The crisp autumn air clung to my skin and filled my lungs as I ventured into the woods, carrying the weight of my rifle and the memory of my best friend, Dano, on my shoulders. This was my first whitetail hunt, a bittersweet experience that was meant to be shared with him. He had been my best friend, guide, and the one person who had persistently tried to instill in me a passion for hunting. But fate had different plans, and Dano had left this world before we could embark on our hunting adventures together.
Sitting in the woods, I found solace in the silence. The sounds of rustling leaves and distant bird calls were soothing, yet my mind was consumed by thoughts of Dano. I imagined his laughter, his enthusiasm, and the countless hunting stories we were meant to share. It was as if the woods themselves echoed his spirit, a constant reminder of the connection we once had and the memories we never will.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting rays of light through the canopy, my focus shifted. I was reminded that this hunt was not just about my grief, but also about honoring Dano's memory and the lessons he had taught me. He had always emphasized the importance of patience, precision, and making ethical shots.
Then, at around 2 in the afternoon, a large-bodied doe emerged from the thick brush, her steps crisp and deliberate, as if she knew she was being watched. In that moment, time seemed to stand still. I steadied my rifle, a bolt action .30-06 Winchester that had belonged to Dano. The doe's broadside presented a clear shot and I was fixated on that sweet spot just behind the shoulder, I could envision her heart beating through her side.
As I took aim, my mind was calm. The noise of the forest faded out, all I could hear was a slow exhale from my nostrils, the thumping of my heart in my chest, and the leaves under each step of the doe crossing in front of me. I held my breath at the top of my exhale, and with a surge of determination, I depressed the trigger. The crack of the rifle shattered the stillness, and the doe took two more steps before collapsing to the ground. A perfect shot through the heart.
Approaching the fallen deer, a mix of emotions washed over me. But as I took in its entire body, not just its broadside, I noticed something unexpected. A pair of small spikes adorned its head, revealing that it was a spike buck rather than the doe I had assumed it to be.
It was as if Dano had orchestrated this lesson from beyond. He knew the importance of being observant, of not rushing to conclusions. The spike buck stood as a reminder that things are not always as they appear, and that life has a way of surprising us when we least expect it.
As I field-dressed the deer and prepared it for the journey home, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude. This hunt, though tinged with sadness, had taught me more than I could have imagined. It was a testament to the enduring bond between friends, and a reminder that Dano's spirit would forever be intertwined with my hunting pursuits.
Since then each hunt I embark upon, I wear around my neck a bullet that contains a portion of Dano's ashes, the same one I wore on the day of my wedding. It is a tangible reminder of his presence, a way to symbolically have him by my side on the hunts and experiences we were meant to share together. In memory of my best friend, I carry his teachings and his love for the wild within me.
