It was an early November morning wind blowing; snow on the ground, and the temperature, a balmy ten above zero. It was my second year deer hunting and I had all the hope in the world of shooting a nice buck. I headed out with my dad to a cornfield not to far from my hunting cabin. We set up on the downwind edge of a cornfield overlooking some train tracks. The morning was cold, and as a new hunter my motivation to stay out was starting to tire. After watching the same area for nearly two hours, and seeing absolutely nothing I was getting really anxious and cold. I gave it ten minutes as I looked down at my watch, but before the ten minuets were up I had already shot the biggest buck of my life.

As I looked up from my watch I heard a rustling in the un-harvested corn to my right. So I put my gun up and jacked a shell into my .260. About a second later three does stepped out followed by a buck. This buck was a monster in my eyes, but then again I hadn’t been deer hunting much. As the buck walked parallel to me he seemed to stay in between the does and I so I didn’t have a shot until he passed over the railroad tracks. As he climbed to the top of the tracks and stopped I put the crosshairs right where my dad had instructed, squeezed the trigger and boom all in one sweet adrenaline rush of a moment the hunt was over and the deer lay dead in his tracks, just fifty yards in front of me. Of course they say you should wait a bit to walk up on them, but I was there standing over my first buck within a matter of seconds. As I looked over my deer, I noticed a spot on the ground where something had broken the ice, and sitting right next to it was a perfectly mushroomed bullet lodged in the ground. So not had I only taken my first big buck, but I had also found the bullet too. I was ecstatic, and in my moment of joy I decided to run down to where my dad was sitting to give him the news. As I think about it today, I probably ruined his hunt, but I think he was ok with it when he saw the deer I had shot. So I after we inspected the deer and took a few pictures, I got my first lesson in the art of field dressing. As excited as I was I didn’t know that when your not careful and you cut to fast, you can sometimes cut things that smell like a hot porta-potty and make you gag. After a few gags that turned into laughs we walked back to the truck to come pick up my deer. I was the proudest thing you ever did see when we went to show my grandparents what I had shot. It was a feeling like you are on top of the world, and no one can take your moment from you. I forget sometimes the things that make you feel this way, but then again that’s why we live to hunt.