Most people would say a successful deer season would actually entail harvesting a deer. Up until last year, I would have agreed with them. Of all my years of hunting, I would have to say my 2005-2006 season was my most successful, and I never even harvested a single deer. You see, last year I learned that success in hunting is more than just pulling a trigger or release yourself. It’s really all about the memories made and sharing in the joy of others. Those memories are what often help sustain us through some of the darkest periods of our lives.

One morning during the first week of rifle season last year, I had taken a much needed break from work and gone hunting alone. I had what I considered a fulfilling but rather uneventful morning – seeing only a few does. I had just returned home when my father-in-law, Drew, pulled up on his 4-wheeler. He was grinning and said, “I came to get that puppy. You think she can find a deer?” That puppy was our eight-month-old yellow lab, Macy, who my husband (and our adopted stray, Copper) had been training as a blood dog. “I think she can,” I replied. “What did you shoot?” “A big one!” he said as began recounting the events of his morning hunt on the power line which runs through hundreds of acres of short, thick pines.“…but I can’t find it,” he ended, “No blood, no hair, nothing. I’ve looked for two hours. I know I hit it and hit it good!” I had never seen Drew act so nervous. He was 63-years-old and had hunted for the majority of those sixty -three years. I knew that this must indeed be a big deer. “Well, come on,” I said. “Let’s go find him.” I jumped on my four-wheeler, whistled to Macy and Copper to follow, and set out.

When we reached the power line, Drew showed me where the deer had been standing when he shot it. The distance was a mere 75-yards from the elevated box stand he had been sitting in. Knowing what a good shot, he is, I knew he must have hit it. I tried to put Macy on the scent, but she totally ignored me, ran about 50-yards up the power line, and went into the pines. I told Drew she must be on the trail, but he said that was where some does had crossed after he shot the buck. She stayed in the pines less than a minute before coming out. So much for the “blood dog.”

Drew and I diligently searched the edge of the field for blood, hair, tracks, anything that would let us know where the buck entered the pines. Not finding any sign, I just started following the most used trail stemming from the last place he saw the deer. We decided to spread out, so Drew went one way, and I went another. I took the thickest trails as Drew was not able to. I literally had to fight my way through the tangled mass of painfully sharp briars which grew over the trails. After several minutes of meticulously searching a trail and finding no sign, I would back out and begin searching a different trail. Each trail I searched was the same – no sign of an injured or bleeding deer having passed that way.

At this point I was beginning to get frustrated. I knew what a good shot Drew was. I knew the deer was well within range. I knew how uncharacteristically excited he had been about it. Therefore, I knew he had hit the deer. I also knew something else. I knew that I had to find it for him. You see, in the back of my mind, I knew that this would probably be the last big deer he ever got a chance to harvest as his health had already begun to fail.

Up until a few short years ago, Drew was as strong, robust, and healthy as most men half his age. He worked every day of his life in construction, and he worked hard. Never a day rolled around that he wasn’t outside doing something. He’s never been the type to just sit around the house. Having been raised on a dairy farm, he’s always had the habit of getting up at 4:00 a.m. every day, working (or hunting) hard, and going to bed by 9:00 p.m. That all changed in a matter of moments at work one day when he fell off a scaffold. It was a mere five feet fall, but he landed directly on his heels on solid concrete. Both heels were crushed instantly. It took surgery, physical therapy, and nearly six months of crawling and being in a wheel chair before he was able to walk again. (Throughout all this, he still hunted though! My husband would carry him to the truck, drive him to the woods, and sit him on his 4-wheeler. He couldn’t drive it, but he would sit on it with his feet propped up until my husband returned.)

A few months after he began walking again, neuropathy set in. The nerves in his feet and legs gradually began dying. He lost all feeling from his knees down. Although he could still walk, it was a slow deliberate process because he couldn’t feel exactly where he put his feet. The extent of the damage progressed with time. We had also noticed that he had begun to have slight memory lapses as well.

All of this raced through my mind as I looked for his deer. Finding this particular deer at this particular time in his life was very important. It was something I knew I had to do. After searching for almost two hours, I was nearly in tears. Having become desperate, I stopped and did what I should have done earlier. I prayed. I asked God to please lead me to the deer. I told him how important this was not only to Drew, but also to me. I told him that I wouldn’t care if I killed a deer all year long, if He would just help me find Drew’s deer. I was even willing to give up my nemesis buck – the 20+ inch white-horned 10-point I’d been after since bow season. After praying, I said, “Okay, Lord, lead the way.” I instantly felt like I need to make my way back out to the power line. Once I got out there, I looked up the power line, and there sat Macy at the exact spot she had went into the pines earlier. “I wonder…,” so I walked to where she was, and she took off into the pines. I had followed her less than 20-yards when I saw horns sticking up between the pines! I ran over and saw why Drew had been so excited. There laid a 140” class 8-point! I yelled, “Drew, I found it!” No response. “Drew! I found it!” Still, no response. Rightly assuming he was to far from me to hear my voice, I fired my 7-mag. into the air. It wasn’t but a few minutes before I could hear him yelling for me. I yelled back, “I found him, and he’s a monster!” He quickly hobbled to where I was. When he saw his deer, the biggest grin broke out on his face. He said, “Now you see why I was so excited!” Then he did something I never would have believed. He reached over and started patting me on the shoulder excitedly saying, “Thank you, baby. Thank you, baby.” This, coming from a man who although caring and loving, was from the old school and rarely, if ever, showed any type of affection, brought tears to my eyes. For some reason I felt as if I should keep my little prayer to myself, so I said, “Macy found it. I followed her here. You need to thank her.” He did. I had my camera phone with me, so we took some shots with hunter, deer, and dog. Then, I called my husband and told him what had happened. He was almost home, so he came and helped us load the big bodied deer up. Once we got back to our house we took more pictures and caped the deer out. My husband told him we would have it mounted for his birthday.

The remainder of the season came and went, and I never harvested a single deer. I took some good natured ribbing from my husband and his friends because that was the first year in nearly 15-years that I didn’t kill any deer. It was also the first year in nearly 10-years that I had missed a deer – two deer, really. I even missed one of them twice…with a bow! Remembering my prayer in the woods though, I would just smile and say, “That’s okay.” I never told anyone about it, but I know the Lord held me to my word. I knew that it was important to find that deer then, but I did not know just how important it would become a few short months later.

Within five weeks of season closing Drew had a stroke. The first week was very touch and go as his blood pressure would repeatedly spike, then drop all within a matter of minutes. We didn’t know if he would even make it through that first week, but by the grace of God, he did. Going into the second week, his blood pressure became a little more stable, but it became increasingly obvious that his mind had been severely affected. For twenty-nine days, he lay in a hospital bed not knowing where he was or what was going on. He was extremely confused. One minute he thought he was at work and would try to hang drywall with his pillows. The next minute he would be hunting and think his bed was his 4-wheeler. In the wee hours of the morning before daylight, his bed would become a box stand. On and on this went. He remembered most everything from the past correctly up until the day he had his stroke. It was only his present memories and thought processes that were confused. The doctors told us we needed to try and orient his mind to reality, but to also focus on things he remembered. Knowing how he lived and breathed hunting, I decided to take one of the pictures of him and the deer he killed to the hospital. I put it in a frame and set it in his windowsill. As he looked at it, he would recount with meticulous detail every event of the hunt. Every visitor he had was treated to his story. It gave everyone a conversation to have with him that focused on things he could discuss without getting confused. He would beam as he told his story over and over.

It’s been almost a year since he had his stroke. His mind is not 100%, but he’s probably back to around 85-90% of what he was. He has good days and bad days. I give full credit for his recovery to God. It is only by His touch that Drew is still with us and that his mind is as good as it is. I do believe, however, that his memories of hunting helped to lessen the ordeal – on him anyway. It was still very tough on us.

As I was looking for Drew’s deer last year, I knew that it was important to find it. I just didn’t realize how important those memories themselves would become. I thank God that He allowed things to work out like He did. I thank Him for allowing me to have my “best year ever.” When people talk of their best year hunting, they usually talk in numbers. They look at me rather strange when I say that in my best year I killed absolutely no deer. I just smile and leave them wondering.

Note: Drew went back into the hospital yesterday.  Please pray for him (& us!) as I don't know if I can handle going through this again. Kim