The last hunt.

hunt.

When I was about 10 years old, I was hunting with my grandfather on family-owned land near Covington, Michigan. It was near dusk.

We've been sitting for a couple of hours and hadn't seen much, which is a spiker in a small dough.

Nothing large enough to shoot. We were starting to lose hope in getting ready

to trek the one mile back to our cabin. As we were preparing to leave, we heard some twigs

cracking from our right rear side.

The stand we were in was tucked in the rear corner of a large clearing on one of the biggest trees in the line.

As the cracks from the twigs got closer, I realize that all other ambient noise stopped.

When the creature finally emerged from the tree line, my heart felt like it stopped working,

an overwhelming feeling of dread washed over me.

What I saw looked to be a small buck that looked like I hadn't eaten in weeks.

It was an extremely pale brown, almost gray.

It looked like it had broken a neck and was missing an antler.

Stumbled into the clearing.

At this time, the sun was just about to sink below the treetops and cover the clearing

with shadows. I looked over at my

grandfather. I saw a level of fear on his face that I've never seen before.

Mind you, my grandfather was tough and fearless as they come. He'd seen active duty in Vietnam as infantry.

After seeing my grandfather's face, it just made the feeling in my stomach worse.

We watched this deer stumble into the clearing.

My grandfather reached for his binoculars.

...