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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Duckslayer100" data-source="post: 275552" data-attributes="member: 1485">[ATTACH]39389[/ATTACH]I'm not now, nor have I ever been, a horn hunter. In fact, the quicker I can fill my tag, the happier I am. It means more time over the weekend with my family back home, and more time to take care and butcher my deer as best I can.So on Friday, at 12:15, when the first deer that came by was a buck, I should have shot it. For some reason it just looked small. Big body, but small rack. Normally this wouldn't matter. But I hestiated as he ran past me in the woods at 50 yards."Boy, that sure is a big bodied deer," I says to myself. Then he stops, facing away from me, and turns back to watch a doe coming through the woods. "Damn he's wide," I says to myself.And just like that, the buck is gone. And for the next four hours, I kick myself for not taking him when I had the chance. "Never pass a deer up the first day you'd shoot on the last day," isn't that what they say?? So at 3:30, I hear some noise to the north, and see the not-so-pleasant blaze orange outline of a feller walking through the woods. That would be why it's been dead quiet since 2. He finally sees me sitting on my stool, waves, then pauses. I can tell he wants to walk right past me, and for a minute I think he's actually going to have the guts to do that. But instead, he takes the high road, walks west up the ridge, and meets up with his buddy. That's it for me. No way I'm seeing another deer through here before dark. But there's this nagging in my head. I can't leave. Uncle Paul always said, "Just sit down and don't move. Deer don't care about us. They'll still come through." And that advise has stuck with me all these years. And it pays off, time and time again. So I decide to do something sort of in between his advise: I'll walk up to the ridge so that I can still keep an eye on the woods behind me, but at least I'll have a view of the open country to the West in case those guys shag something my way. Well 4:30, I catch movement out of my peripheral. Wouldn't you know it, a doe is skirting from the north to the south through the woods. A 60-yard chip shot had I been sitting in the spot I'd started the day at (and had I a doe tag). She's coming the same direction those guys walked an hour earlier, so clearly Uncle Paul knows what he's talking about.She's got that nervous thing going on, and keeps trotting a few steps, stopping, and looking behind her. My heart starts pounding. I know that that means. Just as she is out of sight to the south, out pops Mr. Buck full of piss and vinegar. He's hot on her trail, sniffing and softing grunting toward her. Now I'm in a pickle, because while I can certainly see him, my shooting lanes are pencil thick. He stops, I raise the rifle, then he's gone again. I keep losing him in my scope and can't keep up with him. Anxiety is causing my heart to pound even harder, I can feel my breath get shorter. Then I see an opening. There's another small break in the trees, and I know exactly where he's going to step out. I keep both eyes open, get the scope up, and wait. Mind you, this entire sequence couldn't have taken more than a few seconds, but it feels like forever. Then he takes that step. I see his head, neck, shoulder.Bang!I quick rack a second shot, but it's not needed. He takes two steps and falls over. For the first time in years, I get the shakes. I set my gun down and thank Grandpa Vern and Grandpa Ray, who I lost two months apart this fall. I think the good Lord for making it a clean kill. Then I go down and thank the buck, for giving me one last shot at redemption, and feeding my family this year. I don't get him gutted and dragged out until well after dark, but I did get the opportunity to take a quick break from pulling and watch a most excellent sunset.</blockquote>

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