The ghostly face and accompanying antlers slowly materialized above the creek bank thirty yards in front of my stand, searching earnestly for anything amiss in hisdomain. Seemingly staring under and past my lofty perch, he finally felt comfortable enough to ease down the trail I was set up on.
Every couple steps was interrupted with more searching, more listening.Twelve yards from the base of my tree I thought he was about to turn sideways, and I began drawing while he looked back to his left. A quarter of the way into my draw, he snapped his head back and directed his stare once again straight ahead; I was forced to freeze.
Ten more yards of shuffling steps found him a mere two yards from my tree, and I finishedeasing the little Tribute to full draw. Slowly allowing my pin to settle between his shoulders, I began squeezing ever-so-gently on my release's trigger.
Quiet exploded into pandemonium as the 100-grain Muzzy MX-4 tipped ACC slicedcleanly through his bodyfrom top to bottom, blowing out between hislegs. The buck jumped three feetstraight upinto the air, mule-kicking simultaneously, before attempting to run away from the sting of death. Thirty-five yards later, it caught up with him as he crashed to the floor and silence once again enveloped the woods.
And... in honor of one of my most favorite board members, and eteemed bowhunting brethren...
