The buck we did not shoot

He was legal. We could see that. He was also 280 yards across a wind that had just turned, with ten minutes of light and a rest that was a knee and a hope.

We did not shoot. The truck ride was quiet in the good way. My brother said we would remember the deer longer than a bad hit, and he was right.

Public land gives you that choice more often than the stories admit. Send us the ones where you held off. Those count.