My senses were on high alert as I scouted for bushy tails, acorns, and buck sign in the gentle rolling Webster Country hills. The ridges were filled with white oaks and the succulent acorns were raining down everywhere. I picked off a few squirrels here and there with my .22 rifle and then topped a ridge that almost took my breath away – it looked like deer heaven. I counted 132 buck rubs on the ridge that dropped off into a hollow filled with the ripe fruit. I would place a stand here and start my season off in one of the hottest areas I’d ever seen.

Opening day finally arrived and we went to the woods in search of a buck. Before arriving at my stand I dropped off little brother Joe in another white oak hollow filled with buck rubs about a quarter mile from my hollow and then went to my stand site. I quickly ascended the white oak tree in my Baker tree stand. It was primitive but allowed hunters to get high above deer at a time when nobody had ever had portable deer stands before.

Shortly after daybreak we heard the tailgates drop about three quarters of a mile to the south and the drivers started whooping and hollering and in minutes the Walker and black and tan hounds were burning a deer up while filling the countryside with splendid music. We weren’t hunting with the club down the road but they often ran deer over out property into our waiting sights.

Tic-Boom! They didn’t get far before somebody fired off a shot and missed so the dogs kept barking and bawling on their quest for the buck.

Ka-pow! Another rifle report fired off in the direction of my brother Joe, but I couldn’t be sure. Things were heating up now and my attention quickly focused on the ridge to my south. I could hear a deer running toward me and as they topped the rise, I spotted not one but two wide racked bucks, the widest I’d ever seen to that point.

As they stopped, I settled the crosshairs of my Remington 742 on the led buck and squeezed off a shot.

Ka-boom! The rifle roared, and the deer flew by me running at full speed as I fired off shots until they ran under my stand, through the hollow and over the next rise. It seemed that I’d never touched a hair on the bucks. Dejection set in and I hung my head in dismay, looking straight down at the dry sandy stream bed below.

A splotch of red glistened in the early morning light and it took just a minute for it to dawn on me. I’d hit the buck, evidenced by the circular gush of blood that was on the ground. I quickly descended the tree and picked up the blood trail following it with ease until I topped the crest of the ridge about 60 yards from the stand.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I spotted the big buck laying dead about 30 yards away. I’d made a perfect heart shot and the buck ran until he bled out! I left the buck and went to the car to pick up little Joe and soon found out he’d scored on a buck as well. It was one of the first he’d killed, and we were both on cloud nine but didn’t have enough room to carry both deer back to the camp in the car.

We got Pawpaw Pat off of his deer stand and he brought the truck back to the scene of our kills. After a time of celebration we loaded the buck and headed back to camp to clean the deer. Paw Paw had a hot stand too, so he left the deer skinning to us and went back to the levee stand overlooking an old pasture in the bottom.

About 10:30 we heard his rifle roar. Pow, pow, tic-boom! We could hear the report of the 30 06 and the bullet strike the deer. We dropped our knives and headed down to his stand and found that he’d also killed a nice buck, harvesting one of three that had run across the pasture near him.

At the time it was the trip of our lifetime as I was a teenager, and Joe was very young. Paw Paw Pat, J. P. Nolen, was my deer hunting mentor and every trip to Webster County was filled with anticipation on the drive up and wonder and delight upon arrival.

Paw Paw was in the prime of his life and he could shoot the eyes out of a running deer if he could see him. On this morning his aim was true again as he killed a pretty 8-point buck. What a day that was, it was the first and only time we all three killed bucks on the same morning.

Though many years have passed and the world has changed Paw Paw Pat’s memory is still alive and vibrant and becomes more cherished each hunting season as we head to the woods again. My wish is that everybody would have such a mentor and get to harvest many wide racks with friends and family in the Great Southern Outdoors and make lifetime memories that become a cherished hunting tradition.

Call Mike Giles at 601-917-3898 or email mikegiles18@comast.net.