The year was 1956. I was 11 years old, and I got a Marlin 30-30 for a Christmas gift from my dad. I had grown up hunting with my older brothers and dad; I had killed plenty of rabbits and squirrels but had never shot a deer, and a deer hunt was what I wanted most that year. When Uncle Bobby and my older twin brothers offered to take me to West Texas on an end-of-the season hunt after Christmas, I was excited but nervous, and I counted the days with anticipation.

We left our house early in the morning, shortly after midnight, in my uncle’s ’53 Ford pickup. We were headed to the Hoffeinz Ranch in the Texas Hill Country around Austin, a 300 mile trip, and we wanted to be in the stands before daylight. My uncle and one of my brothers rode in the cab, and my other brother and I were in the back of the truck, huddled up in blankets and sleeping bags. We traded off riding in the warm cab, and I tried to get as much sleep as I could. Being so excited, I don’t think I got much rest at all.

We got to the ranch about 5:30 AM. Uncle Bobby paid $10 for each of us for a day hunt, and we walked on out to get in our stands. The others had all been there before on hunts, and they tried to enlighten me as to what to expect since I’d never been deer hunting before. My uncle gave me explicit instructions about only shooting a buck and not getting out of the stand and walking around; he said they wanted to shoot deer and not me. He told me to pay strict attention to what I was doing and to stay alert, and my brothers warned me not to interfere with their hunting. We all agreed on a rendezvous point on the pasture road leading in.

My uncle put me in a stand that was located on the side of a hill among some shrub oaks and mesquite trees. It faced another hill and, there was a clearing between the two hills. The wooden box blind was about 10 feet off the ground, and it had sides but no top, so I was pretty cold. I had on a coat, but I still shivered; I kept putting my hands in my pockets to keep warm. There was an old chair in the blind, and that was it. I could barely see over the top of the plywood when I was sitting in the chair, and I was nervous with anticipation. My first deer hunt! I’d shot my gun in at home; hitting the targets had made me feel like the Lone Ranger, but my gun had no scope. I knew I had to pay attention and keep the gun steady, cause I had to get a deer. I knew I could kill one.

My brothers and uncle went and got in their own stands, and I was on my own. Thinking back, I realize they were a little crazy to leave an 11-year old by himself in a stand, but they must have had confidence in me – confidence that I could shoot a deer and that I wouldn’t shoot them. Right after daylight, the game started moving around. I heard a few birds and heard some rustles in the brush. I looked around, and after awhile I saw some deer on the hill directly across from my stand. There were a couple of does and some yearlings, and I knew I couldn’t shoot them, but then a buck came out. I could see his horns.

I had my rifle resting on the top of the blind, and I looked through the open sight at the buck and lined up the shot. “Steady,” I told myself, “you can do this.” I shot. The deer was probably about 250 yards away when I took the first shot, and I didn’t hit it. The buck heard the shot, but he didn’t seem to be able to tell where it was coming from, and he began to run towards me. “What luck!” I thought, “he’s running right to me.” I shot again. And again. And again. The buck continued to run towards me and then around the hill that I was on. Apparently he was confused because of hearing so many shots. I kept shooting every time I saw him. I had a box of 20 shells, and when I emptied my rifle, I reloaded and started shooting again. The buck came around the hill on my right-hand side, and with my 14th shot, I finally managed to shoot him in the side, and he went down; I counted the shells I had left after I finished shooting and couldn’t believe I had shot so many times before I hit him.

I got out of the stand and went down and looked at my first deer. He looked fine, and he was dead alright, and I was so proud. I got right to work with my knife, field-dressing him. I had never actually field-dressed a deer, but I had seen it done plenty of times, and I had skinned rabbits and squirrels so I knew what I was doing. I finished the job, and I felt so excited. I was really pumped, but I didn’t have enough energy or strength to drag the deer very far. I knew I would have to have my brothers and uncle help, but they had told me not to interfere with their hunting, and I was a little afraid of getting shot if I looked for them, so I went to the rendezvous point and waited.

It seemed like I waited there forever before my uncle and brothers arrived and asked what was going on. They said they’d heard shots echoing all over the hills and asked me if a war had broken out. They were surprised to see that I’d actually killed a deer after all; they’d all killed one too. It turned out that my buck was a 7-point, and they helped me get it back to the truck. We took the deer to my sister’s house who lived nearby, and we caped it out and processed the meat. We took the meat home, and my dad had the head mounted for me. I still have that head, and it still looks fine to me today. It doesn’t take me 14 shots to kill a deer now, but I don’t think I’ll ever be as excited as I was that day on my first deer hunt.