Sweat leaked down my face and fell to the fresh earth below. The mid-summer heat was unbearable, but I knew that it would pay off. I had hiked two miles in scent-free camouflage to this particular spot. Grandpa’s land, with the tallest of oaks and thickest of brush, was where I would spend countless hours in the early mornings and late nights of fall’s best days. Deer season was still two months away, but I backpacked in with all the things I needed: a stand, mineral block, rake, and dripper. I manipulated the stand to be able to see my mineral block and the worn deer trail. With the branches trimmed for a clear path, I climbed down. Next, I took the rake and headed to the overgrown thicket and began to tear up the ground. This was how deer marked their territory and I had created a mock scrape in hopes of bringing in a mature buck. The dripper, full of deer scent and hung by a branch leaking over the freshly overturned dirt, completed my set up. Deer season finally rolled around and at the age of …show more content…
A huge white-tailed buck was approaching my mock scrape. The bleach white horns stood tall and defined amongst the orange leaves. I drew my bow back and placed the green pin right behind his shoulder. Before I could squeeze the trigger, I remembered all the time spent checking trail cameras, cutting limbs, and scouting. Everything I learned from grandpa, I applied to this new-found honey hole. The tension between the bowstring and my release disappeared propelling the arrow to its final destination. Appalled, I watched the buck tip over twenty yards away. Shock took over my body, and I looked to my bow. The whole encounter happened so quick that I did not even remember grabbing my bow. In disbelief and with trembling fingers, I tried calling my dad, but only silence remained on the other end. At fourteen, I had accomplished what many hunters dreamed of, harvesting a mature