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Charlie Reade

“The Dad and the Lad Buck”

I’ve always had a passion for whitetail hunting. For various reasons. My father got me involved in hunting at an early age. I remember taking my hunter safety and FAC course at 12 years old, 6 years before I was old enough to even legally have it. But I guess it was his way of getting me involved in hunting and his way of spending more time with me. I can remember being the only kid at his annual deer camp, to the displeasure of some of his friends I’m sure. But he didn’t care, it was more important to him that I was there and a part of it than if they were upset about it or not. My mom had a lot to do with it too even though she wasn’t herself into hunting, she was adamant that he got us involved in it and was always happy when we were in the outdoors with dad. There were lots of times she insisted we go with him, I’m sure there were even times she told him either the kids go, or he doesn’t. (Photo circa 1988-89 L-R My dad Ken Reade, family friend Roy Harris, his son Cody Harris, Me, and my brother Kenny Reade)

I still to this day look back at all the amazing memories I have of those times together. But just as important, I look to forward to making more memories. Not only with my dad, but with my new family. To me, that is the real meaning of hunting. Spending time creating memories with your family and friends. And THIS story, is one of my favourite memories of all time, and I’m pretty excited to share it with everyone.

November 4th, 2014 was a day I had spent all summer looking forward to. I didn’t know much about hunting whitetails at that time, but I wasn’t gonna let that stop me. I did however know that our best chance at taking a nice one was likely during the rut since I didn’t do a lot of off season scouting in those days. I was new to the area I hunted and had very limited access to land, so hunting spots were very limited. I spent August and September combing through small parcels of public land scattered throughout the private farmland and finally found a buck that was what I considered worthy of my dads first Alberta whitetail.

We planned the trip all summer and counted the days as until I picked him up from the airport. My father, a 40-year veteran of a municipal police force in Nova Scotia who only a year before survived a major heart attack, was pumped. The man that had taught me everything I know about hunting was finally going to let me take him on a hunting trip.

The closer it got to our hunt, the more serious and fervently I scouted. The buck that I had videoed in late August of that summer had basically disappeared. (see below link) https://www.facebook.com/charlie.reade.9/videos/10152457075133871/

But the feeling that watching the video gave us, only got more intense. The more we watched that beautiful buck meander along the treeline in a grainy out of focus video, the more we could imagine ourselves seeing him step out in front of our blind.

The next 2 months were anti-climactic. I didn’t hunt a lot that year in anticipation for our week of hunting together. So naturally, time really seemed to drag on that fall. But when the day came to pick up dad, it felt worth the wait.

I fueled up the truck and pointed it south to the Edmonton airport. And to anyone who has moved 6000km from all their family and friends to start a career, you know how good that can feel.

Dad arrived without a glitch, and we made it north without incident. By the time we made it home we were both exhausted from a long day of travel, but giddy about the thought of waking up at 500am to go out and sit in minus 10 degree weather. Crazy, right? But all the hardcore hunters know that is all part of the territory.

November 5th, 2014 was hands down one of the biggest let downs I have ever had while hunting. Conditions were perfect for the few setups I had at that time. It was cold, little wind, no snow….. But, no deer either? WTH? Nov 5, an all day sit and not 1 deer. I was so frustrated on the inside but knowing that dad didn’t care much about shooting anything set me at ease.

That night was awesome, had a walleye fish fry (something my dad cherishes now that he has tasted it) we drank some rum and told each other stories from the last year since we seen each other last. We talked about our plans for the next morning. But most importantly, we watched that video again to re-up our spirits.

5am came early as it often does, but little did we know that this 5am wakeup call would change the way I deer hunted for the rest of my life.. I fired up the diesel and we drank coffee at the kitchen table while the cummins warmed up a bit. I even still remember filling our to go cups up before we left. Funny what you remember when you really try.

It was a cold, crisp November morning. Temps were hovering around the -10 level all week but dropped to about -18 that morning, but still very little snow. We both sighed a little bit deeper when we went outside, knowing that -20 sits are a bit more challenging than -5 or -10 sits. But we both knew it gave us more favorable odds at seeing a good buck.

We got into the blind about half an hour before legal hunting light, settled in and got comfortable. About 10 minutes before light I can remember my dad saying “lets try something”. He told me to grab my rattling antlers. So, doing what dad said I grabbed them and started beating them off each other like a mad man. I could feel his hand on my shoulder, and he whispered “lightly, just tickle them together”. He explained that a good portion of deer that make these sounds are young deer that are learning how to fight, and not as often big bucks. He went on to explain to me that most of the time a large buck would avoid the area to avoid confrontation, especially if there wasn’t a hot doe around.

Before he could even finish, I saw movement. We were positioned looking into the corner of a field on the edge of some heavy bedding cover. And out of the thick bush came a young 8 point buck. He was very weary and didn’t’ actually step into the field, but rather looked around from about 10 feet back in the willows. It was still to early to get a good look at him, but it wasn’t to early to see that his attention was focused on the treeline opposite of him. His stare didn’t move until another young buck stepped out into the field along the opposite edge. This was a smaller buck, so the 8 point feeling confident, started making his way towards the yearling exposing himself in the open of the field. Posturing towards the younger buck with his ears tucked back and nose up. We were already ecstatic. The 8 point we were watching was a Nova Scotia trophy, a deer people there dream about. But we knew there were much better deer in the area and decided to see what would happen. I’m really happy we did., I just wish I would have had my camera rolling, but at that time, filming was pretty low on my priority list.

After about 10 minutes of watching the deer meander towards one another they both very quickly became equally alert. We couldn’t figure out why, though we hoped we knew. Was it the neighbor firing up his pickup truck to go to work in the distance? A coyote? We didn’t know, but it was tense. We could feel how alert those two young bucks were, even from 200 yards away. Within another 5-10 minutes it was clear why they were. Both of their heads swung sharply to the north of the field. Naturally, so did ours. And when we looked at the North fence line it was a moment that changed my hunting career and a moment that I will never forget.

On the north side of the fence stood a beautiful 162” gross 5x5 whitetail, a bucket list deer for my dad if you know what I mean. In his lifetime he has shot 30-40 deer at least. But I have never seen him excited like this for any of them. “There’s one, there’s one” he whispered about as excitedly as you can whisper. My heart was in my stomach right away. It was him, the buck I videoed earlier in the summer, and he was only 135 yards away! He was facing us straight on, but luckily for us his attention was focused on the two smaller bucks that had made their way slowly across the field in anticipation that this big guy was gonna run them off. So, I wasn’t in a huge panic to get my camera running, though in retrospect, I really should have been. When I reached down to adjust my tripod and get my camera running, I could hear dad rustling around to get into position for a shot. But I was nowhere ready to start recording, a real rookie mistake on my part, hopefully one I’ll never make again. And then, a moment I’ll never forget. “Dad just let me get the camera going, gimme a sec”…………… Booooooooom!

The silence was gone. I looked up and watched the beautiful buck run off as though it had never even been grazed. I was sick to my stomach. A .300wsm should have dropped that thing I thought? “Dad, I didn’t even have the camera running, why did you shoot?” I asked

“There was no way in hell I was letting that thing turn broadside without taking a shot” he answered. I guess I really couldn’t blame him.

I remember distinctly feeling like we missed him, I played the shot in my mind over and over again as we sat there waiting for a half hour to pass after the shot. I couldn’t help but think that our 1 golden opportunity to succeed, was gone. Boy how young and dumb was I then, I had no idea that the real success was just being able to hunt with my dad.

It was one of the longest half hours of my life, and the next hour or two didn’t get much better. We got out of the blind and decided that we needed to go warm up for about 20 minutes in the truck before we went looking for him. Even that went slow. When we did make it to the point of the shot, we found nothing! I was so upset and there was no hiding it. But my dad remained pretty optimistic. “His tail was tucked when he ran off, he is hurt bad, trust me.” I really wanted to.

As much as I wanted to trust him, the evidence wasn’t looking good. There was a very small amount of hair where the impact should have been, some of which may have even been just from a high traffic crossing of a barbed wire fence, and might not even be his. As uncertain as I was, dad was equally as certain that he had made a good shot. The rifle was sighted in and verified 2 days prior and he was confident that he was on point. That said, we searched an area of about 200 square feet and until about an hour into the search, hadn’t found one drop of blood.

Eventually, when I found that one drop of blood on that tiny blade of grass a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders and I had hope. I set down my binoculars on top of the blade of grass and we went back to the truck to warm up again. And this is where the story gets a bit embarrassing! After warming up in the truck for a little while again, we walked back down into the corner of the field, picked up the binoculars and like a wire hair on a pheasant I put my nose back down to the ground looking as hard as I could for that next drop of blood even on my hands and knees. I heard a little chuckle come out of my dad a few yards behind me and looked up to see what he was laughing at. “What’s that up there” he said with a shit eating grin on his face. Still totally oblivious, I kept searching, still totally in the dark that he already saw the deer. The closer I got to the deer without seeing it the bigger his smile got. And then, not even 20 yards from where I set down the binoculars, I saw him laid up in some switchgrass, tucked under a small clump of willows. When I finally saw him my dad was already full on laughing at me.

When I looked back at him, our eyes met, and they were huge! We couldn’t believe it. I ran towards him and jumped up into the air. If anyone had of driven by it would have been hilarious. 2 grown men jumping up and down in a dimly lit alfalfa field at about 9am would have made anyone look twice and wonder what’s wrong with those two. But we didn’t care at all. It was hands down the most memorable hunting experience I have ever had. And likely the memory I will cherish the most of my dad for the rest of my life.

Needless to say, that hunt started an annual tradition for him, my brother and myself. It’s something I look forward to all year every year, and a good part of the reason I hunt. I encourage you all to get out there and make those same, quality memories with your family and friends. To some, 162” gross whitetail doesn’t even get a second look, but to me. That will always be my best buck. Even if I didn’t pull the trigger and even if I shoot bigger bucks.

Thanks and stay safe everyone.

Charlie