My phone still in my hands, I texted my teenage son, who was hunting along the field not far away. Trying not to move any part of my body but my thumbs, I sent the message, “Got a buck down, but he’s still alive. Help!” Tucker texted back, “What do you want me to do?” I replied: “Come kill the bastard before he kills me!” Intrigued? Read on.
Back in 1963, my dad asked if I wanted to go deer hunting in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (what we locals call the U.P.). We had no tent, no camper and no cabin, although we did have a horse truck, and we converted it into a deer camp. Read on for this week's Member's Hunt, from Jim Mikkelsen.