That’s My Deer!
(A story submitted by Jonathan Humphreys)

On a warm October evening this year, I sat quietly in a blind in the woods of western New Jersey contemplating my future as a bowhunter. For three seasons, I’ve been working my way through the “Neat Ways to Blow Your Shot” list – rushing, waiting too long, tripping the release, misjudging distance and other nice moves. Only two weeks earlier, I missed a perfect 20-yarder at a lovely doe. Just missed… pure and simple. I wondered, "Will today be different?"

As one hour stretched into two, I began to question if I would see anything that afternoon. I thought about the hours away from family, practicing, reading my deer hunting mags, and watching those cool hunting shows on TV that drive my wife crazy. What’s it all for? Would I ever make the shot? When will it be my turn?

Just then, fortune smiled: a young buck trotted toward me through the autumn maple grove. He had small antlers and most hunters would probably let him go. But he was very handsome, strong and healthy, and more importantly… he stopped in his tracks 20 yards in front me. Redemption, standing before my very eyes.

My heart raced as I paused, drew, aimed, shot… and blinked! Unbelievably, I lost sight of my arrow at what should have been the most perfect impact ever. Instead, my handsome target gracefully cantered away, stopping behind a split tree about 90 yards away. Befuddled, I wondered “How did I mess that up? (profanely). I gathered my wits, nocked another arrow, and began the wait to see if he would come back.

I wondered what my father-in-law Fred would be thinking. Unlike most days, when we typically hunt far from one another, today Fred sat comfortably in a tree-stand barely 50 yards away. Fred only has moose, elk, pronghorn, 2 bears and 150-odd deer in his trophy case. No pressure there.

Time ticked away… three minutes…four… five... Then, to my surprise, “thud!” My deer dropped like a stone. Not another step. I fought the instinct to jump up and slowly looked at my watch to make sure I waited a full 30 minutes.

Three minutes…four… five... seemed like an eternity. I looked toward the gray figure of my deer on the ground, a saw a different shadow emerge into the corner of me eye. I rubbed my eyes. Surely, it was just a spot. But as I looked up again, the shadow was still there. My mouth fell open as Fred yelled, “Go away bear!”

I watched in disbelief as a large black bear picked up my precious first deer in its jaws, and dragged it into the thicket. I jumped out of my blind, and scrambled to the scene of the abduction, yelling in vain, “That’s my deer!”

Fred joined me on the spot, and then, probably because we were charged up on adrenaline (and indignation) we decided to reclaim my deer. Making a racket and clutching our pepper spray, we set off deeper into the woods. We hadn’t gone very far before we came upon the big momma bear perched not far off, flanked on either side by two fuzzy black cubs. They would have been cute if they weren’t thieves. We continued to yell and demand their departure. They stared at us for a moment… and then bounded up the hill. Our brazen stupidity paid off.

With our brief New Jersey-style Mexican standoff over, we set about to find my deer, and then dragged it as quickly as we could to a clearing, glancing often over our shoulders. Victory was ours. I got my deer, lost it, and got it back again.

The bears didn’t go empty-handed. They had made off with my deer’s fluffy white tail. But I got something much better than a tail… my first deer and a story to go along with it.