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By: Jonathan Lesperance Most stories like this begin with the familiar statement “I opened the mailbox and found an envelope from the Division of Wildlife…” However, this story has a different beginning, which started in January of 2008. I was out with my wife visiting some friends when I received a phone call from my mom that I had been praying I would not receive. My cousin, Sergeant David Drakulich who had been deployed on his second tour in Afghanistan had been killed by an IED while on a convoy mission. The news hit hard and the next months were spent consoling family and friends. I had grown up quite close to my cousin, and our relationship had the intimacy of siblings rather than cousins. I was amazed to see all the people that he had managed to affect with his life, and as news from the war front overseas finally started to pour in, our family began to hear stories of his good humor, brotherly kindness, and even heroism in the face of danger which saved several of his companions’ lives. While I am grieved to have lost him, I truly count myself blessed to have known such a fine person and patriot and look forward to our reunion someday.
A few months later I applied for an archery tag in Nevada and I found myself in a position to purchase a new bow. While perusing the myriad of options that face today’s bowhunter, one bow in particular caught my eye. It was the 82nd Airborne by Bowtech Archery. While Bowtech is a fine bow company and the 82nd Airborne has many qualities worth mentioning, what really drew me to the bow more than anything was its namesake: the ‘82nd Airborne.’ My cousin served in the 82nd, and I couldn’t shake this bow out of my mind. I shot many bows but settled on this bow and concluded that it would be my memorial for my cousin. I even inscribed his name underneath the upper limb and dedicated the bow to his memory, as a sort of a thank you for his sacrifice.
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After a countless number of arrows launched at the archery range, this story picks up in mid June when that envelope from the Nevada Division of Wildlife appeared in the mailbox. I, along with two friends, had acquired a party archery mule deer tag for Nevada. Now that it had been confirmed that I would be hunting in August, things started to pick up at home. I began practicing more and more with the bow and pushing my effective range out to even further distances than in years prior. I also took my physical training more seriously than I had before. I was determined to be successful, and as much as it was up to me I was committed to doing all I could to ensure that I would be. Finally August arrived and I found myself in camp with my friends Mike Marchese and Dan Furman. My father had even driven in from Utah to make sure basecamp was secure while we were out in the wilderness and to cook some fabulous meals for us when we returned. Like many ambitious bowhunters today, we were lead astray to think that backcountry bowhunting in wilderness areas is the only way to pursue the sport purely. So, with backpacks laden down with gear, the three of us left basecamp and began an arduous six mile hike in to where we would be “bivy sackin” like hardcore true hunters should. Well, three days later, several miles in, and a football field short of ten thousand feet in elevation, we had seen only three bucks, the biggest of which sported a rack well within his ears and crabbed forks. Needless to say, while the scenery was remarkable, the hunting was less than what we had expected. Slightly downcast we began the trek back to basecamp, all the while I muttered, “Just living the dream”. Upon reaching basecamp the wonderful smell of fresh barbecue and the melancholy voice of Neil Young being played on a set of Toyota truck speakers greeted us, lifting our spirits. When we sat down to dinner that night and shared our experiences with my father, his optimism was refreshing and he assured us that we’d find deer eventually. Day six rolled around and none of us had filled a tag, or even flung an arrow for that matter. The hunting was slim pickings, and we began to talk about looking for a meat buck instead of holding 19 • APR/MAY 2008 www.realhuntingmag.com
Photo Top: Mike Marchese, Jon Lesperance, Dan Furman Middle: Mike and Dan glassing for deer Bottom: With all of the open terrain Jon spent a lot of time glassing for deer that were bedded up in the trees even miles away
out for something big. An executive decision was made and we relocated camp to the other side of the unit where I had archery hunted a few years prior. Once we reached this location it was obvious that we wouldn’t be alone. Several other camo-clad people were driving everywhere. This was contradictory to our desire to be “hardcore backcountry bowhunters” but we needed a change and decided to go ahead and set up camp. The new area held many more deer in spite of the increased hunting pressure around us. The first day in the new area I flung the first arrow of the trip and proceeded to shoot right over the back of a small buck. It was comforting to see more bucks finally, but we again returned to camp empty handed. My father had stayed an extra day to help with camp and prepare a final steak dinner for us. That night in camp we shared a great meal and said goodbye to my father as he would be gone by the time we returned from the hunt the next day. The eighth day of the hunt began much the same as the previous seven. We awoke before the sun, hoisted our packs and began to walk up a ridge from where we would glass. As the sun rose the morning sky was illuminated with brilliant colors from a forest fire several miles to the east of our camp. Immediately a buck was spotted and Dan and I began after him in a hope to ambush him before he reached his bed, while Mike stayed to spot with the scope. While on the way several more bucks were spotted and the two of us slinked in to position and Dan got his first shot at a deer with his bow, but unfortunately missed. The rest of the morning the three of chased deer through several draws but our efforts were unfruitful. Tired and sore, we climbed back to the top of the main ridge from which we had glassed, to have a bit of breakfast and take a rest. I began to glass and pick apart trees in the distance when I was able to pull the body of a mule deer out from under a lone pine tree about two miles away. After setting up the spotting scope we confirmed that it was a buck, and that he had a bigger buddy bedded even closer to the tree. It seemed an ideal setup except for the fact that it was far away and we’d have to drop 1500 to 2000 vertical feet of elevation to get in position. I looked around and no one wanted to take the stalk but Mike and Dan urged me to go ahead and try. Hastily I set off down the mountain while Mike and Dan stayed behind the scope to
help guide me in. After half an hour had passed, I sat down on the other side of a small knoll from where the bucks were bedded. Mike informed me that the bucks were up and milling around but appeared to have every intention of returning to their original beds. I sat down and took off my boots, put on an extra pair of socks and began to read a letter that my wife had written to me before the hunt. I got about half of the way through the letter when Mike informed me that the bucks had bedded and I should make my way into position above them. I quickly smelled the lingering perfume my wife had put on the letter and then left my boots and pack and began the last hundred yards of the stalk to get into position. The wind was coming up the ridge straight in my face— perfect. I crept over the knoll and spotted the tip of the tree the bucks were bedded under. I ranged the tree at 42 yards. Slowly
“Like many ambitious bowhunters today, we were lead astray to think that backcountry bowhunting in wilderness areas is the only way to pursue the sport purely.” REAL
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I crawled further until I could see the base of the tree, and I was now 21 yards away. I set my pin for just under 30 yards as I figured that was how far the bedded deer were on the other side of the tree. The base of the tree was so thick I couldn’t see anything on the other side, and I didn’t wanted to risk swinging around the tree for a shot so I opted to wait them out. This worked well for about five minutes until I was hot, uncomfortable, and frankly bored. I began to think to myself, “I should just swing around and see if I can get a shot” but Mike urged me to just stay put and wait out the bucks, since they would eventually get up to feed and change beds. After well over an hour of roasting in the sun on an exposed hill, Mike informed me that the smaller buck was up and feeding and I should have a shot. I looked but I couldn’t see the deer anywhere. Then Mike told me the bigger buck was up and I was starting to get nervous that I
“And so this is my memorial, my thank you to my cousin and others like him, who have given of themselves on behalf of others that we might live in a country where moments like these are possible.”
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wouldn’t be able to see him either. Then suddenly the sun illuminated a set of velvet antlers on the side of the tree. The buck took two steps from out of the tree’s cover and put his head down to feed. I drew back and settled my pin on his vitals. I checked the bubble and realized that I really canted the bow into the hill so I turned the bow back and steadied the bubble on the sight. From there it was almost instinctive. The arrow sailed true and hit the buck squarely with the fletchings completely disappearing behind his shoulder. Immediately the buck bolted away about 80 to 90 yards and stopped to look back at me. I panicked and grabbed my binoculars thinking, “I know I hit him!” As I found the deer in my binoculars I saw blood pouring from just behind the opposite shoulder, and immediately a sense of relief welled up in me. The buck looked away and faltered and then took a bound and lost his feet and began to cartwheel down the hill. I watched in horror as his body just flipped over and over.
Finally he came to a stop and I sat there trembling looking at his antlers sticking up above the sage. After uttering several, thank you’s, heavenward I was able to compose myself enough to walk back to my pack and put on my boots. Mike and Dan were already on their way down and I sat for a moment trying to reflect on the event. I felt so grateful, knowing I had made a good shot on a great buck, but more than anything I just wanted to go and hold my bucks antlers for the first time. As I walked up on my buck I was glad to have a few moments alone to admire him and sit with thankfulness in my heart. He was the best buck I’d ever taken, and my most memorable harvest. Mike and Dan helped me quarter and pack the buck out, which turned into a four mile, uphill, six-hour endeavor that I wouldn’t have traded for the world. Dan said he didn’t mind the pack out so much as long as I would return the favor when he harvested. Without their help, I’d never have gotten on this buck, let alone gotten
him off the mountain. The weight of the antlers and cape felt great on my back and the familiar weight of my 82nd Airborne in my hand was a reminder of all that had occurred in order to bring me to this point. And so this is my memorial, my thank you to my cousin and others like him, who have given of themselves on behalf of others that we might live in a country where moments like these are possible.
RHM
* A foundation was set up by Dave’s parents to give support through scholarships and other endorsements to students wishing to pursue an education in art. This was David’s desire once he had finished his service with the military. Questions and more info can be obtained at: David Drakulich Memorial Art Foundation drakulichartfoundation@charter.net
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