Breakdown: November 8th, early evening hunt, fairly cool and cloudy
Local young buck comes strutting into the field for the third night in a row and so of course I practice calling him in and drawing back on him to hone the skills. After a while I let him trout off into the field and then decide to grunt at him again to see if I can get him to come back. He takes about ten steps towards me and then stops. All of a sudden back in the woods to my left I hear my first snort wheeze and it's ah good one! Some light leaf rustling/twigs at first and then all of a sudden a Mack truck is barreling through the woods, knocking over timbers like they were tooth picks. Needless to say the young buck said "F this I'm outta here, and bolts." I stand up, grab my bow and tip toe around my seat to the backside of the platform (sitting on a 18' tripod stand, no netting but good silhouette cover in all directions). All I can remember seeing is a tumbleweed size flash of antlers coming up though the draw, so I know he's a shooter. I draw back and get ready to make the usual "bah" noise to stop him in my ideal shooting lane 25 yards away, when all of a sudden he plants his outside foot and makes a football cut right towards my stand (son ***** is gonna ram me). He suddenly stops 16 yards away, peering through the legs of my stand out into the field with that "who the **** is grunting on my turf" look on his face.
At that moment I realize it doesn't get much better then this and he might keep coming and get too close/steep to take a shot. Only shot I had was straight down main street, so I didn't hesitate and buried the trigger. The arrow sunk through his wind pipe and deep into his chest and he wheeled 180 degrees and took off back down into the woods towards our back field. He stopped just inside of the tree line and instead of darting out into the field(THANK GOD) turned left, jumped a few fallen trees before stopping. There he paused for what seemed like an eternity. Of course it's standing behind a tree looking like Dolly Parton, big beautiful rack pouring out from each side but no sign of the body. I can hear him wheezing and struggling to breathe, so I'm pretty confident I'm gonna get to see him crash. He takes a staggering step out from behind the tree and TIMBER!
As he crashes to the ground the rush of emotion pours over me and all I can manage to do is yank off my glove, drop in out of my trembling hand to the forest floor and text my dad! Ten minutes later my dad strolls down through the field from the back of the house and heads around to the back field, just in case he decides to get back up. We meet down in the woods next to this magnificent monster, but the fight was not nearly over. He was still breathing pretty well from his one good lung, but slowly drowning. I hated seeing this happened so I quickly drew back another arrow and took out his remaining lung, dispatching him once and for all.
THANK YOU Bruiser for a wonderful memory, bountiful harvest and amazing reminder on my wall of this amazing night in November!
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