“Well…down him!” Was all I remember hearing over the next few moments as the slot machine of ethics spun in my mind. I could tell from the inflection in the responder’s voice that he did not believe me. I was amazed over the temptation that was unfolding from withing  the confines of the bunker.

The effects of ‘buck fever’ were becoming quite evident as my hands began to tremble in concert with my increased breathing rate. I quietly stood up from behind the tree root and placed my scope’s cross-hairs just behind the young buck’s shoulder. He was now 7 yards from me.

I think it is at this moment (if others care to admit it) that can really get many hunters into huge trouble. The kind of moments where good hunting ethics are replaced with the flip of an internal slot machine arm as hunters take a chance that what they are about to do will not be noticed by local wildlife authorities. The kind of bad ethics that make hunters think that game shot after a few minutes of legal shooting time is ‘ok’. The kind of ethics that makes hunters convince themselves that an animal can be killed ‘now’ and a tag purchased later. The kind of ethical debate that made me think that I could plead ignorance to not knowing the exact legal size of a spikehorn’s rack if I got questioned about this buck.

These are the type of ethics that have the ability to destroy a proud hunting heritage and reputation. These sketchy decisions erode relations with government regulators and an observant public. Antics like these help create and propogate cycles of bad stereotypes of the hunting sportsmen – the ‘keepers’ of conservation.

The thought of trying to explain to my father how I felt I was justified in harvesting this potentially illegal buck made slip back into reality. I took my finger of the trigger and relaxed my grip on my rifle.

I blurted at the buck, “Next Year, Punk!” and it bolted quickly into the forest depths. the imaginary clang of its shiny horshoe echoed quietly, in my mind, as it fell off its neck .

Back at the cabin, Dad took me aside and said something like,  ”Good call not shooting that spike buck. You need to be sure.”

I said to myself, “Jackpot!