The rolling hills of South Central Iowa carry a different kind of quiet come January. The frost hangs on empty soybean stalks, food plots go still, and timber draws echo only with the rustle of shed antlers hitting frozen ground. It’s that liminal season between the final sits and the first green-up, and for Lance Porter, that pause is where the reflection begins. A farmer, husband, girl dad, and commercial agronomist, Lance balances life, work, and whitetails with a matter-of-fact grit that comes from two decades of chasing deer in some of the most coveted ground in America.
From Shotgun Drives to Bowhunting Days
Lance’s earliest memories of hunting are steeped in tradition—big shotgun parties, five or six trucks deep, pushing timber across thousands of acres with family and neighbors. But while those chaotic weekends created lifelong bonds, it was bowhunting that quietly hooked him. “I liked the closeness,” he says. “There’s something more natural about it.” Over time, he traded deer drives for tree stands and a 30-lb Golden Eagle bow, learning the rhythm of a quieter pursuit.
The Down Year
This past season, though, things felt off. EHD hit Lance’s area hard—so hard he only had one mature buck show up across all his farms. “I didn’t have anything over four years old,” he says. “Used to see 25 deer a night. This year, if you saw five, that was a good sit.” For the first time in his life, Lance went six sits in a row without seeing a single deer during prime time. He didn’t shoot a doe. Didn’t even get excited to hunt. “After Seth shot that deer, I just punted the rest of the year.”
The Booby Miles Buck
The highlight came early—October 18th, to be exact—when Lance’s friend Seth tagged his Iowa buck after a six-year wait to draw a tag. Lance gave up his only target deer to let Seth have a crack. “I told him to sit by a pond 200 yards off the timber,” Lance says. “By 5:30, he called me—‘Well, that was quick.’” Sometimes the pieces fall together, even in a bad year.
The State of the Herd
Looking back across 20 years, Lance is honest—2024 was the worst he’s seen. But maybe, he says, that’s not entirely bad. “We probably had too many deer to start with. Couldn’t harvest enough. So nature did it for us.” He’s hopeful fewer deer now means healthier ones later. Still, it’s hard watching years of trail cam history and food plot investment vanish with disease and bad luck.
Trail Cams and the Lost Thrill
Lance doesn’t sugarcoat how tech has changed the game. “If I didn’t have trail cameras, I probably would’ve hunted more,” he admits. “You know what’s there. If it’s not what you want, you don’t go.” While he appreciates the data, he misses the mystery. More than once, he’s considered ditching the cameras completely—just hunting, like they used to, when a track in the snow was all you had to go on.
Managing Without the Drama
Between filming hunts in college and losing permission to deep-pocketed out-of-staters, Lance has seen how hunting’s culture has shifted. “It used to be camaraderie,” he says. “Now it’s competition. Who can shoot the biggest deer, who can lease the best farm.” He refuses to pay to play, relying instead on his own farm—a purchase he calls the best decision he’s made. Not for the inches. For the peace. “I can walk out my back door, forget the world, and just chill.”
Fathers, Daughters, and Bubble Blowing Blinds
Now a dad to two young girls, Lance is learning to enjoy the woods in a different way. “They’re blowing bubbles, eating all the snacks I bring. But we’re in the blind together.” His youngest already spots deer better than he does. “She’ll be in the back seat—‘Dad, there’s one!’ I look up and there’s a doe 200 yards off.” Hunting with them is chaos, sure. But it’s joy, too. A reminder of why he started.
Luck, Skill, and the Matrix Deer
If you ask Lance what matters most when killing big deer, he won’t hesitate: “95% luck, 5% skill—100% of the time.” He tells the story of the Matrix deer—years of history, a perfect October setup, and a lightsaber-bright arrow sailing right over its back. The buck dropped like a rock mid-flight. “I’ve never seen a deer do that before,” his brother said. Neither had Lance. The deer died a year later of EHD, scoring over 170 even with a bum foot.
The Joy’s Still There
The industry may have changed. Gear may be flashier. And competition may feel suffocating at times. But for Lance, the core of hunting—the quiet, the challenge, the solitude—still holds. “I’d still love shotgun hunting,” he says, “if everyone was just out there to shoot does or old bucks.” For now, he’s sticking to bow season, tinkering with food plots, and dragging his girls out fishing every chance he gets. “They already want to skip school to go ice fishing,” he laughs. “I gotta be a little proud of that.”
