My Odyssey

When 2 fires  came through Big Sur, A zone was shut down and the deer weren’t moving. My tag was basically canceled, and just like that, the hunt I’d been preparing for was over. Then Hendrik gave me an idea. I had another tag for B Zone, way up in Northern California. It had already been open for a week and a half week, and all I had was a pin he’d given me and about four days to make something happen.

So I made the decision. I finished everything I could with Grit Knives, packed the truck, loaded the cooler, and drove eight hours north. Highway 101 eventually gave way to two hours of rural roads until I reached the Lost Coast.

At six that evening, I found a place to park and camp. The weather was perfect. I changed into my hunting clothes and went for a hike. From a lookout, I started seeing deer. Then more. And more. Does everywhere. By sunset, I’d probably seen 60 or 70 deer, but not a single buck.

The next morning, I started hiking toward the pin. It was some of the most beautiful country I’d ever walked through. The Lost Coast stretched beneath me, elephant seals barking along the shoreline, waves breaking against the cliffs. It felt almost surreal to be walking through that landscape carrying a rifle.

I climbed into the canyon and started finding sign everywhere. Lots of the bear sign But no bucks. Then the rain and the fog. Within minutes, the Lost Coast looked like Mordor. Feeling defeated, I started to head back to my truck. On my way down, I met another Hunter that told me I was in the right spot.  Then I saw a few more hunters back in my camp spot  who told me I’d been hunting an area called the Nursery. They had wilderness permits and knew the country. Their advice was pretty simple, there were deer there, but I needed to go farther.

So I changed plans. I found another glassing point and climbed another 1,500 vertical feet. More does. No legal bucks. By then I was sore, tired, and questioning the whole thing. The next morning, I decided to hunt closer to camp. Every ridge seemed to have another hunter on it. I could have called it there, instead, I grabbed the hearty meal and my hiking poles and went deeper. Step by step, I stopped trying to rush the climbs. I put the rifle away while climbing and concentrated on simply getting there.

Eventually I reached the thick timber. It reminded me of Big Sur, dense, difficult country with deer trails running through it. I found water. I found sign. I found the kind of country that made me want to stay.

Hendrik’s last words kept coming back to me.

“If you don’t see anything in the timber, go farther back. Go to the backside.”

So I did. I climbed again. And when I finally reached the top, I stepped onto the precipice overlooking the ocean. About 60 yards away stood a buck. Right there eating grass. I slowly racked a round, got down on one knee, put my ear protection in, settled the rifle, and made one shot. He dropped. I found him about ten yards into the timber. A beautiful 2x2. And suddenly, all the exhaustion, the miles, the rain, the fog, the doubt, the aching knees, and every moment of wondering if I was wasting my time disappeared.

I just sat there. I looked at him. And I took a moment to appreciate the life I’d just taken. I don’t take pleasure in killing an animal. That’s not what this is about for me. The animal deserves respect. I gave him his last bite, placing ferns in his mouth, a small gesture acknowledging that this deer had lived his life in this incredible place, and that I was taking something from that life to sustain my own.

Then the work began. I filled out my tag and broke him down using the gutless method. One knife, my Buckner, did the entire job. I packed the meat into my backpack and started down. The forest was dark, cool, and perfect for keeping the meat safe. I worked my way down 1,500 vertical feet, stopping when I needed to, taking the meat out to cool it, and slowly making my way toward the coast.

Then came the miles along the Lost Coast. This time, everything felt different. I wasn’t hiking in hoping to find a deer. I was carrying one out. When I reached the precipice, I stopped and filmed that moment. I was honestly in shock. I’d come here alone, into country I’d never hunted, following a pin from a friend, and somehow I’d made it happen.

My first truly solo deer. Not because it was the biggest buck. Not because the antlers were impressive. Because I earned it. The last race was getting that meat onto ice. I had no cell service for another two hours, so I couldn’t even tell my mom or my best friend that the buck was down until I was almost out.

And that’s when it really hit me.

This was my Odyssey. Not a story about conquering an animal, but about confronting the country, the weather, the exhaustion, the doubt, and myself. The original Odyssey was about getting home, but the journey changed the person making it. That’s what this hunt did for me. I went north looking for a buck and came home carrying something much heavier than meat, the knowledge that I could do something I had never done before, completely on my own. And I’ll always be grateful to that deer for being part of the journey.