After a couple of weeks of very little fresh sign, I decided to hunt the last day of our generous fall turkey season (opens on a Monday and closes that Saturday). I found two screaming scrapes within 15 yards of each other, marked the spot on the GPS and headed back in the afternoon. Got as scent-free as I could; it was 70 here Saturday. I circled downwind, came into the scrape area and got up the best tree I could find with the climber. Drew up the bow, nocked an arrow and set it in the bow holder, then began to secure the seat. I heard a ' squirrel' to the left and glanced over. A big 8 (maybe a 10) was coming into the scrapes and made me. No shot. I was kicking myself; I' d only needed another five minutes. Then two big German shephards came into the area and got on his trail. Now the setup was really busted. I had a scent canister out and decided to rattle in case a subordinate buck was hanging out, waiting for Mr. Big to move on. Caught a movement behind me at 4:15. Nice fat young buck was coming in on the scent stream, nose up and mouth open. When he got to the shooting lane, I blatted. Kept walking -- fast! I blatted again. Kept going. I held behind his shoulder, swung the bow a little and squeezed the release. Even with the swing I hit him a touch farther back than I wanted but still pretty good. Had a reasonable blood trail and found him piled up in some thick brush about 60 or 70 yards out. Basket-rack 6-point, dressed 150 lbs. on my weigh tape. Got the liver and quartered down and forward through one lung lobe. Muzzy 125, 3-blade. Now, I' ll concentrate on Mr. Big.