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 ******* 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.