By Cal Ellis
Last year when I was ten years old, my dad and I went on a hunting trip in Lexington, Georgia. We drove down there and put on our blue jeans and camo overalls. Then, we loaded up the Polaris and our guns, and prepared to drive to the stand.
The stand we were going to was called The Buddy Stand, but I begged my dad to take us to The Heliport Stand instead. He knew I had a hunch and gave in. The heliport was just a large, green clover field. We climbed up the ladder and got settled in.
After a while, we pulled out our grunt call and grunted a few times. Then about fifteen minutes later, coming up the road, was a very skittish doe. My dad asked me if I wanted to shoot her and I said yes. I pulled up my .243 bolt action rifle, but when I was moving it, I bumped the stand and she ran off.
About 20 minutes after that, up that same dirt road, came a 6-pointer. I pulled up the gun and very carefully laid it on the wood. Adrenaline pumping, I looked through the crosshairs and put the dot right behind his shoulder. Then before I knew it, he was on the ground.
We climbed out of the stand and walked over to him. I finally had my first buck! We picked him up and put him in the back of the Polaris. Then we drove back to camp to show him off and load up all our stuff. Finally, we headed home with my first buck in the bed of the truck. It was brown and it was DOWN!!
That is my life-changing story. I’m now a member of the club.