Every year, a few of my buddies and I head to Missouri to bow hunt whitetails. On this particular trip, we had a… well, let’s call it a not-so-successful week. So we decided to stay an extra week to hunt rifle season.
Now, rifle hunting isn’t my favorite, but it meant more time in the woods—who am I to complain?
We were on a new property, and I was still trying to get the lay of the land. I’m a big fan of technology—especially mapping apps—and I lean on them hard when I’m on unfamiliar ground. I probably shouldn’t. I mean, I learned one of the most complicated places on earth using nothing but paper charts. That was long before Google Maps—or Google, for that matter. But hey, you’ve gotta evolve with the times.
Once we got settled in, we scouted the property and picked our stands. This was my first time hunting rifle season in Missouri, and also my first time using a tripod stand.
Not gonna lie—I hated it.
I’m sure they have their place, but sitting wide open on a hill in northeast Missouri in mid-November? Not ideal. Unless your goal is to slowly turn into a popsicle.
We did an evening hunt and saw a few deer—nothing legal, nothing worth pulling the trigger on. We hunted until dark, headed back to the truck, and made our way to camp. After a good meal, we plotted our strategy for the next day. The plan was to try a different farm in the morning and then return to the original farm in the evening.
We hunted the new farm until late morning, then called it. We met back at the truck and made our way to Casey’s for some breakfast pizza. If you’re ever in the Midwest and spot a Casey’s—do yourself a favor and stop. That stuff hits different after a cold morning hunt.
Bellies full, we talked through our evening plan, changed gear at the cabin, and headed back out.
I got dropped off and hiked to my stand while the other guys went to theirs. Midway through the hunt, I got a text: the neighbor didn’t want us using the access road we came in on. I’d have to exit another way—a route I’d never taken.
And to make matters worse, I’d be doing it in the pitch black.
No big deal, right? I had my trusty GPS app. I could find my way.
Or so I thought.
As the sun set and any chance of seeing deer disappeared, I started to pack up. It was fully dark now, and the only visible lights were from a few distant houses. According to the app, it looked simple enough: a dirt road cut across the property, so I followed it… until I hit a barbed wire fence.
I climbed through it and kept going.
That’s when I felt it.
That weird sensation—like you’re being watched. Or maybe just… not alone.
Then came the sounds.
Movement. First behind me, then in front. I’m not the jumpy type, but something felt off. I’d been walking without a light—oddly enough, I could see better without it—but now I needed to know what was around me.
I flipped on my headlamp…
And saw cows.
Lots of them.
Turns out I was smack in the middle of a giant pasture. And these cows weren’t casually grazing—they were interested. Trotting in front of me, behind me, beside me. Rinse and repeat.
I called my buddies.
“Where the hell are you?” one asked.
“I’m in the middle of a damn cow field.”
They laughed. “You’ll be fine. Just meet us at the gate.”
I kept moving, rifle in hand. A few times I was ready to shoulder it and lay one down if they got too close. I saw the truck’s headlights in the distance—but they were angled just right to blind me. Then my headlamp died.
Now I was half-blind, walking with stampeding cows behind me.
I called the truck. “Kill the lights!”
They did, and I finally spotted the gate. Freedom.
I hopped in the truck—and the chirping started immediately.
“What the hell took you so long?”
“You have no idea what I just walked through.”
They rolled their eyes. We flipped the headlights back on…
And there they were.
Redemption.
It looked like a cartoon scene—fifty-plus cows lined up at the gate, glowing eyes in the beam, dead silent, just staring. The jokes stopped. Eyes widened.
One buddy, who’s terrified of cows (and had been ragging on me the hardest), muttered, “Man, I would’ve just laid down and died.”
As much as I’d love to blame technology, this one was on me. I marked the wrong parking spot on the map, and that little detour? That was all user error.
Still, I got a great story out of it.
And maybe—just maybe—a little pasture credit.
