Octogenarian hunter bags his first deer after years on the hunt

Ken Hibbs seated in a hunting stand on his property. Photo by Bob Sadzinski, Maryland Department of Natural Resources.

At 89 years old, Ken Hibbs was moving slower than he once did, but that twinkle in his eye when he spoke about going into the woods during the early muzzleloader deer season was still there. 

Mr. Ken, as I call him, owned his family farm where he let me hunt for many years, but he had never gone hunting on the land himself. A former missionary, his outings were for the simple joy of watching sunsets and driving his truck around the farm. 

This all changed when we met more than a decade ago. My passion for deer hunting is in my innermost spirit, and the more stories I told him after hunting his property – of the woods, of the cunning deer, and the quiet wait – the more his curiosity was piqued. 

One day, I asked him the simple question, “Do you want to go hunting with me?” He replied quietly, almost reverently: “That would be nice.”

Mr. Ken got his hunting license and in the years that followed we ventured out during the various deer seasons – when the weather was good and he was unhindered by physical ailments  – enjoying each other’s company, the fresh smell of the autumn woods, and the sounds of nature.

The early muzzleloader season is ideal thanks to warmer temperatures and deer that aren’t skittish yet. In years past, we had many close calls and took several shots, but were unable to harvest a deer. Mr. Ken’s opportunities became less frequent as his eyesight faded and it became difficult to shoot during low light periods.

“I see that deer, but it is just too far at 40 yards,” he would tell me. I thought about shooting the beautiful large doe myself, but remembered, I am not here for me. 

With not many hunting days left I prayed for just a small opportunity. 

“Let’s just wait, maybe another will come.” Soon the sun set again, but we got to enjoy some outdoor time in the blind together. 

And so we came into this hunting season. The blind was ready, brush cleared so as not to interfere with his walker or two canes, and an old swivel office chair salvaged from the dump was in place. The ground blind was built so we could drive up to it. With canes in hand and me holding his arm, I would slowly guide him into his chair, a familiar, silent dance of support and trust.

It was the opening day of the muzzleloader season. I picked up Mr. Ken with his stuff and off we went to the hunting blind for an afternoon hunt. Deer were moving early and as we waited, they came closer and closer and then two small bucks worked their way to us 40 yards, 30 yards, 20 yards, and finally 10 yards. I whispered: “Are you comfortable taking the shot?” He looked at me, then peered through the scope, and then, boom! The deer stumbled, ran just a few yards and dropped. 

“Did I hit it? I hit it, right?” 

With almost a tear in my eye, I looked at him and said, “Yes, he is down”. 

Ken Hibbs examines the first deer he bagged after years of hunting. Photo by Bob Sadzinski, Maryland DNR

It was a moment frozen in time, and it still is for me. The roar of the muzzleloader, the cloud of smoke, and then the stillness. The deer had fallen. Mr. Ken, his eyes wide and hands trembling with a mixture of excitement and disbelief, said that prayer of thanks. The years of “almosts” and the fading opportunities had culminated in this single, direct shot.

I walked over to confirm the deer was down and then got my truck. I picked Mr. Ken up from the blind and drove up to the deer. The air was different. It wasn’t just the crisp autumn evening, but a sense of accomplishment and shared victory, of overcoming his physical challenges – seemingly time itself – to harvest his first deer at age 89. 

Mr. Ken ran his hand over the deer’s hide, a silent, profound gesture of respect. He didn’t speak of the kill, but of the companionship that had brought us to this point. 

He looked at me and with his quiet demeanor whispered, “Thank you.” It wasn’t about the deer; it’s about one friend leaning on another, about the journey, the friendship, and the final, beautiful memory forged together in the little piece of heaven that he calls his farm.

Article by Bob Sadzinski, Director of Maryland Department of Natural Resources’ Power Plant Assessment Division and an avid hunter. 

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