I’m 28 years old and this is my first hunt. I’m a late bloomer in the sport and much of it is foreign to me. I grew up in the outskirts of D.C. so I’m more familiar with concrete and high-rise buildings than I am with snow capped peaks and conifers. I moved to Montana a few years ago for a job as a process engineer. At work I fell in with a group of friends, all of whom are avid hunters. Their stories of early mornings in the wilderness, the thrill of the hunt, and the satisfaction of providing their own protein captivated me.
I spent months watching hunting videos on YouTube, reading magazine articles, and picking their brains about the sport trying to glean everything I could. Now, I’m on my first deer hunt.
As I set up camp, I feel a mix of excitement and nervousness.
I open my Canyon Outfitter 75 and grab my favorite beer, a Montucky Cold Snack. The sun is starting to set. The cooler wasn’t cheap, but I was assured it would work and it was a vital piece of gear I would need. Not only to keep my food and drinks cold during the hunt, but also as a means to cool the game meat if I was lucky enough to get a deer. I’m glad I have it. I finish the beer, move into the tent, and slide into bed.
On the first day of the hunt, not much happened. I hiked the trails looking for sign of deer and familiarizing myself with the terrain. I returned to camp empty-handed but not discouraged. As the sun goes down I crack open another perfectly chilled beer from the cooler and watch the sunset paint the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks.
I drink to better luck tomorrow.
What strikes me about being here is the calm. It’s quiet in a way I’ve never experienced before. Hunting solo I have time to think about my life, where I am, what I’m doing, the people in it. And all I can hear is a slight breeze moving through the pine needles and my own voice in my head.
On the second morning, I woke before dawn. I pulled a breakfast sandwich and a bottle of water from the ice chest. The icy coldness jolted me awake. Fully alert, I grabbed my rifle, put the sandwich and some snacks into my backpack and set out on the trail.
I got to my vantage point and set out to look through my binoculars at the distant hillsides. Within 20 minutes I found a herd of deer feeding toward me. There were three does and a buck. I felt a bolt of adrenaline as my heart seems to skip a beat.
My friend Jared, who’d sent me the onX pin to this location, also gave me some advice on what to do if I saw anything. So I follow it. I watch the deer for another half hour before the first doe beds down. Soon after, they all bed. Now, it’s time to make my move.
A few hours passed as I carefully made my way through the underbrush toward the heard. My eyes and ears are straining for any sign of deer. But nothing. I see nothing. I hear nothing. It’s like they vanished.
Just as I was considering heading back to camp, a flash of movement caught my eye. My heart raced as I glimpsed the buck moving slowly through the trees following the does.
I raised my rifle. My hands and arms and entire body is trembling as I lined up the shot. I take a deep breath, steadying myself as I'd practiced countless times at the range. I put pressure on the trigger until it breaks, setting off a lethal chain reaction. The firing pin releases striking the primer. The primer sparks, igniting the powder. As the powder burns, it rapidly releases gasses that build pressure inside the bullet case. And there’s only one way for that pressure to release, by pushing the bullet out of the casing, out of the barrel, and on its way toward the front shoulder of the buck at supersonic speeds.
The crack of the rifle echoed through the canyon, startling a flock of birds into flight.
And then for a moment, everything was still. It was quiet again. Just the voice in my head and the breeze in the trees.
Then I saw the buck stumble and fall.
A flood of mixed emotions engulfed me – elation at my success, and a touch of sadness at the animal's death. I approached the fallen deer with reverence, whispering a quiet thank you to the animal and to the forest around me.
Reality set in quickly as I realized the work of the hunt was just beginning. I send a inReach message to my friends, “buck down”. I get contratulations back and offers to come help. But I decline. I want to do it myself.
I’d watched youtube videos on field dressing, but the actual process was messier and more difficult than I'd anticipated. By the time I finished, my hands were bloody and my back ached from the awkward positioning.
As I began the arduous task of hauling the meat back to camp, my mind turned to my Outfitter 75. I'd need to get the meat on ice as quickly as possible to prevent spoilage. The first trip seemed to take forever, my muscles straining under the unfamiliar weight. The second trip was nearly unbearable. Every step was punishing.
Finally, I stumbled into my campsite dripping with sweat despite the cool air of a fall night.. I wasted no time in opening the cooler, sighing with relief as a blast of cold air hit my face. It’s cold enough now to hang the quarters in a tree overnight. But I arranged the loose meat inside the cooler using the ice packs I'd brought to ensure even cooling.
As I closed the cooler, a sense of accomplishment washed over me. I'd done it – I'd successfully hunted my first deer. The Outfitter cooler, which had seemed almost like an extravagance when I'd bought it, now felt like the most important piece of gear I owned.
The remainder of the night passed in a blur, aided by a celebratory Cold Snack or three.
In the morning, I packed the cooler, and soaked in the beauty of the wilderness. When it was time to leave, I found myself reluctant to go. I'd entered the forest a novice, unsure and under-prepared. I was leaving as a hunter, with a newfound respect for the land and the animals that inhabited it.
As I loaded the Canyon into my truck, I patted it affectionately. It had been my companion throughout the trip, keeping me fed and hydrated, and now ensuring that my hard-won venison would make it home safely. I knew that every time I enjoyed a meal from this hunt, I'd remember the role the cooler had played in my success.
Driving down the winding mountain road, I was already planning my next hunting trip. I'd learned so much, about hunting and about myself. The cooler sat in the truck bed, in view when I look in the rear view mirror, still keeping its cargo cold. I smiled, realizing that in the world of hunting, a reliable ice chest was worth its weight in gold – or in my case, in venison.
