I remember it like it was yesterday...
My first season hunting had been spent fruitless. The closest I came to even seeing any whitetail was hearing my buddy's shots ring out from the stand a hundred yards to my left. It was October 31st, and it was a beautifully crisp fall morning. There was a perfectly good stand not 30 yards from where I lay, but there was something about this log on a hill that spoke to me. Lots of visibility, natural cover, and even a place to rest my rifle. The spot was just comfy. At this point I had been in the bush for about 40 hours or so total for the year, but the 30 seconds that were about to happen would be worth the wait.
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