The air hangs thick over the timber in southern Iowa—oak leaves still cling to branches, a faint shimmer of October warmth cuts through the morning fog, and the timber floor crunches beneath your boots. It’s the kind of setting that whispers to a bowhunter: stay patient, stay quiet. For Seth, it wasn’t just another hunt—it was the culmination of six years waiting, scouting, hoping. And it all came together with the buzz of a cell cam, a last-minute stand change, and the kind of instinct that only time in the woods can teach.
From Deer Drives to Discipline
Seth’s story starts like many Midwest hunters—riding along on Missouri deer drives, rifle in hand, soaking in the tradition. But even early on, he sensed there was something deeper pulling him in. It wasn’t until his late teens, after watching old Realtree VHS tapes on snow days, that he got his first bow. No mentors. No guidance. Just trial and error. “I’d sit in a lawn chair tucked in the weeds thinking I’d kill something big,” he laughed. Over time, that curiosity turned into craft. By the time he reached college, Seth was scouting food plots, studying trail cam data, and learning how to hang a stand where it counted.
The Power of the Process
Ask Seth what drives him now, and he won’t say the score of the buck. It’s the whole dance: planting plots, glassing velvet, hanging stands deep where others won’t go. “I’ve come to enjoy the process more than the hunt itself,” he admitted. And that patience paid off. Around 2008 or 2009, he arrowed his first really good deer. That moment—a buck appearing out of tall weeds during peak rut—solidified it. “That’s the power of the rut,” he said. “I want more of that.”
A Tag Six Years in the Making
In 2023, after six long years of waiting, Seth finally drew his coveted Iowa bow tag. The plan was a two-week huntcation between Missouri and Iowa, with flexibility to shift based on deer movement. But then the cell cam lit up. “730 in the morning, we got a picture,” he said. Lance, his longtime buddy and hunting partner, had a gut feeling. Seth followed it. “I packed up, showered, grabbed my bow and e-bike, and headed to a different stand.” No camera. No safety harness. Just adrenaline and a hunch. At 5:30 PM, a 170-inch dream stepped out at six yards. The shot felt good, but nerves crept in overnight. Come morning, they found the buck piled up within 60 yards.
That First Iowa Giant
That wasn’t Seth’s first Iowa success story. Back in 2015, fresh off a move to Iowa for work, he took a chance on a new farm. One evening, a nearby farmer started combining. Seth pivoted. “I thought, maybe that combine bumps something out.” He rattled antlers, grunted, and a giant with a drop tine circled back. One well-placed shot later, and Seth was calling the friend who helped him get access, almost afraid to admit how big the buck was. “Probably never going to happen again like that,” he said. “It was pure luck.”
Evolving With the Times
A lot’s changed since those early ladder stand days. Access is harder, land is more expensive, and hunting has turned into a pay-to-play game. “Back then, you could ask to bowhunt and people would just laugh. Now it’s like, no way,” Seth said. He’s watched hunting media shift too—from primetime shows to gritty YouTube episodes and average-Joe success stories. “I like the raw ones. A guy gets off work, throws on camo in his Chevy Cavalier, and gets it done.”
Luck, Skill, and Stinging Setbacks
Talk to Seth long enough, and you’ll find he’s as honest about misses as he is about hits. “You remember the misses more,” he admitted. Like the 170-class deer in 2016. Or the 180s-class buck three years later. Or the time he was mid-hunt, watching a Chiefs game, and realized too late that the deer of a lifetime was 80 yards out and closing. “I just wasn’t ready,” he said. Still, he doesn’t dwell on it. “If you’ve never missed, you’re either not hunting enough—or lying.”
The Hornet Incident
Every hunter has that one “you’re not gonna believe this” story. For Seth, it was the day he volunteered to trim a walking lane at Lance’s. “I hit a ground hornet nest and just got hammered,” he said. “Dropped the saw, sprinted for the creek. Had hornets in my boots. It was awful.” Of course, Lance—just a few yards away—walked away untouched. “Apparently hornets know who to blame,” Seth joked.
Why We Keep Going
In the end, it’s not the inches of antler or even the kill that fuels Seth. It’s the quiet of the woods, the sunrise breaking through hardwoods, the doe with fawns goofing under his stand, the bobcat chasing prey he saw last fall—his first in over 20 years of hunting. “That’s your peaceful place,” he said. “It’s not just about killing something. It’s the challenge, the story, the escape.”
