“Hey!  There are four more,” whispered my brother excitedly.
“There are deer all over the place,” I quietly responded.  I had little knowledge of what was about to come.

My dad alerted, “Get ready Andy, they’re comin’ this way!”

* * *

On the journey out to the stand, the sky was black with the blanket of early morning space.  The giant moon and brilliant stars lit up the sky; their radiant light shined off of the glistening snow.  Our company, consisting of my dad, brother, and myself, marched through the crunchy snow and stiff cornstalks that had recently been cut down to size.  The cold chills of November rushed through my drowsy body.  My nerves were on edge.
By the time we reached the towering “Wood Stand,” as we call it, I was hot from the body heat that was trapped beneath my many layers of orange.  The entire stand itself is made of wood, hence the name.  The “Wood Stand” has been our, so-to-speak, “honey hole.”  It sits in a corner on top of a hill.  To the back side, there are deep woods.  In front, there is a corn field, and to the left, a ridge leading down into a small valley where hay would usually grow.  Further back in the woods, there is a small pond.  Every year, at least one deer is spotted around this area.  With water, cover from the brush, and corn, this spot is perfect for deer.
We climbed the narrow ladder and crawled into the rustic stand.  We took our positions among the two levels of seating.  I loaded my 243 and prepared for daybreak.
The air always seems to get cold right before the sun rises.  The breeze slightly picks up, and everything starts to come to life.  The sunrise that morning was so magnificent.  It is always comforting and beautiful to watch the sun welcome the world, while sitting in a freezing stand.  The marvelous colors light the sky on fire and encompass clouds in a red glow.  I knew that day was going to be a good one.
While sitting in the stand, many thoughts sift through your head.  You have a lot of time to think while patiently waiting for deer to show up.  My toes always seem to writhe from the cold while tucked snugly in my mostly-warm socks and boots.  The smell of Fall coming to a close and winter beginning is a strange smell, but a good one as well.  You can feel the cold scent of the snow streak up your nostrils.  I get stiff sitting in the same position for a while; my face gets raw and dry from the stabbing wind.  All of these torturous feelings make hunting just that, hunting.  When the deer comes, though, all of these feelings rush out of you as your focus reals in on the new task at hand.
That morning we saw no deer whatsoever.  We had gone in to warm up and enjoy some lunch.  Contemplating what stand to sit in—due to our earlier misfortune—I decided that we should be faithful to the “Wood Stand” and give it another chance.

We hadn’t been sitting in the stand more than an hour.  My brother was getting frustrated with the fact that we weren’t having success.  His complaints were soon answered, “Look—there’s a doe,” he pointed towards the pond.  Sure enough, there was a doe running back into the woods—no chance of a shot appeared.
Pretty soon, my younger brother was spotting deer running all over in the back of our neighbor’s woods.  We saw 13 deer altogether.  The place was going nuts with does!  The woods settled down for a minute or two.  I was wondering whether or not a buck would show up, or whether I would even get a crack at a doe.
“Hey!  There are four more,” whispered my brother excitedly.
“There are deer all over the place,” I quietly responded.  I had little knowledge of what was about to come.
The four deer all looked like does.  They also seemed to be on a mission.  They were rushing through the brush while dodging the many trees.  They stopped occasionally and continued to run through the woods to the east of us. 
There was another hunter, in blinding orange, not even two hundred yards away.  He was just tucked inside the woods and facing opposite of us.  The deer stopped and cut back across the other hunter, headed toward my grandpa’s corn field.
As they ran by the hunter, they stopped for a split second.  Bang!  The shot thundered through the woods; smoke surrounded the hunter as if trying to hug him.  The deer sprinted in all directions.  We couldn’t tell if he hit one or not, but that was the least of my worries.  The deer, as expected, jumped into the open field and bolted straight down the edge right at us!
My dad alerted, “Get ready Andy, they’re comin’ this way!”
I instinctively flicked the stiff safety of the loaded 243 off without even thinking about it.  I shouldered the freezing gun and leaned against the rigid wood rail of the tree stand.  I had but seconds to prepare for a shot that would, more than likely, be on a target that was running by!
My dad noted, “Go for the first one, it’s probably the biggest of them.”  This was a valid point, and I took it into consideration.
I looked through my scope to see where I was aiming.  I could see the tops of stocks of corn.  My grandpa had been a little late combining the corn that season.  On that specific field, he had combined one to two rounds around the edge of the crops.  This meant that where I was aiming was too high.  I tilted the gun slightly down to aim where the deer would be running and saw a flash of brown sprint by.  I thought to myself, that was it!  The deer had passed; I needed to catch up to it in my scope before it was too late!
God was on my side.  For whatever reason, the deer slowed, almost stopping—not even for a second.  The deer stuttered just long enough for me to catch up to it in my scope.  My heart was pounding with excitement and fear of failure.  As the doe was about to start running again, I laid the crosshairs of my scope right where the vitals are: just behind the front shoulder.  I didn’t have time to think.  I didn’t even have time to breathe.
I just squeezed.
The trigger pulled back, the rifle roared with fire, the kick rattled through my shoulder.  I couldn’t tell if I had hit the magnificent deer.  I reloaded the chamber using the bolt-action and looked up from my scope as my brother and dad cheered, but I was not convinced.  The deer was running full speed towards the ridge.  This was the first chance I had at “harvesting” a deer, and I didn’t want to lose it.  I looked back into my scope, took aim, and shot right as the deer was dropping.  Dirt erupted behind the doe—I missed!  It was no matter; the first shot was the one that counted.
“Whoa!  Stop shooting, you got her!” yelled my dad.
The deer sadly flopped for a second and laid down as it died.  I was proud of my shot, but more importantly thankful.  God had given me a chance to get my first deer and guided my bullet to its mark.  My brother and dad both hurrahed and patted me on the back.  We all wore big smiles as we descended from the stand.  We wandered out into the field with caution of other deer that could still be around.
Blood lay all throughout the field, as if there had just been a battle of a great war.  We strutted up to the deer.  It had traveled not even 20 yards from where it was shot.  The deer was the biggest doe I have ever seen, even to this day.  Upon field dressing the doe, we discovered that I had hit it in the top of the heart—a tremendous shot.
I was so excited, proud, thankful, and struck with awe.  It was one of the greatest days of my young life.  I was enlightened with joy as we hauled the heavy doe back to our house through the snow and short stocks of corn.  It was a prominent day, and a moment that I will never forget.