The alarm clock goes off, waking me from a deep sleep. The clock reads five in the morning. Accidently, I hit the night light on the clock; the blinding green light shines, lighting up my whole nightstand. Pushing myself to crawl out of bed, I get into the shower. My green “No Scent” shampoo is sitting in the shower rack with only enough for one more handful. Squeezing the remains of the shampoo, I wash myself to get rid of my scent. Searching in the dark, trying not to wake anyone up, I put on my long johns, jeans, and long sleeve shirt. In the black Rubbermaid container that is stored on my back porch, my camouflage overalls, coat, and hat rest quietly. From head to toe, I spray myself with no-scent spray. Impatiently, I put on every piece of camouflage, knowing what the cold December morning is offering.

The cold, sharp wind hits me like a freight train as I step out of the door. Walking back to the woods, I try to keep my footsteps as quiet as possible, although it is hard with the loud crunch of the snow. In the woods, the wind is calm. Climbing the ladder to my tree stand the cold metal permeates my thin gloves. Finally, stepping on the last rung of the ladder, I am in the tree stand. After getting in the tree stand quietly, the next mission is to load the shells into my twelve-gauge shotgun without creating too much noise. While pointing the gun downward, I slide the red- covered shells into the cartridge. I pull the pump back, loading the shells. Once the gun is loaded, there is nothing else to do but wait.

There is nothing to do in the cold, bare woods but sitting and waiting. Every now and then I look around, hoping that the big buck we named Acorn (because of the acorns we used to put out as food that he fought every buck for) would come walking by. No one has seen this buck in the flesh, only in pictures taken by my trail camera. My loud imitated snorts echoing through the woods can be heard from a mile away. In the stillness of the morning from a distance, I hear a faint rustle. Looking around I see nothing, so I call a couple more times. My hopes, all of a sudden, are shot down after not seeing anything. My hopes are revived when I hear the sound of footsteps in the snow slowly getting louder and louder with each step. He steps out the secure woods and into the wide-open field. Knowing this may be the only time I get this opportunity, I carefully call, trying not to scare him away. Out of nowhere he starts running my way, thinking there is competition for him to fight. I stop calling and get the gun in position. After a couple more steps he stops, looking around for the “deer” he thought was up ahead. He walks another couple of feet, bringing him within thirty yards of my stand. He sniffs the ground, hoping to find a hint of another deer; I see his breath puffing from his nose. He stands proud and majestic, slowly turning his head to scan the area for other deer that may be around. As he turns in disappointment to walk away, BANG!