I swear I shot a box of shells at a doe one evening in rifle season.

It was the last day at deer camp, when a snow squall came through around lunchtime, putting a fresh coating of snow on the ground. I had a doe tag to burn. I got way off the beaten path, still-hunting through the hollows, tip-toeing up the creekbeds, trying to catch a doe under the dark hemlocks that line the streams.

Sure enough, I caught a flicker, and made eye contact with a lead doe. The second our eyes met, she was gone. I got an opening about 150 out, and got one in her, but too far back, and low. Right rear leg, blown off just below the steaks. She never missed a step. I cycled the bolt and took a clean miss at 250.

I kept tracking her, and she was staying 200+ ahead, and with daylight fading and the truck ready to pull out of camp, I had to get her before dark, so I dogged her hard.She was putting down good blood, but only stopping every300-400 yards.She kept laying tight, then giving me running shots through too much clutter, and I couldn't squeeze the ball through. At least two more clean misses.

Finally, I cut off her bloodtrail and beat her around the ridge, where I caught her bedded, watching behind her from a safe position. I had the wind this time. Finally, after about a half-dozen rounds, I got an open shot and she was down, and the drag was on.