By Jeff Read
-- It was getting late on a Friday afternoon as I drove back from college and waited for my dad to get off work. He came home and picked me up, and I was all ready for the evening hunt.
It was late in the season and we knew it would be slim pickings. The rut had been over for a while and the season was about to end, so we knew the bucks wouldn’t be moving much. We arrived at the property we hunt, parked the truck and walked to our stands. By the time we settled in, we only had about three hours until dark.
Dad’s stand was just up the hill from mine, and I heard him shoot about an hour after we got there. I knew that he had harvested a deer, so I climbed down to help him track and field-dress it. After we finished with his 8-pointer, Dad told me to be ready in case he bumped some deer on the way to the truck. It was still an hour before dark, so he told me to climb back into the stand.
Ten minutes later, he came back and said he spotted a deer in a big field next to a hill where he thought I could get a shot. We loaded his buck in the truck, and Dad and I hiked up the side of the hill and stalked close to the field, downwind from the buck.
We grunted a few times, and I was able to call in the 8-pointer close enough to get a shot with my bow — it went right down.
Dad and I just looked at each other. We couldn’t believe that we had walked away with two great 8-pointers at a time of year when that kind of thing isn’t supposed to happen. It was a great ending to bow season and a great memory to keep for seasons to come.