Not so long ago, I made the profound statement that I would NEVER own a minivan. Minivans are for soccer moms and field trips; definitely not for serious, hardcore bowhunters like myself. Imagine pulling into your favorite sports shop to show off your biggest buck ever. You lead your buddies out the door past rows of brawny four-wheel drive pickups to your minivan and say “let me pop the hatch so you can see my big buck”. NO WAY! That’s enough to permanently damage any red-blooded bowhunter's ego, not to mention, reputation. Unfortunately, as is the case with most of my profound statements, I was forced to eat my words when my wife informed me that she wanted to buy a minivan.

I always knew the day would come when the two worlds of the fanatical bowhunter and the dedicated family man would collide; I was just uncertain of the outcome. I viewed our purchase of a minivan as the metaphorical taming of the bowhunting maniac I had become. After all, minivan owners are mature and responsible. They wouldn't spend several weeks each fall away from family, traipsing across the continent chasing big game and certainly wouldn't view seven days perched in a treestand as an “opportunity of a lifetime”. It wasn't until a conversation with my boss and good friend, Jeff Poet that my fears of owning a minivan were laid to rest. Jeff, a serious hunter and minivan owner, thoroughly explained every practical benefit of owning a minivan while maintaining your hunting prowess and managed to do it without bursting into laughter. So, I figured, “If he can do it I can do it” and with that we began planning for the fast approaching hunting season.

As we discussed options for re-establishing my bowhunting identity, the conversation gravitated to a recent phone call we had received from a gentleman in Kansas. He had seen an advertisement for Jay's Sporting Goods on the television and had called to invite us to hunt on some newly acquired property that hadn't been hunted for nearly ten years. The more Jeff and I talked the more I couldn't believe my luck. The hunting spirits must have sensed my minivan dilemma, and presented me with an invitation to hunt with a good friend in a region of the country that is famed for world-class bucks... just the cure I was looking for!

The months and days crept by until finally we were on the plane headed for Wichita. The closer we got to Kansas the more we talked hunting. We joked about how big a buck would have to be before we'd shoot and then laughed hoping we could stick to our standard. We landed and headed straight for the rental car counter. After checking in, Jeff led the way across the lot as we lugged our hunting gear toward our vehicle. As we approached it became painfully obvious that Jeff wanted to reinforce his theory... he'd selected a purple minivan. With his mischievous grin he popped the hatch, we loaded our gear and headed for the small town of Cedar Vale.

As we drove, we both commented on the drastic difference in terrain as compared to home. Stark rolling prairies broken only by fencerows or the occasional creek bottom made us question where we would set up to hunt. The entire way to Cedar Vale we schemed on the strategies and techniques we would employ over the next week. We pulled into town and immediately the folks knew we were here to see Richard. (Jeff thought it was because of the small town atmosphere... I think it was because we were the only guys in four counties driving a purple minivan!) Soon Richard pulled up, introduced himself and led us to the ranch. After showing us to our accommodations Richard offered a tour of the hunting grounds. We drove through the different parts of the ranch and listened intently as Richard explained where the deer were moving, the size of the bucks he had seen and where good spots were to hunt. He had already established a couple stand locations in the sparse cover so after the tour we changed into our hunting clothes and headed directly for the treestands. I chose a stand in the corner of a grass cattle pasture overlooking a narrow creek bottom and bordered by a steep hill making a great funnel. Several scrapes lined the pasture so I knew there were bucks working the area. I climbed into the tree and settled in for a much-anticipated evening. The sun slipped below the horizon without incident, ending the last uneventful hunt of the week.

Well before sun up the following morning I climbed back into my pasture stand, which we had dubbed the “Bull Pen”. Just as darkness gave way to shadow I noticed a form sneaking across the pasture. I lifted my binoculars to see a gorgeous tall-racked buck. As I strained to make out details of the buck's rack I remembered Richard's briefing from the tour. He had seen a nice buck cross from the adjacent wheat field into the “Bull Pen” and go right through the funnel I was hunting. I immediately grabbed my grunt call and called several times to the buck without any response. I then reached into my pack and grabbed my Primos Can. After a couple of bleats, he changed direction, walking the edge of the pasture hitting every scrape making his way toward my tree. As he approached he intersected the scent trail of the Mrs. Doe Pee drag rag I pulled in and followed it directly to the scrape 30 yards to my left. I hooked my release to the string loop and readied for the shot. As the heavy nine-point approached stiff-legged I knew it was the buck Richard had seen. He pawed at the final scrape and nuzzled the scent rag before turning broadside and walking toward the funnel. I eased the bow to full draw when suddenly a doe blew furiously behind me. She had snuck in from the creek bottom unnoticed and caught my draw. The buck froze staring directly at the doe. I settled my pin behind his shoulder and gently squeezed the trigger. As if in slow motion, I saw the arrow's orange blur speeding for the buck's chest when I heard a SMACK and saw the arrow twist violently striking the buck in the haunches. I stood in shock as the buck made only a few bounds stopping part way up the hill and abruptly laying down only 50 yards away. As I struggled to gain my composure I noticed a small twig bouncing in the morning light that had escaped my view. I had a bad hit&the buck was definitely hurt, but I couldn't tell if it was fatal. For the next three hours, I watched the buck's every move through the binoculars as he would struggle to his feet and wobble about 20 yards before flopping down again. He repeated this half a dozen times before moving out of view. I quietly climbed down, snuck out of the Bull Pen and made my way back to the ranch house.

Soon after reaching the house, Jeff arrived and I shared my story. We decided to give the buck more time to expire so we had some lunch before taking up the trail. After an impatient hour, we snuck cautiously to the spot where I had last seen the buck and found him expired in his bed; he had only traveled 165 yards. He sported a gorgeous nine-point rack with very long beams and heavy mass scoring 123 3/8 gross inches. My relief from the morning's events was immeasurable. I was elated to have taken the buck Richard had seen and after a bad hit, recovered him successfully. We immediately broke out the cameras and had a great time enjoying our success. After the chore of field dressing my first Kansas buck, I asked Jeff how he thought we should get him back to camp. He responded by retrieving, you guessed it, the purple minivan. Jeff again grinned as he popped the hatch; we loaded my trophy and drove toward the ranch house. Suddenly, driving a minivan didn't seem so bad!

That evening Richard and his wife, Joyce, came out to visit and see my deer. While I commented about shooting the buck he had seen, he clarified, “that's a nice buck but it's not the big one we've seen”. Stunned, I asked him to explain. The buck they had seen was in the 150-inch class... not 120; I shot a small deer by Kansas standards. Nevertheless, I was happy with my first Kansas trophy, but moreover intrigued and excited for Jeff's probable opportunity.

Over the next several days I scouted and prepared trees to help Jeff score on a Kansas giant. I placed an observation stand in a thin fencerow perched atop the highest hill on the ranch and aptly dubbed it the “Crow's Nest”. From this lofty perch I could see nearly the entire ranch and tried to pattern the deer for Jeff. On my third morning in the “Crow's Nest” I witnessed the biggest whitetail buck I have ever seen saunter by at only 35 yards. Armed only with my binoculars and camera, I couldn't wait to tell Jeff and get him on that buck! For 3 days Jeff spent long hours on stand waiting for the giant until finally he appeared. He topped the hill 75 yards from the stand and as Jeff prepared for a shot, the giant turned and followed several does in the opposite direction.

I could sense Jeff's frustration building. He was seeing big bucks, but getting within shooting distance was proving difficult. After coming in from a long morning hunt we discussed the final evening's strategy over lunch. As we looked at the map of the ranch Jeff suddenly pointed out the front door and whispered LOOK! Just across the driveway was a mature 10-point in the 140 inch class searching for does. Jeff scurried to get his bow and release together as he snuck outside and across the drive. Jeff prepared for a shot but the buck darted off unscathed. So close yet so far. We finished a quiet lunch and headed back out for one last try.

I climbed into the “Crow's Nest” in time to see Jeff heading into the “Bull Pen”. He disappeared out of view as I silently wished him luck. As he made the loop along the edge of the “Bull Pen” he noticed a big buck bedded in the creek bottom. He immediately dropped out of the buck's view and readied for a shot. The buck, sensing something was wrong, bolted from his bed out into the pasture and stopped to look back. With the buck standing at nearly 50 yards, Jeff saw another opportunity pass him by. After the buck disappeared Jeff finished his approach and settled in for the final evening. Approximately 45 minutes before sun down I had a handsome buck chase a doe right under the “Crow's Nest”. He followed the doe down the trail heading in Jeff's general direction. I laughed to myself, thinking, “that 120 will test Jeff's standards”. As the sun fell below the horizon signaling the end of our hunt, I climbed down and dismantled the stand. As I packed my gear, Jeff approached. I asked him if he'd seen the buck and he grinned that grin and said “he's dead”. I nearly knocked him over congratulating him&we'd succeeded on two Kansas trophies. We immediately headed to the “Bull Pen” stand to collect his thick-bodied, heavy-racked buck and continue the celebration.

After a fulfilled night's sleep, we packed up our two Kansas trophies in our purple minivan and set out for Wichita. As we rode along I couldn't stop grinning at the fact that I was in a purple minivan and, in fact, own a minivan and feel good about it. I had a great week with a good friend, met some of the best people I could ever want to know and succeeded bowhunting bucks in the land of the giants. The fanatical bowhunter was alive and well and prepared to take the purple minivan to Cedar Vale for years to come!