The year is 1991, It is Deer hunting season in North Dakota. Out of all the hunts I have been on it goes down as my favorie. It was a long season for me, I kept missing, deer after deer. I have no clue now that I look back. It could have been the scope, or maybe I just suck at shooting. My father had shot his buck earlier in the year and it was nearing the last day of the season. The second to the last day to be exact. My father and I went out one last time and the same old thing, no buck. We headed back home. I talked my dad into stopping one last time. I told him I would hurry. He pulled over the Ford Festiva, I jumped out with my Remington 6mm 788 and ran about 200 yards out to this thicket of sage brush. When I got within ten yards breathing hard out came a doe and a huge buck. I zerod in and made the shot. I ran in to the open and yelled to my father. He could see the rack sticking off the ground two feet. We later struggled fitting that big bruser in the back of that Festiva. That buck is still the biggest buck that I have shot to date.