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Its a cold ass morning and the alarm clock starts ringing uncontrollably as it brings you out of your slumber. Buts its ok, that means its getting close to the break of dawn. You get dressed up in all of your warm camo and head out of the camp. As you drive along the dark deserted dirt roads leading to your area theres always a feeling you're being watched. After a good hour of waiting for the sun to rise, sleep starts to creep back into your mind and images of huge racks appear. Something loud starts spinning and you wake to find your feeder has gone off and a small herd of beautiful white tails has accumulated. Nothing spectatular has arrived yet. A few does with their littles one, and one or two young bucks. After about 20 minutes you all but give up the last bit of hope of seeing a really nice buck when the monster arrives. Out walks the most beautiful buck you've ever seen. Now you've got a dilemma on your hands. This buck has just given you the shakes. Your hand just will not give you a steady hold on you binoculars as you try to count the jumbles of points on the deer's rack. Then you remember that you've done this plenty of times and go into the steps of getting your breathing under control. Takes a few deep breaths and exhail smoothly. Pick up your rifle, flick the safety foward and the rest is just a memory shown to others in photographs. |
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