My most memorable hunt was my first deer.

I was hunting the Southern part of NY State. Right on the Pennsylvania border. At that point I didn' t have as much patience as I do now and left my stand about 10am and headed over to where my dad was standing. I knew he had the ability to stand all day. It didn' t really occur to me that I might be ruining his hunt. As I was walking over to him, I picked up a set of human tracks that were headed in his direction. It turned out to be my older brother. So I get to dad' s spot and he and I and my brother Greg are chatting a bit. We are on a ridge, about halfway up it. Dad and Greg have leaned their shotguns against a tree, and I held mine. Suddenly Greg yells " Deer!" , " Bucks!" and I turn and look up the ridge and 15 yards away there are deer everywhere. (in reality, there were probably 5 or 6). Even though I am the only one holding a gun, I am the last one to shoot. Dad grabs Greg' s gun and shoots, Greg grabs Dad' s gun and shoots. I have no idea what they are shooting at. I only see one buck, a beautiful 8 pointer that turns and trots broadside in front of me. I don' t remember aiming. I put the gun to my shoulder and fired. I hear one more shot, and Greg yells, " he' s down" , meaning my deer. My father wonders what the heck he is talking about since the only buck he has seen is running like mad for Pennsylvania. The results? We had all seen and shot at a different buck. Greg had shot a 4 pointer and dropped it where it stood. I had shot an 8 pointer and dropped it, although I hadn' t seen it fall. Dad had shot an 8 pointer through the heart and he and Greg found it after a short track. Three nice bucks in the space of about 8 seconds. This isn' t a story of great skill or matching wits with your quarry. But just the way it happened will always stick in my memory, coupled with the fact that this was my first deer, my brother' s first buck, and as it turned out, my father' s last deer. This was thanksgiving day in 1982. I won the buckpool that day.