It was opening day of Tennessee’s late-October youth rifle season, drizzly and cold, the kind of morning when everything, including the sunrise, seems to run slowly. My son, Anse, and I took a seat in the damp leaves at the base of a broad red oak and waited for daylight. When the sun finally broke, we could see maybe 100 yards through the hardwood timber. Just beyond that timber, I knew, were hundreds of acres of crop fields. I’ve hunted the area for years, and knew that bucks often cruised the timber just after daybreak at that time of year, looking for the fall’s first receptive does. Such bucks are usually primed for a fight, too.
I picked up the pair of 8-point sheds at my side. Like any hunter,…