First Deer Magic

Grant Ashinhurst, of Buford, with his first deer. He shot the 7-pointer Oct. 21, 2011 while hunting with his grandfather Curtis Holland.

Nicole Holland

As a little girl, I looked forward to each hunting season. It was a joyous occasion for me to watch my dad and younger brother drive away for the weekend because I knew I would have girl time with Mama. I treasured each hunting season, and as the years passed by and I grew older, I still covet my precious girl time with Mama.

Daddy was a fireman for the city of Atlanta, and Mama was a social worker. Needless to say, neither of my parents were bringing in an abundance of money. Steak and pork chops were not to be had at the Holland home. Chicken was a luxury. If Daddy or my brother killed a deer, it meant more than a trophy mount to hang up and look at with pride. Killing a deer meant food on the table to get a family of six through the year. Being a fireman put a big damper on Dad’s plans to go hunting, but he knew we needed that deer meat, and he was trusting God to provide it.

Some hunting seasons were better than others, but when the phone rang and I’d hear Mama exclaim, “Oh, you’re kidding,” I would be elated. I knew that if Dad stopped at a pay phone to call Mama, a deer had been killed. Every time after Mama hung up with Daddy, she would say, “We all know that was just the Lord.”

My daddy had been hunting all his life, but he wasn’t blessed with killing his first deer until Oct. 28, 1986. He was 47 years old, and I was 11. 

At 77 years old, Dad still goes deer hunting. Hunting after all isn’t just a sport in my family, it’s a livelihood. I’m all grown up now with children of my own. I’m the mother of a 14-year-old son and a 12-year-old daughter.

When my son, Grant, was born, to say my dad was ecstatic is a severe understatement. Plans to bring Grant hunting were under way, and I hadn’t even been released from the hospital. When Grant was 2, I divorced and my children’s father ceased being active in their lives. But my children had their “Papa Curtis,” and my dad became the father figure in their lives. 

My dad convinced me that Grant was ready to go hunting at the ripe old age of 4. Reluctantly, I relented and Grant was allowed to go hunting. After all, it would be many years before he would even handle a rifle. I reasoned to myself that Daddy didn’t kill a deer until he was in his 40s, and my brother was 12 when he shot his first. I still had more time before my little boy became a man and brought home meat for his family. 

At the age of 41, I still wait with anticipation for the phone to ring when Daddy and Grant go hunting. 

On the evening of Oct. 21, 2011, I became concerned because I hadn’t heard from Dad, and so I called him to make sure everything was OK. When Dad answered the phone, I wasn’t prepared for the frantic welcome I received. 

“Oh my goodness, you don’t understand! It’s all my fault,” yelled Dad. 

Alarmed, I started firing off questions to which my dad could barely answer. Sick to my stomach and scared out of my mind, I threw the phone into my mother’s hands. After a few minutes, my mother was able to get out of my dad that a deer had been shot by my son, and they were scrambling to find it. Relieved that no one was hurt and that the only thing that had been shot was a deer, my Mama and I immediately began to pray. This wasn’t just “a deer,” this was “the deer.” Hopefully, my son’s first kill! 

It would be dark soon, and I knew if this deer couldn’t be found, it would be devastating for my son and my dad.

Moments later, we received the victorious call that the deer had been located. The blood trail was found, and from what I understood, the deer had splashed blood on every single tree it had hit. In my mind, and Mama’s mind, it reminded us of the blood of Jesus leading the boys to Grant’s deer.

My son thought he had shot a spike but soon realized it was a 7-pointer. Daddy and Grant were talking so fast and feeding me so much information that I didn’t really get the full story until days later. They were both on some kind of hunting high that I couldn’t comprehend. Apparently, my son missed his first shot at a deer because the gun safety was on, but God allowed him another opportunity to have the deer he had literally dreamed of getting. 

There are so many details to the story that anyone who hunts would be interested in and remember. I think what stands out in my mind and is so endearing to me is that when my father saw the deer his grandson had killed, he dropped to his knees thanking God with tears streaming down his face. Men and children from the hunting club were standing around him watching. They all thought my dad was having a heart attack, but he was just giving glory to God because he and my son knew just what a miracle this truly was.

At 9 1/2 years old, my son shot his very first deer. I remember sobbing that night, crying because of the blessing, crying because my little boy was turning into a young man and crying because God cared enough and loved my son and dad so much that He answered their prayers. 

With Grant’s first kill, the hunting bug is now in my son’s blood. Oct. 21, 2011 is a day I will never forget. I know that for many hunting seasons to come, I will be at home waiting on my son to call with the same anticipation I had as a little girl. I’ll wait to hear the blessed news that God has once again supplied us with just what we needed at the time we needed it. Yes, God is great and Hunting’ is Good!

Curtis Holland

This papa is 77 years old, and to this day I still get just as excited as any kid when preparing to go hunting. If you don’t, then it’s time to hang it up. I bought my grandson a single-shot Rossi .243. If you are familiar with this rifle, you know that if the lever covers the “S,” it’s ready to fire, and if it covers the “F,” it’s on safe.

In my excitement, I reminded Grant that if the lever is on “S” it’s safe, and if it’s on “F,” it’s ready to fire. He did exactly as Papa told him and missed his chance at a doe when the gun didn’t go off. When I realized my mistake and quietly corrected Grant, he got the buck of his dreams.

That same evening, hunting club members Ashton Sapp, 7, killed a spike and a doe. Chase Keheley, 7, killed a doe. This is what it’s all about. We both give all the glory and credit to the Lord because in the beginning or in the end, He is in charge.

Curtis Holland

Grant Ashinhurst

I couldn’t wait to get to the woods. I live in Buford, and it was taking forever to get to Elberton where the club is. It was an awesome afternoon on the way to the hunting club. We drove by Greg’s Meat Processors, and my Papa yelled, “We’ll be back, Greg!” I laughed when he yelled that out. 

At the time, I was 9 1/2 years old and had been hunting with my Papa since I was 4 years old. I had never shot a deer.

Once we finally got to our campsite, we unloaded our gear and headed to the woods. The stand we hunted was in pines overlooking a food plot.

About an hour later, we saw a doe. I got my Rossi .243 single shot ready, and I started shaking like a leaf. My papa was in the stand with me, and he kept whispering for me to calm down. The doe was to my side, and my rifle was on the rail facing straight. As I tried to turn, the doe saw me move, and then it ran into the woods.

Papa and I waited and waited, and about 45 minutes later, we saw another doe. I got my rifle ready. This time my legs and my whole body were shaking because I was so nervous. I was sitting on my papa’s right leg, and he tried to calm me down. I aimed at the doe and squeezed the trigger, and my rifle went, “Click.” The safety was on! When the doe heard the click, she ran off like a rocket. Papa asked me if I was ready to go, and I said, “Shhh, I hear something!” Papa said, “OK.” 

About 30 minutes later, we had five deer come out of the woods in the food plot area. Still sitting on my papa’s leg, I began to shake again and couldn’t stop my legs from trebling so bad. It was now becoming dusk, but the antlers could still be seen, so I put my .243 Rossi rifle off safety, pulled the hammer back and said to myself, “Here I go.”

My papa thought I was never going to shoot. He kept whispering, “Shoot Grant, shoot,” kind of like Troy was always saying to Liz on “Swamp People.” 

But before I knew it, “Pow!” I shot the rifle, and I thought a cannon went off. I saw the deer jump, and I saw the white tail, so I knew I had hit the deer. We were so excited; we couldn’t get down from the tree stand quick enough. When we got down, there was no sign of blood or hair. It was getting dark, and we couldn’t see so we had to call everyone we knew at camp to get a bigger light to look for my deer. We called everyone at camp, but they were all out looking for deer they had shot. 

After a while, a few of  our buddies came to help us. Papa and I prayed to God so much. I knew we would find the deer because I had prayed I would shoot a deer, and I did. 

Tom Ewing, his son, Matt, Sonny Sapp and his son, Ashton, came with a big light, and we finally found a blood trail and a piece of lung. Papa, Tom and Sonny used us kids to mark the trail of blood spots that eventually led to the deer. My deer had hit almost every tree in sight. There was blood splashed all over the trees. We couldn’t believe it. We found the deer, and we were shocked to see that it wasn’t a spike like we thought but a nice buck, a 7-pointer! 

My papa dropped down to his knees at the deer, and we both thanked God. I was screaming with joy! I couldn’t believe I had actually killed my first deer ever, and it was a 7-pointer. We took a lot of pictures and drove to Greg’s Meat Processor.

On the way there, I reminded my papa that he had yelled out, “We’ll be back, Greg!” He laughed and said he had forgotten all about that. At Greg’s Meat Processor, there was a lot of people who came to see my deer. 

They couldn’t believe it and were proud of me. My papa told everyone it was my first deer, and so everyone was giving me high-fives. Greg and his daughter, Jennifer, gave me a camo shirt from their place because it was my first deer. I wore it when I went back to school. My papa saved my shell and put my name, date and county on it, along with the fact that it was a 7-pointer. 

I thank God for my deer, Papa for taking me hunting, Joseph Sloan for using his stand, Tom Ewing, his son, Matt, and Sonny Sapp and his son, Ashton, for helping me find my deer. 

Grant Ashinhurst, now 14, tells the story of his first deer from nearly five years ago. Grant stands with his mom, Nicole.