Every day has the potential to be the best day ever, that’s what gets us up on the morning. In that same light, every hunt could be the best hunt of your life. Honestly though, everyday we wake up or spend time afield is a good day and a blessing. Even as a purveyor of the positive, sometimes there are experiences that stand out a little more than the others. This year’s firearm opener in Michigan was just such an event for me. It would include an annual deer camp with my dad but with my brother as a bonus guest. The two of us hadn’t hunted together for 20 years so it would be quite the treat to spend some time with him.

My brother, Travis, would leave Illinois the morning before the November 15th opener and make his way North. I had sent him a pin of the property so he could familiarize himself with the area and given instructions on where to place a ground blind for our dad. Living in a prime deer area of Illinois this trip was not for him to kill a trophy. As a matter of fact he didn’t even buy a license. He was just driving up to have camp, as well as act as an extra set of younger eyes in dad’s blind.

Having formed a good relationship with neighboring land owners, we extended an invitation to meet us at our favorite local eatery the night before the opener. With one taker, the four of us bellied up to the bar, talking and laughing as four men should in anticipation of a fine day afield. The bartender was the same as had been for the last 5 years and he wished us luck as we headed out for the evening. Once back to the cottage we finalized plans for the morning and slept soundly until the alarm rang the following morning.

We underestimated the time it would take the three of us to get out of the house and miscalculated when daylight would break. Dropping my brother and dad off as close as I could to the elevated blind they would hunt from I hurried the truck down the lane to park and rush back to my blind. Let’s just say, I didn’t need a flashlight to find my way. Fortunately, I didn’t spook any deer that I could tell and quickly got in the blind and unloaded my backpack. Taking some time to cool off, I got all my gear in place then slipped my outer layer on. It was a cold morning but the highs were expected to be in the upper 50’s the next two days. Pleasant weather to be out hunting but we’d have to see how it would lend itself to deer movement. On the other side of the field my two hunting partners had fired up a small propane heater and were in shirt sleeves before the first deer showed up.

Speaking of the first deer, a unicorn buck popped out 40 yards away from me breaking the ice and ensuring we wouldn’t go the whole day without seeing any deer. I had a couple pictures of this buck, a spike that either only grew one side or broke a side off sometime during the summer. Out from his head jutted a lone tine, thus being dubbed the unicorn. He got a pass from me as he walked North along the field edge, eventually disappearing into the woodline. My dad and Travis had a buck they were trying to get a bead on but he kept poking in and out of dense cover. Wanting more than anything for my dad to get a deer I watched anxiously through my binoculars. At one point I could see the barrel of his .350 Legend protruding from the window but in the end he couldn’t get everything to fall into line for a shot.

Putting down my field glasses I searched my area to make sure nothing had snuck up. Through the two open windows, there was nothing. Looking back to the West, through a closed window, there was something out of place. Peering with focused intent, there were two deer just inside the brush on the backside of drainage ditch. Pulling the binos back up, the closest was a buck. It was a fork horn however, currently there was a self-imposed restriction of an 8 point or better. Moving to the second deer he was bigger, with more points. Now I had to try and slide the window up without alerting the two bucks that were around 40-50 yards away. Luck was on my side and with the window now open the deer were not alerted of my presence. This time it was my .350 Legend protruding from the blind. Dialing the magnification back on the scope the buck appeared through the eye piece. At that moment he was quartered very hard towards the blind so I opted to hold off to see if he would turn broadside. He turned and took a few steps towards the field, exposing his vitals in a brush free window. Lining up the crosshairs, just a bit further behind the shoulder than a completely broadside deer due to a slightly quartering position, the AR barked.

Lurching forward the buck ran 30 yards and stopped on a pile of dirt left from digging drainage ditches years ago. The buck did not appear to be wobbling and stood staunch, most of his body was concealed with vegetation. Not wanting to let this one slip away, the cross hairs centered on his neck and another round was sent. He immediately disappeared from sight, presumably officially down for the count.

Once the smoke cleared a text was sent to my bother and dad to let them know a buck was down. Immediately they responded that they were also on some deer and would get back to me. I sat excited with my recent kill and even more eager that my dad may get a crack at one within minutes of mine. Waiting, there was no gunshot from the other blind. Not being able to locate their potential targets my attention was turned to the fork horn that had been paired with the dead 8 pointer. He was still trying to figure out what had happened and what his next move would be. He walked to the 8 pointer and checked him out, then crossed the water filled ditch into the field. Excitedly, a text was sent to Travis and Dad to let them know a buck may be heading their way. The buck milled around in the field and eventually crossed back into the woods and headed West.

Texting to find out what was going on, the pair informed me they we trying to get on a couple does that had ran across the field about the time I shot. Interestingly, they thought I was shooting at the two does that had apparently came from my direction. It was a little disheartening not having noticed deer in such close proximity until the thought of the dead buck came back into the forefront reversing the tone of my thoughts. Some time passed when there was movement near the gate into the field. The two does that had evaded my dad were now circling back to the South. Conveniently the fork horn was set to intercept them on the field edge. At one point they dashed right at the other blind. Thinking this was the break my dad needed my pulse quickened again. Just as he was bringing the gun up and starting to peer through the scope, the lead doe did an about face and turned back the way she had come. After an eventful opening morning the activity finally died down and it was time to get a close look at my buck.

Having watched him drop after the second shot, doubt was minimal in my mind that it would be a difficult search. Surprisingly no blood was found at the site of the initial shot or anywhere between there and his final resting place. Walking towards where the buck had to be lying I went thigh deep into a swampy hole. Popping out quickly and somehow retaining my boot, there was still no sign of the buck. It wasn’t until popping over the spoil pile that he appeared. Taking a moment to observe the beauty of the slain beast and give thanks to him and God above a smile crept onto my face watching as my dad

brother climbed down together. Travis would head in my direction while Dad would begin his slow and steady trek back to the truck. The next order of business was to figure out how to get the buck across the mucky creek between us and the field. Being the super prepared duo that we are, neither of us had a rope. That left two options, drag the deer a long way on my side of the creek through all kinds of deadfall and briars or wade into the quagmire and hand the rack to Travis so he could hoist it onto the opposite bank. Neither solution was enticing but ease and efficiency won out. Since one leg had already been soiled in the swamp, wading across 5 feet of water seemed reasonable. This would require the least work and shortest amount of time, albeit the penalty would be wet pants and boots filled with skanky muck water.

Handing Travis the rack he heaved the buck up the other bank. We staged the deer and we took some pics. It was an absolute pleasure conversing with my brother. We laughed, traded suggestions on gutting the deer, and talked as two brothers who don’t see each other enough do. After taking care of the dirty work it was time to swing by the cottage and grab the side by side.

In years past I would have rushed back, loaded the deer, and tried to get back out into the woods for an afternoon hunt. This year was hitting different. There was no hurry. The moment was right, it couldn’t get better. I merely wanted to be present and hold onto this snapshot of two brothers and a father with his two sons. We came back to the cottage for lunch and even relaxed with a reinvigorating nap. Being that it was unusually warm for mid-November there was work to do in order to get the buck cut up and into a cooler. Collectively we decided that our afternoon would be best spent together as a family rather than split up into blinds. While skinning my trophy, the other two ran to town to grab some bacon, charcoal, and sides to go with hours old inner loin. Upon returning the beers came out and everyone got in on the processing. Even the neighbor and the caretaker of our cottage came over to admire the deer and chat briefly. The day felt like a holiday, a gift.

Slow cooked, fire grilled, bacon wrapped deer would bless our plates that evening while we streamed my oldest daughter’s basketball game. Eventually the time came to turn in for the night, ending a perfect day. My brother would be leaving in the morning to meet his own family obligations so there would only be two remaining in camp. Dad and I would hunt unsuccessfully all day on Thursday but enjoyed the time in the woods. He saw deer and had some close calls but just couldn’t put everything together. Rain the following morning saw us sleeping in, grabbing some gas station coffee, and driving around the area looking at properties and making general conversation. The rain would eventually die off and things dried up. After lunch we headed back to the blinds for our last sit of the trip.

The front that blew through dropped temps a bit more in-line with hunting season. Deer had been moving the whole hunt so optimism ran hi as the afternoon crept on. Looking one direction and turning back to the North, a lone doe had entered the field. Happy to see a deer and taking time to just observe her actions, the trip had been more than satisfying. She began working her way towards my dad so I shot him a quick text to start looking in that direction. Just as things seemed as if they may come together for the elder Stafford, the doe had other plans. Making a total 180 she began working back the way she had come from. Having a pocket full of tags, a request for meat from a co-worker, and the likely need to take a doe or two out of the population, it was time to spring into action.

The shot would be 130 yards, with a sandbag and window sill to get steady on, the crosshairs were set in stone. She darted with the shot and disappeared into the thick brush. Dad was wondering if I hit it and was ready to get down immediately, which he did. Normally I would have waited longer but with dark coming on fast and him getting antsy, the search for blood got underway. Nervous at first, it didn’t take long before first blood was found. Taking up the trail, it only lasted for 50 yards or so before it ended. It was a great way to cap off an already perfect trip. The conclusion of deer camp only starts the process for next year’s. My only concern at this point is how to top this year’s?