10.24.21
Trust. A very simple word, one that can mean so many different things to so many people. It can determine to how one feels about a horse you are riding, a dog that you own, the person you share your life with or your gun. Yes, your gun! Now I realize not everyone may own a gun, but for those that do they will relate to what I am about to share, for those that do not, well, I am sure you will get the gist.
I love to shoot. Darrell, who has always been an avid hunter and excellent marksman, taught me to shoot right after we were married and encouraged my love of hunting. We have a rule, and have had for many years, that when we hunt deer or elk, we only take a head or neck shot. We are out there primarily to harvest wild game for the table, not for the idea of putting a nice set of antlers on the wall… although I will admit several of our harvested buck’s antler’s do grace our walls!
34 years ago, just after we were married, I came into possession of one of Darrell’s firearms. It is a Sako .223 calibre rifle, right hand bolt – I mention this because I am left-handed when I shoot – and for years sported a simple Redfield Tracker 3×9 scope. Now this rifle is priceless to me. With it I harvested my first buck, a “spikey fork” as I called him as his antlers, although just longer than his ears so quite legal, were not at all impressive… well to me they were! I should add that those antlers still hang on one of our walls to this day. My Sako has allowed me to harvest many deer over the years, dispatched numerous coyotes and even a cougar who was bounding in my direction. It is like an extension of my arm. I have never hesitated to pull the trigger for a well-aimed head shot on an animal. My trust was explicit!
So, imagine the feeling when out hunting one deer season a couple of years ago, I readied myself to harvest venison for the freezer and I missed! A clean miss, but a definite miss! Darrell tried to console me, but his words that “Everyone misses now and again,” were not exactly balm to my soul. Out stalking a couple of days later, once again an unsuspecting deer was in my sights and BANG! Missed again! What on earth? My confidence was shaken. Had my rifle scope suffered a knock? Had it been bumped and so was off? Was Mr. Stumpy inadvertently interfering with his partner next door, my trigger finger? What was going on here?
Darrell, as always, came to my rescue. We set up a target and yes indeed, my rifle was off. As I concentrated on the black bullseye, I noticed when I pulled the trigger, the crosshairs in my scope “jiggled” and that should definitely not happen! My good old Redfield Tracker had finally bit the dust. It must be replaced. Darrell had bought this particular scope and a couple of other identical ones, over 34 years ago. It is considered a “vintage” scope these days. I did not want to buy a used one and since they are no longer made, resorted to purchasing a newer model although still a Redfield and still a 3×9 power. Darrell found me one and it was duly mounted on my trusty rifle.
It took me a bit to get used to the new scope. I must admit I had a reluctance about the change, but after sighting everything in, the following hunting season saw me harvest my buck with a nice clean head shot. I was content. Sort of.
I love to hunt, to go stalking through the woods in search of game, and Darrell encourages that passion in me. Just before this year’s buck season rolled around, I took down my trusty rifle and fired a single shot at a target set about 110 yards away. Spot on! A few days after the season started, I headed out in the early light of day to see what I could find. Now bucks, well deer in general, have been rather scarce this year compared to normal. So, I was excited to catch sight of a set of antlers, making their way slowly through a thicket of trees. Taking my time, I worked my way ahead of where I thought the buck might eventually wander to. Patiently I waited. Would he come or would he sense something was amiss and quiet as a ghost slip away? Luck was with me. There he was, heading in the direction I had hoped. He did not know I was there watching him as he browsed. Finally, I had a clear line of sight although between the thick trees, all I could see was the back of his head as turned away from me. The distance was right about 120 yards, but I had confidence in my rifle. I fired and he dropped, dispatched immediately and cleanly with one shot. My trusty rifle had once again put game in the freezer.
Darrell and I enjoy our venison. Apart from harvesting a buck we also usually have an antlerless deer tag and will harvest a dry doe. Throughout the year we watch our local deer, taking note who has a fawn, who does not. Recognizing individual deer who may have gone a couple of years without raising a baby. These are the does we will harvest, the older, unproductive ones that have some age on them, some that may not make it through a hard winter.
So it was that doe season is upon us and we have an old girl who has gone more than a couple of years without raising a fawn. Seeing her in the field the other day, I grabbed my trusty rifle, took aim at her head and pulled the trigger fully expecting her to drop in her tracks. Standing startled for a moment, she leapt away, bounding effortlessly across the field with her fellows. Darrell, who heard the shot so of course assumed there was a dispatched deer awaiting, came outside to find me very disgruntled! We headed into the field, searching for the tiniest drop of blood to see if I may have nicked her, but there was none. It was a clean miss. “Well, it happens to the best of us!” Darrell said as we trudged back to the house. To say I was disgruntled would be an understatement!
A couple of days later, here she comes, the same old doe with her compatriots. Once again, grabbing my rifle and heading out, I aimed for a spot on perfect head shot. Fired… and missed! What on earth? Once again, she bounded away, totally unharmed. Okay, that was it. My trust in my rifle, and in myself, was shaken. My trusty gun had failed me. I felt as if a best friend had suddenly turned out to be my enemy. Was it me or was it my rifle? Silly to think that way I know, but I had always had such faith that when something was in my sights it would go down with one shot. My trust was shaken. Darrell, bless his heart, knew exactly what was up. It had to be my scope… not me, not my rifle. So down to the shop we went and sure enough, the reticle, the crosshairs inside the scope’s optics, were loose, they were off. A new scope was required. Oh drat! Hang on! My elk rifle, a lovely gun Darrell bought for me years and years ago, also has a Redfield Tracker 3×9 scope on it! One bought at the same time as its partner that had been mounted on my trusty .223! Not having had nearly as much use, I asked Darrell if he would put this scope on my old faithful rifle. Smiling, he said he would.
Trust. A simple word, but oh such an important one. There are so many things in which we need to trust, our family, our friends, our animals, our coworkers, our leaders and yes, things such as our guns. For trust ultimately goes beyond all these things, it goes much deeper. We must trust in whatever Higher Being one may believe in, but most of all, we must trust in ourselves, for without that, we are nothing.