Life is full of unexpected turns, but it's full of just as many opportunities. My family and I had some trials earlier this year, but the calendar doesn't allow you to hold on too long to those bad memories and so we found ourselves in the midst of hunting season yet again.

With tags left empty after archery season we faced the challenge of filling our tags with rifle in hand. Truth be told, I would rather have my old Rem 700 on my should than any bow of any variety in my hand. (I think my grandfather has a lot to do with that preference) We had a lot of chances and saw a lot of great buck all throughout archery season, but no one even got to draw back, which as I stated above, didn't bother me. 

Opening morning arrived with a very warm welcome and by that I mean I found myself in a t-shirt instead of a thermo. It was the warmest opening day and probably the warmest season I've ever hunted. Being a beanfield hunter, I rely on the movement of other hunters to keep the deer out and about, but with the warm weather most guys seemed to post up and hold tight. 

So as first light dawned and last light drifted silently away, I was a little worried about our season. Six hunters saw a total of six deer, had they not all been seen at once it might have been an interesting day, but no. All six were doe and we weren't taking doe this early on. Generally speaking we hear rifle reports all day long, but this day we heard maybe a grand total of seven or eight, not exactly exciting stuff, but thats why they call it hunting.

I'll go ahead and skip to Wednesday. 
My brothers and I found ourselves together in one of our hunting shanties just as daylight began to fade. I think my brothers and I probably a similar thought, "not today", but we remained optimistic. With about a half hour of daylight left a deer broke into view. We could tell instantly it was a buck, definitely not a monster buck like you see on the outdoor channel, but a legal buck that puts meat in the freezer. 

The buck fed about four hundred yards away at the edge of the woodline. None of us felt the need to take a shot that might push the limits of our own comfort, four hundred yards is a poke. Jr, (my older brother) and I were planning on what to do when the buck started to make life a little easier on us. Keeping the distance the same he began to feed down towards a brush pile, putting him right out in front. It was decided that I, would make the move.

I left the stand and made my movements at the instruction of Jr. (We've been hunting together forever) "Heads up" meant I needed to stop, "heads down", I was good to go and so with whispered instructions I slowly found my way to a little fence row in front of the hunting shanty. I cut the distance by eighty yards and to my delight the buck had done the same. I found an old gas pipe for a rest and laid my rifle across the top steadying myself. Swinging the rifle I located the buck in my scope, few sounds can get my blood pumping the way that Remington "click" does as I take the safety off, just as I have many times before. What was a once a steady target is now shakey and blurred. I try my best to control my emotions as I touch the trigger off, the buck stops and looks about. I knew I missed my mark, I readied another round only to have my excitement get the best of me, I double fed a bold action.... I know. 

I found a moment of clarity, a voice of reason, "Slow down", I'm sure it was my grandfather and it was something he had instructed me to do many times before on the rifle range growing up. I calmly pulled the extra round out from the chamber and dropped it at my feet, I held the other round down as I pushed the bolt into place seating the live shell that was meant to be loaded in the first place, until I fouled it up. 

Again I steadied myself and kept the "slow down" wisdom in mind. The crosshairs lined up on vitals and the rifle roared, I was rewarded with the "Thud" that only a bullet on buck can make. The buck dropped in his tracks.