A 20-degree drop in temperatures overnight set the perfect stage for my excited hike in the morning darkness to my stand overlooking a cut corn field. The nearby generator used by the duck hunters who leased the land droned on in the darkness, emptying creek water into a low spot in the field, but I wasn't too worried about it; it had been running for three days now, giving the area wildlife time to grow accustomed to its incessant noise.

Still 25 yards from my stand, I noticed an eerie glow on the treeline ahead of me, and watched in amazement as it grew brighter. I reached the bottom of my tree as I realized the glow was being cast by headlights from a truck -- a truck that was driving across the field straight at me. I watched in horror as the vehicle slowed to a stop less than 50 yards from me, and its occupent got out and began tinkering with the generator, eventually shutting it off and later restarting it -- presumably to refill its gas tank.

Forty-five disgusted minutes after sunup, I decided to get down and head to another part of the farm where I had hung a stand a month earlier in anticipation of this time of year. A short drive later found me walking circles on the end of the ridge where my stand should have been. I eventually spotted my Kwikee quiver caddy and my bow holder screwed into the tree 25 feet above the forest floor, minus my accompanying stand.

I walked back to my Jeep, alternately sulking and wishing I had walked up on the scumbag who stole my stand and called my wife. After she convinced me to go ahead and hunt the rest of the day, I took my climber out of my SUV and headed to a remote spot I had been saving for just the right time. At 11:05 a.m., I watched a young doe walk by at 20 yards. Things were looking up! After a few hours of reading my camouflage pocket New Testament, I looked up to see five does stealthily making their way towards me. I decided to let all of them pass, hoping something would eventually come out behind them.

Thirty-five minutes later, I caught movement about 40 yards to the right of where the does had passed, and I watched a nice buck materialize out of the marshy thicket. He worked his way up to where his path intersected where the does had walked earlier, and he pawed out a scrape 35 yards from my tree. I let him walk another 10 as he angled past, and voice-grunted him to a stop after coming to full draw. I couldn't have asked for better shot placement, as my Rocket Slammerhead pierced his heart to start a 50-yard final run.

Wrapping my hands around his gnarly bases, I smiled to think of how theday had started. Yes, persistence does pay...