I had begged my parents to take me hunting since first grade. They are not much for hunting, so I did not get my wish until my uncle invited me when i was 15. He set me and my dad up in a shooting house in November. Our rut in Alabama is throughout January, so we saw nothing. After recounting the trip to my friends, one invited me to his land. Under instruction from his dad, i shot a good-sized doe. My adrenaline pumped and my enthusiasm for hunting was cemented forever. Later that month, January, I received another invite from my uncle. I hunted Saturday morning and evening, seeing plenty of does, a spike, and two forkhorns; nothing I wanted to shoot. Sunday morning my patience paid off. After passing up yet another forkhorn, a beautiful buck stepped into the slim lane to renew a scrape. I counted three tines before firing my first shot; a miss. The rut-crazed buck was not fazed, giving me a chance to send a .270 hollow point through his lungs. I waited in the open tripod stand for 25 minutes until my uncle and aunt showed up with the truck. My heart nearly broke thhrough my chest. We then followed Samson, their dog, to the buck. My Uncle proudly exclaimed that it was a very nice, symmetrical buck. A great wall-hanger. I saw that he was a 4×4 with two kickers near his brow. Ten points. Obviously, me and my buck ended up being the talk of the camp. When i returned i examined the walls lined with antlers and noticed none of them were larger than my beautiful buck. Not bad for a first buck.