In 1947, my maternal grandparents had a good year with their small construction business so my grandfather decided to reward his men with a deer hunting trip. He somehow found a spot near Genesee Pa. (no relation to the beer) and rented a barn to stay in, they didn`t harvest any that time, but they liked the adventure so much they went back the next season and got three nice eight pointers, gramdpop`s (in the center), his oldest son, and my father.
After a few years of hunting they got a half dozen guys together and bought a small shack on a small lot through a sheriff (tax) sale and over time cobbled together our hunting cabin.
Years later, my dad, suffering with a bout of gout and not able to walk very far or fast was determined to get out for a couple of hours at least, went up an old logging trail to a hedge row between two fields up a gently sloping hill, as he`s slowly making way up to the woodline up jumps a nine pointer,( an extra brow tine on his left antler) he puts it down with his 270 with one shot (on the right).
And then there’s mine. In `16, I`m setting near the top of a hill during archery season and I see up the hill, about 25 yards away, a nice 8 pointer, one shot from my Horton crossbow... and after only forty two years I finally got a wall hanger.
Thats me story an` i`m stickin` to it. Oh, and the little one behind the big one is the first one i got with a bow(not legal anymore, rules changed).

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