First day of our primitive weapon season I was hunting with Smokehouseman. He spotted a nice little buck about 100 yards away and graciously offered me the shot. I had plenty of time and took a good rest cuzz the buck was just standing there. I was shooting my GPR 54 at 100 yards the day before, so it was a dead easy certain shot.
Kinda painful to admit, but since there was a witness I'll go on with the tale. I missed! The smoke cleared and the buck was still standing as peaceful as could be. Even while I was flapping my elbows and cussing through a reload, Smokehouseman refused to take a shot. It occurred to me that I failed to take into account the steep downhill angle to the buck.
Watching all the action, that buck did a slow turn to show me his other side. He stood and waited till I was dragging the ramrod up out of the barrel, then stepped into the spruce and disappeared for good.
We had a bad winter kill last year, so hunting was slow. After 8 or 10 more days of steady hunting, we tried a different area.
This time we split up and I got to following tracks in new snow. Before long I jumped a fat doe at 10-12 feet in the brush, then dumped her when she paused at about 20 yards.
Pretty quick Ole Smoke showed up and helped with the chores and dragging her out, then hiked off to retrieve his truck. We loaded her up, and rather than going back out to hunt, he stuck around to help with the skinning and hanging.
Long story short, the hunting gods frowned and Ole Smoke didn't get to punch his tag, even after all his prior generosity.
But you can bet when steaks are on the grill or a roast is coming off our rotissary he's a cherished guest at the table.
Hard to top that kind of hunting partner, but I hope I'm not the only one so well blessed.