The Hunt. It’s a 6.

As a kid, I loved to play in the woods behind our house, imagining I was a big game hunter wandering tree rooted trails in search of mysterious and mythical creatures, settling for fox, squirrel, rabbit and deer. On those days I was late for dinner (which was fairly often), it was because I was practicing patience, waiting for the deer I knew were biding time before emerging from behind bands of leaf trees whose branches provided perfect fall camouflage of burnt orange, golden brown, yellow and fire red leaves.

As the years went by, my love for hiking and exploring parks and forests grew; I learned to track and hunt, honing my senses to the myriad scents, sounds and visual tell tales of deep woods wildlife, all in anticipation of one day tracking the perfect prey, of taking that perfect shot.

Who knew as I set out that crisp October morning, the day would culminate in a dream come true? I’d been tracking a particular deer for hours until at last, he appeared in my line of sight, a stag roaming the forest – majestic to behold, he had gorgeous tan fur peppered with grey and flecks of black and a massive crown of antlers branching out from the top of his head, curving deliberately skyward, a most regal “crown”.

While I could have taken quick, multiple shots, instinct told me I could get this done with one perfectly aimed shot; inhaling, I brought the stag into my cross hairs, hesitating a split second only when he turned his head, looking directly into my eyes and in that brief moment of acknowledgement, I exhaled, taking a single shot; later that evening, standing before the developing photo hanging on the line in my dark room, I smiled, “this would be placed front and center on my trophy wall”.