Sportsmanship
by David Crothers
David Crothers is a Chief Master Sergeant in the United States Air Force. He is the Maintenance Superintendent of a Fighter Squadron. In 20 years in the Air Force he has returned to Michigan to hunt deer all but three seasons.

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One deer season many years ago I received a lesson is sportsmanship that made a lasting mark on my hunting philosophy. I was 16 years old and carrying a rifle for only my third season. I had yet to take my first buck having missed a 4-point two years earlier. My father had hunted for 20 years on the same piece of private property that belonged to a friend of the family's. As every deer season starts I was full of excitement having dreamed of the bucks straight out of outdoor magazines.

It was a brisk November 15th morning that brought several deer by our ground blind at first light. I hunted hard those first few hours but like most teenagers, anticipation of a fine buck slipped quickly as time went by. At mid morning we heard two shots coming from a basin that lay below and behind us. I knew the owner of the property normally hunted in the back basin and quickly guessed he got a nice buck. Probably the one I had been dreaming of.

Within a few minutes my father motioned to my side and pointed toward a ridge that ran up from the basin. I quickly caught sight of a deer running hard, making lots of racket as it went.
A large red spot caught my eye as I saw his horns moving behind the brush on his escape route. I raised my Model-94 and leveled the iron sites on the moving target and made a hasty shot
before the buck was out of sight. I don't remember seeing the buck after I shot, but my father was sure I hit it and said it had continued down the ridge. I knew from listening to my father that it was best to wait 20 or 30 minutes after such a shot in the hope that the deer would lie down and stiffen up. My father told me we should sit tight for a while but at 16 there was no stopping me. We got up and started down the ridge looking for the buck.

It didn't take long to find a blood trail but it was light and hard to follow. I made several arcs back in forth in the general direction the deer was last seen but didn't see any sign. Within a few minutes frustration set in and I figured I made a bad shot and the deer was still running. As we stood on the ridge talking about it my dad saw the deer lying next to a tree in an opening about 30 yards in front of the ridge. I went over and found a beautiful 5-point buck. The buck had been shot in the lower jaw and it was hanging loosely covered in blood. I then realized that this was the red spot I had seen prior to my shot.

I rolled the buck over and started the gutting process receiving detailed instructions from my father as I went about the task. Five minutes into the job the owner of the land came walking down the ridge line and up to us. For one brief second I thought I was about to lose my first buck. My dad and the owner looked over the deer as I made a mess of cleaning him. Wayne,the landowner, could see the excitement on my face. My dad asked if it was he that had shot and Wayne stated it was and that he thought the deer had came our way. My father asked Wayne if this was the deer he had shot. Wayne smiled and said, "No, the buck I shot was bigger." He smiled at my dad, turned and congratulated me on taking my first buck and walked back to his blind.

I was so excited about taking my first buck I never doubted his word and without hesitation accepted the 5-point trophy as mine. That was the last deer season we hunted on Wayne's land and shortly afterwards started hunting on some other land in the same mile area. I went several years before I got another buck and each passing year I grow to love the hunt and time spent with my father more deeply. I have grown to realize that deer season means different things to each hunter. For some of us we get the memories and joy from getting that occasional buck. Wayne saw that joy on a 16-year-old kids face more than 20 years ago. That joy is still there today.