It was 1971. I had practiced since January. It was the last day of the Texas bowhunting season. I was given permission and directions to get to a piece of land about 30 miles west of San Antonio. I found my way alright, walked in and saw this guy had towers built. I just didnt see anyway to hunt from them with my Damon Howitt recurve. I wandered around, found a downed live oak and sat on the trunk looking through thebranches. With 10 minutes of day light left on the last day this little 4 pt walked out right beside me not more than 10 yards from me. I turned my head and froze. He got nervous and ran out in front 7 yards away quartering hard away. I drew and released in one motion. He took off with my feathers sticking out just in front of his back leg angling hard forward. I followed the modest blood and found my arrow about 75 yards out, broken and soaked in blood. I found the deer 25 yards further. What a relief. THe arrow came out in front of the off side front shoulder. Old Bear Razorhead with bleeders. I had shot a pig before that but don't count pest as a "REAL" kill.[8D]