A tornado ripped through Birmingham, and I was summoned to help over there during the final days of deer season. As the cold frontal passage spawned tornadoes in Alabama, frigid temperatures rushed in behind and gave me one last chance to go to the woods with a couple of cold mornings left to hunt after I returned home.

I quickly made plans to hunt a stand I’d moved overlooking a new deer trail as the deer patterns had changed from the early fall and winter. I’d positioned a stand to overlook a creek bottom and trail that emerged into their bedding thickets.

Five a. m. came early, so I quickly made a pot of coffee and opened the door to check the weather. To my dismay, the wind was howling from the northwest, which rendered my stand destination useless for this morning. I quickly poured a cup of coffee and sat down to ponder what to do.

I’d about had enough of deer hunting this year as I’d hunted hard and passed on a few small bucks and plenty of does. I started the fall off by harvesting a meat deer with my bow and then settled in to hunt for horns — or antlers, as some may prefer to call them.

Christmas eve was special, as I harvested a nice 8-point buck, and my annual Christmas wish was fulfilled. Another trip to the Mississippi River led to another trophy buck that will rank in my all-time deer harvest memories.

But now with only a couple days left to hunt I wanted to close the season out with one final buck, my limit deer.

Alas, the freezing wind was from the wrong direction and my hopes for another successful hunt were not looking good. I thought about hanging it up about midway through my cup of coffee.

By the time I’d finished my coffee it was still dark, so I decided to go and hunt another stand I’d moved for a late season hunt where the wind should be just right. I hadn’t hunted there yet, but I knew there was a well-worn trail there and probably my best bet to catch a glimpse of a buck.

I quickly slipped on my overhauls and warm jacket and got on the road to my stand. Arriving at my destination, I quickly climbed up into my tree stand and got ready for the hunt. After I got settled in, the time was 6:25, right at legal shooting light but still too dark.

Five minutes later I saw a large deer pass through an opening at 40 yards, but his head had already passed when I saw the large body. The deer passed into the thicket, and I watched intently hoping to catch a glimpse of him pass through another opening to the north.

“Crack” sounded the snapping of a limb to my right and I quickly scanned the area in the swamp for movement.

Suddenly, a buck turned his head, and I could see a rack that sported several tines reaching above the briars and cattails. The deer was in a thicket browsing on something but offering just a chance. I raised my rifle and centered the crosshairs high on his shoulder like Zane Chapman had shown me some 40 years ago and squeezed the trigger.

“Boom!” My .270 Remington bellowed, and the roar echoed through the swamp, and all was quiet. I didn’t see the buck leave or hear him crashing or thrashing in the brush, but I reloaded and scanned the area intently for at least five minutes before detecting antlers through the brush with my scope. I’d been afraid to get down from the tree for fear the buck might have been stunned and get up and leave when I came down.

But the Chapman Shot had done its job and made for a swift, clean kill as the old warrior collapsed on the spot. He never knew what hit him.

As I stood over the 8-point buck I marveled at how such a magnificent creature could survive in such harsh conditions. I thanked God for the opportunity to hunt and live free and provide for my family in such a manner. This buck was aged at 5 1/2 years old, an old deer for the area I was hunting and a cherished end to my successful deer season.

The succulent venison he will provide my family will be enjoyed for the next year and another lifetime memory has been made while the circle of life continues.

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