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The author recounts his whitetail adventures on the date of his deceased father’s 70th birthday
Today is the Day I’m Gonna Shoot the Big One!
By Tom Fassbinder
My father enjoyed a birth date that typically coincided with Iowa’s annual December gun season for whitetail deer. During his 66 years on earth Dad spent what free time he had hunting. Some of my earliest memories as a child are of my dad and his buddy’s celebrating after a successful hunt. In 1966 the local newspaper displayed a picture of some hunters who had experienced a successful deer season at a time when other hunters in the area were having a difficult time harvesting any deer. The caption under the picture read: “local hunters go 5 for 5 on whitetail deerâ€. My Dad was one of the five guys’ pictured.
By the time I was 6 years old I knew I would be a deer hunter. On my 11th birthday Dad bought me a new 870 20-gauge shotgun. Later that fall, he bought me a rifled slug barrel for the gun. A few practice shots later and we were ready for deer season. I woke opening morning to a temperature of –18 degrees Fahrenheit. Mom dressed me up in all the clothes I owned, packed a peanut butter sandwich for my lunch into a brown bag and sent Dad and I on our way. I had on 3 pair of socks along with my new rubber boots from K-mart but by 8:00 AM my toes were so cold I thought they had frozen off. The temptation to leave my stand and head for the warmth of the truck was almost overpowering, but I didn’t want Dad to think I was not able to “run with the big dogsâ€, so I stuck it out! At mid day a buck presented a broadside shot at a distance of 50 yards. I was too cold to shoulder the gun and pull the trigger. I tried but my body just wouldn’t function. Later that night I overheard Dad telling Mom that he had “damn near froze to death that morningâ€, but he knew he had to tough it out so I wouldn’t think he was overpowered by the cold weather. He told mom that he was proud of me and that I had proved to him that I wasn’t just there to tag along and get in the way, I was there to hunt! Hearing those words solidified my whitetail deer hunting desires.
With Iowa’s slug season usually commencing on the 1st Saturday in December, Dad’s December 8th birth date would frequently take place during deer season. Each year on the morning of his birthday Dad would announce to the hunting group “today is the day I’m gonna shoot the big oneâ€. Unfortunately, it never happened. The lack of success on his birthday never seemed to bother Dad. He was fortunate to live the life of a hunter and his participation in the hunt seemed to be the only reward he needed.
After Dad’s passing, my brothers and I kept the tradition alive. Each year on the morning of December 8th you could rest assured that one of us was going to say, “today is the day I’m gonna shoot the big one, - for Dadâ€. Each of us shot awesome bucks in following years, but unfortunately none were taken on December 8th, Dad’s birthday
Recently, the season opened on December 5th and ran through the 9th. Our hunting camp that year included 12 hunters. We generally concentrate our efforts on mature bucks. It is well understood that if you want to shoot big bucks, you’ve got to let the young ones grow up. The property we hunt held several mature bucks and expectations were very high. After 3 days of hunting we had taken 8 bucks.
On the 4th day (December 8th) hunting was kind of slow. We had seen several bucks that morning but none were shooters. In the afternoon we abandoned our normal method of organized drives and decided instead to do a little stand hunting. We were hunting on a 400+ acre farm with picked cornfields and mixed hardwoods, bordered by a small river. My nephew chose my favorite spot for his afternoon hunt so on a whim I opted to hunt an area located at the far edge of the property.
I situated myself in a makeshift ground blind 40-yards from the property line near the remains of a deteriorated old farmstead. Across the 4 strand barbed wire fence, the neighbor’s property contained a picked cornfield with one brushy draw along the edge. I found a comfortable spot on a small log in a semi open area; although I felt I was well hidden by the surrounding growth of multiflora rose. I could see 40 yards to my left, 150 yards to my right plus I had a clear view to the wood line 100 yards out front. The wooded ridge in front of me dropped of sharply into a large wooded valley. I reasoned that as dark approached, the deer would leave the valley and travel up a small saddle 30 yards to my right that led to the picked cornfield on the neighboring property.
It was an unseasonable warm day, almost 45 degrees Fahrenheit, the kind of day that Dad would have enjoyed. I however was not enjoying the day. I was longing for my Dad’s companionship. That morning as we traveled to our hunting location, we past by the cemetery where dad is buried. Speeding by at 50 MPH, I picked out his tombstone and said a quick prayer. I prayed that “today would be the day I’d shoot the big one†– as a birthday present to Dad.
Now, as I sat in my little corner of the woods the afternoon wore on. I began to think about the fact that Dad’s birthday was drawing to a close and it was becoming obvious that the big one would not be seen today. My thoughts turned to the changes that had taken place since that cold opening day back when I was only eleven. Back then Dad hunted with a Winchester model 12. It was a wonderful scattergun but by today’s standards its smooth bore produced dismal results with lead slugs. The Model 12 pump gun had an effective range of barely 40 or 50 yards. Today, I hunted with a semi-automatic Remington 11-87, with an aftermarket trigger set at a crisp 4 pounds, custom stock and fully rifled barrel topped with a Leopold 2x7 scope. I shoot highly efficient copper slugs and my effective range is well over 100 yards. The old rubber boots and nylon coveralls had been replaced by the finest insulating and waterproofing materials available. Dad and the guy’s use to shoot any buck that got close enough, today we let the small ones walk and focus on harvesting only mature animals. Even the weather seems to be warmer today than it used to be. The comparisons of my world to yester-year brought back fond memories of Dad but left me very emotional and morning the loss of my father. Tears filled my eyes…
Suddenly, movement in the brushy draw on the neighboring property shocked me back to reality. A buck that had been bedded down in the brushy draw decided it was time to move. I found him in the scope just as he landed on my side of the fence. Jubilation turned to dejection as I realized I was looking at a small 1-½ year old 6 pointer. The 6 pointer began walking straight towards me. I looked at my watch. 15 minutes of daylight remained. I thought to myself, if Dad was here he’d shoot it…instinctively the gun came back up, the safety went off and the cross hairs were placed on the deer’s vitals. Before I could pull the trigger movement at the wood line out in front of me caught my eye. Eight does and a big buck were leaving the valley and heading up the saddle to my right. Instantly I knew this second buck was a shooter! I’d seen him several times during bow season. He was a mainframe 8 pointer that had his left side damaged while he was still in velvet making his rack seem twisted and unusual. The G-2’s were long, maybe 13 inches or more. The doe’s were leading the 4 ½ year old buck into my shooting lane. The sorrow left my body and a smile filled my face.
The lead doe passed through my shooting lane but the buck needed to go another 30 yards before I had a clear shot. Just then something awful happened, the small 6 pointer smelled something he didn’t like and snorted. The eight does and the big shooter buck turned tail and ran back towards the security of the valley.
Needless to say, I was devastated. Once again my instincts took over, I pulled up on the little 6 pointer, he was standing broadside at 20 yards looking in the direction that the does and shooter buck had ran. He was mine…the cross hairs found the mark, but I could not pull the trigger. I wanted to, I tried, but I couldn’t pull it, my finger was locked much like that cold morning when I was 11 years old. I was confused, what was happening? It was 45 degrees outside! I lowered my gun and sat there wondering what was going on. Why is this happening to me?
A few minutes passed and once again movement brought me back to reality, this time the big shooter buck was re-exiting at the wood line and this time he was alone. A quick check of my watch told me I had 10 minutes of season left. If this was going to work out it needed to happen rather quickly. My brother would be by soon to pick me up with the ATV. The buck needed to travel another 50 yards to reach my shooting lane if I were to have a chance. The buck was hungry and wanted to get to the cornfield, but he was acting jittery and moving very cautiously.
With time running out I noticed the little 6 pointer had now circled down wind and was about to cross my entry trail while the shooter buck still had 10 yards to go to reach the shooting lane….5 yards to go….the 6 point hit my track, snorted and almost fell over backwards trying to get away, the shooter buck turned and bolted for the woods, at the same time I sprang to my feet darting forward in an attempt to clear the bush while hoping for a shot at the big buck. I cleared the bush just as the big buck stopped at the edge of the woods, 100 yards away and looked back over his shoulder at me.
Once again I was overcome with a feeling that someone else was in control. Then I heard my dad’s voice say, “I got him stopped Tommy, the rest is up to youâ€. The gun roared and the big one dropped dead in his tracks. A birthday buck at last! I looked to the heavens and asked out loud “how’d you do that?†No one answered. That was okay, he didn’t need to answer. It was obvious to me; Dad was having fun where he was at and he was still enjoying the wonderful sport of deer hunting.
Dad proved something to me that day; his lasting memory wasn’t just there to tag along and get in the way, he was there to hunt!