The first time I ever went deer hunting with the family hunting party in the Adirondacks was the day of my 10th birthday. On that mid-November Sunday morning in the mid-1970s, my mom bundled me up like Randy in A Christmas Story, (you know, the tick about to pop) and half-way through a three-quarter-mile-walk following my older brother Bill, I was just about done.
But our Uncle Duff, the patriarch of the hunting party at that time, shot a spike horn on that deer drive, the last he would ever tie a tag to.
This content is restricted to subscribers of OutdoorNews.com. If you are already an OutdoorNews.com subscriber, you can log in here. If you are not and would like to read this and all the other great content OutdoorNews.com has to offer, click here.


