The image of a deer, still alive in the moment before I broke the shot, is only seared into my memory from two occasions. One of those events being the first deer I ever killed. Until the day that I pass, I will never forget that old eight point, the way he stood perfectly broadside, right out in a clearing on a little sloped hill. In the moment before he died, he looked as calm and sure of himself as any buck I’ve ever seen before or since. I don’t remember the sight picture disappearing as the recoil of the shot took over, and I don’t remember the punch in the shoulder I must have taken. That was 2003, the boy sitting right behind me was Will, and the gun was a Ruger M77 MK1 chambered in 7mm Remington Magnum . . .