By Lawrence Alexander
-- I hunted this deer for two years. It was within bow range three different times the first season, but I never had a decent shot. I was worried the buck wouldn’t survive Virginia’s gun season.
Much to my delight, however, I found the buck’s freshly shed antlers after the season ended. To be sure, I asked members of the local hunting clubs if anyone had shot a big 6-pointer. Apparently, nobody had.
Knowing the deer had survived, I was pumped and eager for bow season, hoping deer dogs hadn’t pushed it into the next county.
The following September, I saw it in the field right next to my stand. The month-long wait was difficult.
Well, this season began with a repeat of the previous one. The buck was within bow range three times in October, but I had no shot. Next thing I knew, the gun season arrived.
I had to work late that night and couldn’t get off until 8:30 in the morning. Even so, I went home as soon as I left work, grabbed my crossbow and headed to my stand. On the way there, I saw some guys from the hunting club and stopped to chat. One of them said somebody in the club had taken a big 6-pointer.
I was so disappointed. I also couldn’t help wondering what might’ve happened all those other times if I’d done something differently, if maybe I could’ve closed the deal.
I went to my stand anyway and stood there for about 10 minutes. I had pretty much decided to leave when I heard a big splash in a little pond behind me. As I turned around, thinking I should’ve brought my fishing pole instead of my crossbow, my jaw dropped to my knees.
There was my 6-pointer, swimming toward me. It was following a doe, and a forkhorn was bringing up the rear. As soon as the deer reached the bank, I smoked it from 25 yards. It covered maybe 10 yards before collapsing.
-- Lawrence Alexander
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