The Hunt for the Whitetail Deer It was December 11th, 2010, opening day for the second shotgun season in Iowa, and I was at home in my bed sleeping. Until my dad walked in at 5:00 a.m., tore my covers off and said,
“Quinton, get up. It’s 5:00 a.m. Wanna be on the road in forty-five minutes.”
I grunted and rolled out of bed. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes I walked to the bathroom across from my room. I stuck my head under the faucet and took a drink from the cold stream of water. Feeling refreshed, I went back into my room and started to put on the clothes that I had laid out the previous night. As I was putting on my long johns, I double checked the weather forecast. It was not to be very cold, but there was a chance of rain and/or snow. I pulled on an old pair of jeans with my belt that had my Buck knife looped through it, and my wallet in the back pocket, containing my hunting license. After that I threw on a pair of sweatpants as an added layer of warmth and protection from the rain. I put on my long sleeve under armour shirt, a t-shirt over that, an under armour sweat shirt, and lastly my winter coat. I checked my coat pockets making sure I had my gloves and my stocking cap.
I walked out into my living room where my forty-eight year old dad, my Uncle Wyatt, and my thirteen year-old brother Josh were all finishing getting ready. I went over to my shotgun sitting in the corner of the room, a beautiful Remington 870 Express Magnum, a twelve gauge pump-shotgun. I picked it up, pulled it up to my shoulder making sure it had a smooth motion with all of my layers on. I slid the forearm back and then forward to make sure it was all working properly. I slipped the gun into its case and zipped it up, then placed it next to the others. I grabbed the shotgun shells my dad gave to me, and I placed them in my pockets.
I asked, “What’s for breakfast?’
Wyatt replied, “We’re going to hit McDonalds before heading to the field.” “Perfect,” I said.
I grabbed my boots and sat on the steps to put them on. I tied them tight and slipped my sweatpants over them. We were all ready to go so I picked up my gun, checked I had everything I needed, and then I walked out the door.
It was dark and cold outside with no snow on the ground, as I walked to my uncle’s truck, with his four-wheeler in the bed. I set my gun in the bed and got into the front seat. After my uncle and little brother hopped into the truck, and my dad and a couple of other guys that had just arrived jumped into my dad’s truck, we took off and went to McDonalds.
When we reached McDonalds we went through the drive through, I was shocked how many people were in line at 5:45 a.m. I ordered the number eleven, two sausage burritos and a hash brown, with an orange juice to drink. After getting through the line, and receiving our food, we headed to the hunting spot. I ate my breakfast in silence as did the rest of the vehicle, even Josh who would talk to a brick wall, for hours.
After arriving, I stumbled out of the truck, grabbed my gun and took it out of its case and threw it into the backseat of the truck. I then loaded five shells into it plus one in the chamber. Then I double checked that it was on safety and leaned it against the truck and stood by everyone else.
They were talking about the best approach, whether it to be to sit and wait, or drive the deer. They decided we would just sit so I listened as my dad told me where a good spot was. After we had all decided where we were going to be, we said a quick prayer, and then we were off.
Some started to walk across the field to the timber to the north. My dad, Josh, and I walked along a driveway that followed a fence line, not saying much as to not scare any deer, per advice the old man told us. So we walked on, the only noise is that of our boots on the ground, crunching leaves and twigs, and the rustle of our clothes. We came up on where I was to stay; it was right on the fence line in between two draws. A draw is