Bucks are moving boys. My old man killed a 7 point with a broken brow-tine. It ran across the shooting lane too fast for him to see what it was. He grunted a few times and it was running all over the place looking for him. He popped it 140 yards away after using the famous doe bleat by mouth. Whistle wouldn’t stop him.
That afternoon I had an 8 push some does in and out of my field. Let him walk my cousin gets a chance at his first decent buck.
This is an old pic from when he was thinking with the right head.
First, Most, Biggest
