hunting_deer Tim? The alarm wakes you at 5 am. Knowing what lays ahead today, it is easy to get out of your sleeping bag. You have forgotten about the cold, but you quickly remember as the shock of sub-freezing temperature of the south Texas hillcountry relieves you of any lingering drowsiness - the old cabin doesn't do much for insulation. Without showering, you put on all your layers of clothing, beginning with your long underwear, and ending with your big, insulated, one-piece camo coveralls and stocking cap. Granpa wears only thermals, jeans, and flannel, cuz he's a hard ass half-Cherokee mutha fucka. You eat no breakfast (that waits till after the morning hunt), but you take a hot cup of coffee, or cider, or hot chocolate, or whatever the fuck you fancy. You grab your 7mm rifle and binoculars, hop into the old jeep, and bounce down the rocky trail, stopping to let granpa out at his blind. As soon as he's in and doesn't need the jeep's headlights to see anymore, you continue on to your blind, stopping about 100 yards away. Those deer won't come anywhere near the extremely conspicuous auto. You climb the ladder to the blind, which sits back in the live oaks, about 100 yards from the small, man-dug water tank, and about 50 yards from the corn feeder. You can't help but doze for about 30 minutes until the feeder goes off right at dawn with a loud buzzing and rattling, throwing corn in a circle with about a 10ft. radius. It jolts you awake, and you may see some jackrabbits or wild hogs scatter into the trees. The first deer appear almost immediately - young does with their fawns cautiously enter the clearing, and approach the feeder, all the while listening and watching intently for the slightest hint of danger. Absolute silence and stillness is essential for you, becuase keeping the initial deer in is the only thing that will bring more desirable game. A few young, unimpressive bucks come barging in to the feeder, and begin harassing the does and scuffling with each other. You scan the ridge and live oak/cedar thicket for movement. After an hour or so, about a dozen turkeys swagger straight down the road and up to the feeder. You see some tempting gobblers, but what you're really after today is that nice buck that's been seen in the area. As you continue to scan the area, you suddenly catch movement off to the right of the water tank, under some large live oaks about 150 yards away. You raise your binoculars - BEHOLD! A large, majestic old buck is standing in the early morning shadows, calmly looking out over the clearing and munching on fallen acorns. You count 8 points on a thick base, reckon his brow tines to be 6 inches, and his spread to be near to 20 inches - A truly impressive deer for this part of Texas. His age and experience keeps him away from the feeder and the does. He knows any of these females are his for the taking. This is the deer you want to take. You don't have a clear shot through the thicket, so you have to wait for what seems to be an agonizingly long time for him to move into a more open area. Finally, he does, and he gives you a full left-side view, nonetheless. You raise your rifle, and find him in your scope. You make a small bumping noise in the blind to catch his attention, and to make his stand still. He does. You put the cross hairs on his neck, just about 3 inches below his skull, as a neck shot bleeds better. You exhale completely, emptying your lungs of air and stopping all movement for a steady hand. The rest of the world stops and goes silent, as you enter the zone. The mighty buck seem to make eye contact with you, and you share a primal moment. The world explodes in sound as you pull the trigger. Through the scope, you see the deer fall and die on the spot as the large caliber bullet tears through his neck, severing his spine. The other deer scatter in panic with their white tails up waving, the turkey run in one group into the trees, and flocks of birds explode from the treetops, only to light once more 10 yards away. This moment is somewhat anticlimactic, and you sit for a moment to collect yourself. You climb out of the blind, and walk to the spot where the beast has fallen. You stand over him and admire his magnificence, and speculate on the bright future of the deer of the area, with his genes having certainly been distributed all around. You field dress him there, and after his disembowelling, sling him over your shoulders to carry him to the trail. You gently place him on the ground next to the wheel tracks, and bring up the jeep to carry him back to the cabin. Granpa is already there, cooking a breakfast of biscuits, eggs, and bacon. He's taken a nice gobbler with a bright red head, 7 inch beard, and formidable spurs. He comes out to admire - and help you quarter - the buck. You tag the antlers, and after breakfast, take the head to town to be rated. The guys at the general store are impressed, And you come away satisfied with your 185 Boone & Crockett score. It's not enough to make the books, but it would've been if taken with a bow. You go back to the cabin and take a nap. You won't hunt this evening - you'll spend it celebrating by getting shit-faced off Jack Daniels' black with granpa - but maybe tomorrow morning you'll take one of those turkeys. 020102 ... cube Never hunted like that and i enjoyed the scene. There's enough bleeding heart liberalism in me to say that the odds would have been more even if you'd have taken the buck with a bow. I have a good deal of respect for bow hunters - it's a fair fight. My grandfather was a bow hunter and i understand he took down deer every year of his adult life. I have to admit i've always wanted to follow in his footsteps. Politics aside - a good read. Thanks... ³ 020102 what's it to you? who go blather from