“Buck fever” can strike even the most experienced hunters. The secret is having a strategy to cope with it so you’re able to shoot straight and follow up if necessary.

The buck had been standing on the edge of a forest cut line at 200 yards, initially just his right antler sticking up above a leafy bush. With binoculars I confirmed the right beam was long, with good tines. Then he turned his head slightly to me, staring down the lane toward my stand for just a moment. The left antler matched the right, and I could see good brow tines and an overall impression of mass. That was enough. I put down the binoculars and slowly raised the .264.

A single scraggly bush covered most of the body, but I could see plenty of brown through the thin screen. Just one step, I begged. He took it, and now I had a small window opening low onto his right shoulder.

Every deer stand in the world seems set up for a right-handed shooter. I'd reorganized this one two hours earlier, long before dawn, hoping for a shot just like this. With the rifle in the left side of the opening, I could brace my supporting elbow (left, for me) against the left wall of the blind.

The hold was rock-steady, and it needed to be. I hadn't looked at this deer for very long, but in those few seconds I'd understood that this was a special buck. He was the kind of buck I knew this patch of Georgia pines could produce, so I'd hunted here four of the past five seasons--but this was the first time I'd seen a buck like this.

I'd zeroed the long-barreled .264 with a big, open power line right-of-way in mind; it was high at 100 yards, so at 200 yards I'd be near maximum height of trajectory. If the bullet slipped high I'd be into that bush. Ignoring the incredible antlers, I held nearly at the bottom of the brisket, unconsciously holding my breath while I got the shot off.

In the recoil and blast I neither saw nor heard the bullet hit, but I did see the buck lurch forward into the lane, then turn and bound straight away before exiting left, the same direction he'd come from, long gone before I completed working the bolt.

I sat for a few moments, replaying the shot. Had I cleared that bush? Probably. Could I have held too low? Probably not. But you never really know.

I was still reasonably calm while I unloaded the rifle, climbed out of the stand and walked down the lane. The distance had been correct, about 200 yards. I found the bush the deer had stood behind, and I checked it carefully for fresh bullet scars. Nothing.

Now perspective played tricks. The lane was dead flat and narrow, lined by tall Georgia pines. Had the buck been standing directly behind that offending bush or a few yards back?

There were tracks, but nothing definitive. Four other deer, two lesser bucks and a doe and fawn, had passed this way earlier in the morning, probably others during the night. At this point I hadn't a clue, and the ground gave me none.

Well, for sure he'd run a few yards down the lane, then turned left. I walked a bit farther and saw a well-used deer trail headed the right way. Okay, that was most likely. I followed it for a few yards and there were fresh tracks--but not a drop of blood. Could I have missed him altogether?

The answer is yes--I can, you can, we can all miss. But did I? I replayed the shot, feeling the solid rest, seeing the sight picture when the trigger broke. I took a deep breath, fighting a wave of panic. I couldn't have missed. Not this time.