You know when you chase something forever and then finally, finally it’s in your hands? It feels like a gift….Because it is.
The first time I spotted him, he was chasing does across a draw, 700 yards away. Way out of my comfort zone. I told my husband I wanted to try to get closer and we quickened our pace up the mountain, trying to close in on the group before we reached the next ridge, losing sight of them in the process.
We managed to spot them again, but they must have spotted us, too, because they were running and lengthening the 400-yard distance before we could even catch our breath.
Feeling discouraged, I suggested we stop for lunch and maybe continue going up later. Maybe we’d run into them again.
We refueled and rested, then commenced with our plan. Amazingly we found my buck again in some trees, hot on the heels of a doe. I took a few seconds to set up my shooting sticks then squeezed the .270 into action. 300 yards away, the buck fell where he was standing, the bullet hitting both his lungs and spine because of the angle.
I couldn’t be more grateful to end the chase and bring home the bacon.
