I'm going to say it was 2002 or 2003 I don't recall which. It was the first or second week in November and I decided to call in sick from work that day and head out to my hunting spot. It was a Friday so I figured I'd make it a long weekend. So I woke up nice and early, drove the 2 hours to my spot, and headed in.

About 1/2 hour after sunrise I was standing up in my stand, looking to the West where the sun was rising. I figured the deer would be coming down a hilltop from behind me into the woodlot I was in. Like a moron I had my bow on the hanger, and both hands in my pockets (it was cold that morning) as I leaned against the tree. Not seeing or hearing anything I decide to stretch out a bit. Just as I take my hands from my pockets and turn my head to the left I see a 150"+ buck standing 30 yards away looking at me. He had been working a scrape line to the South and was headed right for me, I just wasn't paying attention. Off he ran into the neighbor's property. I'm not sure how big he was, but he was huge to me at the time.

That evening I decided to hunt one of my dad's stands and set a decoy out. He told me the day before when I talked to him "If you hunt my stand and a buck comes up the fencline in front of you, it's a 30 yard shot. It looks closer than it is, trust me." Of course this was before I owned a rangefinder and when I got up in the stand I said to myself "He's nuts. That's 25 yards tops." Sure enough, a nice 140-ish buck with some broken tines came right into the decoy, stopped, and I let an arrow sail right under his chest.

Saturday morning I saw at least 4 different shooter bucks, one from the ground while walking back to camp at about 10 yards that I couldn't get a shot at. The rut was kicking for sure.

Sunday morning I went to another spot that was on the ground. This time my dad told me "If a buck comes up on the other side of the ravine from you, that's only a 20 yard shot. It looks longer because the ditch is so deep, but it's not." Sure enough, the sun came up and I spotted a nice buck working down the ravine. A few hits on the can call and he was headed my way. As he got into my lane at what I thought was 30 yards (of course I knew better than my dad at the time) I stopped him and let an arrow sail so far over his back I think it ended up in the next county. Off he went, taking is 140-150" of antler with him. I threw my bow on the ground and all but gave up for the season.

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.