I'm no gun collector or anything like that. I never was a hunter or a shooter, even though my dad was always a big deer hunter, and my little brother even got into it. My main hangup was that all the idiot jackass rednecks at my school wore hunting garb all the time, and in my narrow mind, I couldn't stoop to their level and don the camo and orange.
That was until 3 years ago, when my dad gave me a backstrap from one of his kills. I cooked it rare in a port-cranberry sauce, and it changed my outlook on hunting completely. Damn, if I could get this kind of meat, I'd sure as hell hunt. I told my dad that, and he bought me a .35 Remington that year.
Funny story: before we went out hunting for the first time, my dad and I went to his neighbors to site the scope. We set up the target on a piece of plywood in front of a little thicket. I march out 30 or 40 yards and take aim. My very first shot that I take with this gun was pretty dead-on. Cool. But after the shot, we see something rustling around in the thicket behind the target. Lo and behold, it was a DAMN good shot: the round sailed through the target, and got a clean kill on a nice size rabbit! I sh*t you not. We skinned it and I cooked it up in an olive tapenade.
Anyway, my first shot in the field, I dropped a nice-size doe. The next day, I wounded a button buck, then proceeded to chase his ass all the way down the mountain, where I finally caught up to him and dropped him. Good meat from the adrenaline.
The second year, I came up empty.
This past season, I killed 3 deer the day after thanksgiving. One of them was a nice 8-pointer. Now my freezer is fully stocked. I can't get enough venison.
