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The cold, damp December air immediately chilled us as we walked away from the truck. My wife walked to hunt by herself in a cold metal tree stand. Paul, my daughter Julie, and I were headed to an enclosed stand with a small propane heater. After getting in the stand, we set up our seating to give Paul (who turned thirteen the day before) the best opportunity to shoot and Julie the best opportunity to be warm and quiet.

Quiet is a relative term. Compared to our normal house interactions, we were quiet. Only talking in hushed whispers, being deliberate with our movements to muffle creaks in the seats, and pre-opening snack bags so they don’t crinkle are all ways I have taught my kids to stay silent in the blind.

Unfortunately, there is no louder noise in an enclosed space than a kid eating pretzels. When I told my kids to pack snacks, I assumed they would go for the usual gummy candy or jerky. Not this evening. No, from the time the first snack started, there was a constant crunching that was deafening in the enclosed blind. I had to trust its soundproofing or hope that the deer thought the sound was other deer crunching acorns.

As the sun sank low, the temperature dropped, and, mercifully, the pretzels ran out. The last 30 minutes of daylight are a magical time for a deer hunter. Things seem to only be able to get better. Then, through the trees, I saw a flash of white.

A buck’s antler gave away its position in the underbrush as it headed for a clearing in front of us. Paul, spotting the deer, set his rifle up and began to wait for the perfect shot on the eight-point buck. Soon, some more movement in the trees startled a nearby squirrel as two other bucks walked out. Paul controlled his breathing and waited. The blind, this time, was actually silent.

For years, my kids have been trained to ethically shoot deer. I have an album on my phone of deer in different positions where I get the kids to put a dot where they would aim. That practice, combined with practice on the range, has created ethical hunters. Paul was looking for a tuft of hair or a crease in the exact spot he knew would dispatch the deer quickly.

The silence was broken by a “thud, thud.” Julie whispered, “It’s not me, who is making that noise?”

My heart pounded hard enough to hit the backrest into the side of the cramped blind. The deer turned away from us, giving Paul the best shot. I whisper, “Ok Paul, take the…” BAM!

With a perfect shot, the deer was down seventy-five yards in front of us. It did not move once it was on the ground. This moment had more depth than finishing a level on a video game. Years of practicing gun safety, accuracy, and woods knowledge culminated to this moment. Over the next year, we will talk about this around the dinner table as we eat this venison. And maybe, when Paul has a kid, he can show them the skull and antlers to explain his perfect thirteenth birthday.