me.
I field-dressed her slowly. Probably did a terrible job. Got blood on my jeans, on my hands, on the release I forgot to take off. Drove to the processor in silence. When I dropped her off, another hunter walked past with a nice buck, looked at my doe, and gave me a nod. That nod said more than any high-five could.
What Nobody Tells You About Your First Deer
It’s not like the videos. You don’t feel like a warrior. You feel like a person who just took a life, and then you have to get back in your truck with blood under your fingernails and go get a coffee at the gas station. That contrast is strange. Nobody warns you about it.
But here’s what else nobody tells you: when you eat that deer — when you cook a backstrap in butter and garlic and put it on a plate — it tastes different than any store-bought meat. Not better, necessarily. Just different. Because you were there. You remember the cold stand, the sound of the draw, the silence after the shot. That meal means something because you didn’t just buy it. You earned it.
I’ve shot bigger deer since. Better bucks, longer shots, nicer gear. But that first doe on a beat-up Craigslist bow — that’s still the one I think about most.
If you’re about to go on your first hunt: shoot straight, take your time dressing, and don’t feel weird if you need a minute afterward. That’s not weakness. That’s respect.
