This past weekend, I traveled north about two hours to a quint farm house nestled into one of the many draws of the Verdigre Creek. Before dawn broke, I grabbed my rifle and began my half mile trek across a snow covered pasture. As I neared the tree line and my tree stand, I spooked several deer out of their beds. I climbed into my tree stand and waited. That morning several deer approached to within shooting distance but never presented themselves for a shot. Knowing that it was my last weekend to hunt, I vowed to shoot something. That was when a medium sized deer approached from behind me. I raised my rifle and pulled the trigger. The deer jumped and ran away. I was heart broken. After climbing down from my tree stand, I walked over to where I had shot at the deer. Tiny specks of blood dotted the snow. I followed them hoping for the best. Sure enough, not 20 yards from where I shot, a young buck lay in the snow. My senior deer hunting season was a success.