For the last thirty years of his long life, my father had a son who took him hunting or fishing whenever he wished. Now that I’ve reached those golden years, I wish that I had such a son as Betsy worries that I’ll fall and perish before I’m found every time I go hunting by myself. But sometimes I’m lucky enough to have that son, especially when there’s guys like Chuck Zacharias who takes his old high school principal deer hunting.

The South Dakota East River Deer rifle season opened on Saturday, November 21st. My attempts to bag a desirable deer on the opening weekend were fruitless as I never saw a deer other than in total darkness on the road when I traveled to and from my hunting area. I was beginning to feel a wee bit discouraged when on Sunday evening the phone rang. It was Chuck Zacharias. Chuck lives on the Missouri River bottom south of Wagner, and he offered to take me out Monday morning. My enthusiasm soared!

We met in Chuck’s yard at 6:00 A.M. From there we rode in his pickup to an area where he parked the truck and we walked a short half mile to the northern edge of a harvested cornfield where we set up under some cottonwood trees by flashlight. A brisk wind blew out of the east, a wind that would not betray our presence.

Perhaps fifteen minutes had passed when the total darkness began to yield to some pink ribbons on the eastern horizon. Chuck, who had been intently studying the cornfield in front of us with his binoculars, nudged my shoulder and pointed to the corn. Apparently there were deer in front of us, but I would not be able to make out their ghost-like figures for another ten minutes. Making matters worse, I had replaced my hearing aids with ear plugs and pulled my stocking cap down over my head. I could hear none of Chuck’s whispered directives.

Through sign language, I began to realize that there was a shooter buck in the herd of what would eventually prove to include nineteen does. After working the bolt of my rifle to put a live round into the chamber, I nestled my rifle into the yoke of my tripod and studied the deer as best I could through my rifle scope. Eventually I made out some antler growth on the head of one of the deer. I knew that Chuck would want me to take a shot, but apprehension overcame me as I realized that the range was well beyond my comfort zone because of my tremor.

As the deer slowly gravitated toward the west end of the cornfield, I worried that they would disappear into the adjoining timber before we had suitable daylight. My fear proved groundless when the buck decided to bed down in the corn! Was he tired? With nineteen does to tend to, I could imagine why he might be tired.

As I tried to pull myself together while gazing at the top half of the buck through my scope, he decided to stand back up! It was now or never - crunch time. In defense of taking an iffy shot at best, I had asked Chuck to back me up should I wound the deer. When I touched the hair trigger of my rifle, the buck hunched up and crumpled. He had sustained a heart shot. Chuck was yelling about a great shot! I was choked with emotion.

The herd did not spook as the shot was muffled by the wind. A doe wandered over to the fallen buck as if to say, “Get up, Fred. What’s your problem?” There was more. In the excitement of the moment, I had failed to see the hundred or so turkeys behind the deer herd. When we walked up to the fallen buck, we were amazed by the fivepointer’s size and dark color. From the deer’s body, Chuck ranged the tree we sat beneath at 219 yards! I’d call my shot divine guidance.

Considering my past fifty years of SD deer hunting, this deer was unique in that I have never before had to wait for enough daylight to take a shot. It’s a memory I’ll never forget. Thanks Chuck.

See you next week.