My grandson Ben had a tough year in 2025. In September he lost his other granddad Darrell Smith in a freak accident that left the entire family reeling. Darrell and I were happy to share granddad duties, and we made a great team. I was the loud, excitable one—always looking for the next adventure—while Darrell was calm, steady, and patient.
We’d sit next to each other at Ben’s ball games with me jumping out of my chair frequently to cheer him on as one of the (ahem…) “louder” fans. Darrell would let loose with an occasional, “Way to go, Ben!” We also shared deer hunting duties with him. Although I was a more active hunter, Darrell had put both of his children, Chris and Christy, on nice bucks when they were kids, as I did with my daughter Allison. I taught my daughter Elizabeth who is Ben’s mother how to fish and she now regularly out fishes most of the males in our family including me, much to our chagrin!
With Darrell gone, I felt an even stronger call to pay it forward as my granddad had done for me as a young boy so many years ago. Those experiences have lasted a lifetime and shaped me into the person I am today. Darrell and I had taken Ben hunting a few times when he was 5 and 6, but only as an observer. Like many young boys he was more interested in the snacks than the hunting, although he also enjoyed looking through a binocular.
This year would be different, as we had the green light from his parents to let Ben actually hunt. The plan was to get him ready for the October youth rifle season. Darrell and I had the same thoughts when we both bought him a Red Ryder BB gun for Christmas, which actually worked out well as it allowed us to shoot right along with him. We began practicing with him over the months by shooting aluminum cans off his back porch. It didn’t take long for Ben to become proficient, although his competitive side was always dismayed that I could outshoot him. I had to explain that I’d started with my granddad when I was his age, so I’d had quite a bit of practice since I was now 63.
I had booked a deep-sea fishing trip to Guatemala several months earlier and did not realize at the time that it would overlap with youth rifle season, so Ben was not able to hunt, much to his disappointment. Although the Guatemalan trip was fantastic, I did find myself wondering what we might have seen had we been in the deer stand together.
It seemed a shame for him to wait more than a month for the regular Oklahoma deer rifle season, so I asked his parents if I could teach him to hunt with a crossbow. I could tell Elizabeth was doubtful that he was ready, but they agreed. Ben was super excited. She dropped him by the house a short time later, and I began to teach him how to use the crossbow.
We covered safety procedures, how to load the arrow, how to squeeze the trigger, and which dots to use while looking through the scope based on the distance to the target. He learned proper shot placement by watching a few YouTube videos with me. I had him shoot at 20, 25 and 30 yards. Much to my surprise he put every arrow into a 3-inch circle! Dang, this kid was ready to hunt in one afternoon!
I realized we had a couple of hours left before sundown, and I had a tent blind just 11 miles away. I could tell Elizabeth was shocked when I called and told her we were going hunting, pointing out that he was wearing shorts and Crocs. I told her it was a clear path to the blind, and he could wear one of my orange vests and cap. Thirty minutes later we were in the blind adjusting his seat and loading and preparing the crossbow. We were overlooking a small food plot that a gas line row funneled into—a natural deer corridor.
I’d been getting some great pictures from my trail camera of several bucks. All we needed was for one to walk out before dark. I told Ben if I saw one, I’d reach over and squeeze his arm. He said he’d do the same. He was to shoot only if the deer was within range, stationary, and broadside. About an hour later a 6-point buck walked out of the woods at the far end of the food plot—too far away, but I was confident it would work its way closer.
Over the next 30 minutes it grazed slowly in our direction but was facing us the entire time. The wind was perfect. I told Ben once the deer finished eating it would raise up and walk away, and that would be his opportunity for a broadside shot. I could tell he was nervous as his breathing was a bit ragged, but he stayed calm and focused. I told him to relax and take smooth, steady breaths.
The deer finally raised its head and turned. This was the moment of truth. I did a soft mouth grunt, and the deer stopped and looked toward us. Ben sent the arrow on its way, and I watched it soar out of the crossbow and hit perfectly behind the shoulder. The buck bolted across the field and along the timberline for a hundred yards, but I could tell he was slowing down as he ran. He turned the corner and disappeared. I don’t think Ben took a breath, and truthfully, I don’t think I did either! We’d give it the requisite 30 minutes before tracking. I knew it would be getting dark soon. There was no doubt in my mind the deer was down, but whether we could find it in the dark or if I’d have to go out and look early the following morning remained to be seen. We sat quietly with Ben having a juice box and me having coffee.
Twenty-five minutes later Ben suddenly gripped my arm and whispered, “Dadoo, big buck,” pointing toward the edge of the woods. A big bodied 8-point was heading our way, and I’d brought the muzzleloader just in case something stepped out that wasn’t in range of the crossbow. Ignoring our food plot, he turned toward the woods, and I realized it was now or never. I told Ben to stick his fingers in his ears, then touched off the big smoke pole hoping to anchor this buck so we wouldn’t have to try to track two in the dark. He went straight down.
After the smoke cleared, we just looked at each other. It was as sacred of a moment as I’ve experienced as a hunter. I flashed back to my granddad long since gone when I was also a 7-year-old boy, and how he taught me to shoot with a .22-pump action Winchester rifle, usually at an empty .22 box or some spent shotgun shells. It was not so different than Ben shooting aluminum cans with a Red Ryder BB gun with granddads Darrell and I on the back porch. Although Darrell was not physically with us, I knew he was watching with a smile. I could almost hear him saying: “Way to go, guys, way to go!” I could not have been prouder. We had passed the torch to the next generation.
“Dadoo, let’s go find him,” Benshouted.Aswewalkedthe tree line, I silently cursed myself for not bringing my more powerful flashlight. I knew it would be tough to find a blood trail in the dark, but my many years of tracking deer have taught me to think like a deer. Fifteen minutes later I spotted an opening in the woods that I thought a deer might turn to avoid a barbed wire fence. We followed it about 50 feet when my flashlight beam caught the white belly of Ben’s 6-point buck. I thought he was going to hug it he was so happy!
On the drive home, the magnitude of what had just happened hit me. This kid had taken a deer on his first hunt with a crossbow, 1 & 1/2 hours after he’d been taught to use it and then spotted a buck for his granddad. It all happened in less than 30 minutes! What are the chances?
These are memories for a lifetime, and I knew that Ben would continue to think about this long after I am gone, just as I’ve done with my granddad. It was quiet and warm in the truck as we rode home, and I could tell Ben was lost in his thoughts. He looked at me and said: “Dadoo, this may have been the best day I’ve ever had!” I was thankful he couldn’t see me blinking away tears in the dark.
Darrell—this one was for you.
(Postscript: This is the unedited story that appeared in the April issue of Deer and Deer Hunting Magazine. Ben continued to hunt with me for the rest of the season and shot the crossbow two more times out of a tree stand resulting in two does killed and a freezer full of venison for his family. He’s now 3 shots for 3 deer, learned how to follow a blood trail, and track a deer in the dark. A big 10-point buck that he named “Shaun” dogged us the entire season, usually appearing on our deer cam the day before or the day after we would hunt. Ben assures me Shaun will be harvested next season with his crossbow. I can’t wait!!)
