My first archery deer was a little six point that kept coming and standing directly under my tree stand. I was 17' up and passed him several times during the day, but finally couldn't resist. He was straight down, I mean the arrow like a plumb line almost off the rest. Arrow passed between his shoulder blades, through his heart, and stopped on the inside of his sternum with a loud halloween-pumpkin-getting-smashed thump. His short sprint ended with him cartwheeling spectacularly; think he died at a dead run. The sound of that crash is also in my indelibly etched in my memory.


The Rifle is the Weapon of Democracy