by Chris Colston,
Country Music Singer & Songwriter chriscolstonmusic.com
After spending ten years in the music industry, I have had countless opportunities to meet people from all walks of life. Some wanted to use me to promote their business, others just wanted a picture to tell their friends they “partied” with me, and a few had genuine motives behind their actions and became people I could count on. Though this was rare, one night in Wichita, Kansas, I met someone who would become one of my closest friends.
It was January 15, 2022. My band and I had been on a weekend string of shows, traveling from Denver, Colorado, to Lincoln, Nebraska, with Wichita, Kansas, as the final stop before heading back to Texas. We were exhausted from the thousand-mile journey, running on just a couple of hours of sleep and surviving on McDonald’s black coffee. When we arrived at the venue, The Cotillion, the wind was howling at thirty miles per hour, and the temperature had dropped by twenty-five degrees. It felt like standing in a tornado inside a walk-in freezer as we loaded our equipment into the venue. The weather was brutal, and all we wanted was to head home, but we had a job to do: entertain the folks who had spent their hard-earned money to see us perform.
Thousands of fans poured into the venue, excited to see us and the headliner, our friend Casey Donahew. Our set was electric, and we got the crowd hyped for the main event. After our final note, I wiped the sweat from my head and gave my usual sign-off: “My name is Chris Colston from Texas. God bless you, and we will see you down the road.” I walked off the side of the stage, signed a few autographs, and chatted with some new fans. As the line of people dwindled and the lights dimmed for Casey’s set, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder.
I turned to see a man with an outstretched hand. “Hey, Chris, I am Carey Drake,” he said calmly. “Here is my card. I do not want to bother you tonight, but if you ever want to go on an incredible whitetail deer hunt, you are more than welcome at my ranch anytime.” Surprised by his genuine tone, I replied, “Nice to meet you, Carey. Wow, that is awesome. I am going to take you up on that offer!” He smiled and added, “No pressure, just so you know, this is the real deal. We would love to have you. Keep in touch.” Just as quickly as he appeared, he disappeared into the crowd like a character out of a movie—almost like Batman slipping into one of Gotham City’s dark alleys. His seriousness and calmness left a strong impression on me, making me feel that he truly meant every word.
Carey and I stayed in touch over the next few months, exchanging trail camera photos of the massive bucks roaming his 500-acre hunting paradise in Oklahoma. Everything seemed to be lining up for me to visit his ranch for opening day of bow season on October 1st. However, a thought crossed my mind: You do not even know this guy. What if something happens to you out there? They will never find you if he turns out to be dangerous. What if he is a weirdo? I had to make a decision—one that would impact me for the rest of my life, either for better or worse.
After convincing my wife that I would be safe, I turned on my phone’s location-sharing feature and set off for Soggy Dollar Ranch to meet my new Oklahoman friend. Upon arrival, I was greeted at the front gate by Carey’s spunky eight-year-old daughter, Piper, who looked just like her dad. A wave of relief washed over me, reassuring me that my instincts had been right—this was a good, family-oriented man. From the moment I entered the ranch, Carey and I bonded like long-lost brothers. We laughed, shared drinks, talked about family and faith, and celebrated when I brought down a massive ten-point buck on my last evening hunt. All the uncertainty and doubt melted away, and a lasting friendship was born. I had taken a leap of faith, and I believe God put Carey in my life for a reason.
Since then, Carey and I have continued our tradition of getting together every October for deer season in Oklahoma, for a week of hunting and fellowship. It’s moments like these that can shape our lives, leaving a lasting impact. I’m thankful I trusted my instincts that night in Wichita. Now, I have a lifelong hunting partner and friend, and to me, there’s nothing better than spending time in the great outdoors with good friends who become family. Since the day Carey and I met, I’ve made it up to the Soggy Dollar Ranch every October. Normally, after all the work Carey and his dad, George, put in throughout the off-season—mowing food plots, discing, planting, and topping off feeders with that yellow gold—we’ve got the whitetails patterned pretty well. But this past bow opener of the 2025 deer season was hands down the quickest and most successful hunt I’ve ever had in my entire stick-and-string career.
I only had a short window to make it happen, from October 5th through the 8th. Temperatures were high, the wind was brutal in the first half of the trip, but a cold front was pushing in on the back end. I was confident the deer would be on their feet when that front hit.
It’s a six-hour haul to the northwest portion of Oklahoma just off the North Canadian River, and when I pulled into camp, one of my closest hunting buddies was standing there waiting with a cold drink in hand and the biggest opossum grin I’ve ever seen. I stepped out of the truck and we didn’t even need words—just a big brotherly hug, a loud, joyful laugh, and a simple: “We’re here, buddy. I’m so happy to be back.”
We caught up for a bit—hadn’t seen each other since last season—and then it was time to pull out the bow and make sure everything was still dialed in. A few practice shots later, arrows flying true, it was time to throw on the camo and make the half-mile walk to my favorite cottonwood tree on planet Earth.
The Soggy Dollar Ranch is a special place. A clean, chalky white-rock road runs right through the heart of the property, perfect for quiet travel on foot so you don’t bump any big game. “Get in and get out,” as Carey always says. That white road opens up into one of the most beautiful triticale wheat fields you’ve ever laid eyes on—about 150 yards wide and nearly 600 yards long—with cottonwood trees scattered down the center like God himself placed them there for the American whitetail hunter.
I climbed up into an old dead cottonwood just 30 yards from a corn feeder. The wind was smacking me in the face at 25–30 mph—brutal conditions for early-season whitetail hunting—but I didn’t care. I was in heaven.
As the evening pushed closer to sunset, the wind finally settled, and animals slowly began filtering into the wheat field like a dinner bell had gone off. Not long after, I glanced left behind the feeder, and there he was—out of nowhere, like a ghost. A 5½-year-old main-frame eight-point, the buck I’d dreamed about. He circled a few times, jumped into the pen, and then came the problem: the top strand of hog panel was blocking my shot.
It felt like an eternity before he finally hopped out. He could’ve gone any direction, but he chose the road right in front of me. At 20 yards, as he stepped behind the first tree, I drew my Bear bow, settled in, gave a slight grunt to stop him, and sent a G5 Megameat straight through both lungs—double pass-through. He kicked like a mule, bolted to my right, and disappeared into the thick northwest Oklahoma brush. My heart was pounding out of my chest when I heard a faint crash behind me. The beast was down.
I grabbed my phone and sent the text every hunter dreams of sending: “BIG BUCK DOWN!”
Carey jumped into his truck and eased down to where I was. We tracked the buck about a hundred yards to where he’d piled up beneath a cedar tree. He was even bigger in person—an absolute free-range giant—and I was the first human ever to lay hands on him.
That night we celebrated with a few drinks and laughed about how it all came together on the very first evening. That never happens. It was truly a hunt of a lifetime, one I’ll never forget.
Thank God for allowing me to meet Carey Drake that cold day in Wichita, Kansas. Thank God for bowhunting. And thank God for the American whitetail deer.
