“Sugar Plum, boy am I excited! I just got off the phone with a world-famous, long-range shooter, Bill Bob Love, and he promised to teach me the art of long-range shooting. Won’t that be fun? Just think how many more of those stinking coyotes I could eliminate so the mule deer have a better chance around here!

     “He’s on his way to the airport so I better get my rear in gear. He said they have a lot of equipment so I need my fifth wheel. “Sugar Plum, can you fix up the guest room while I’m gone? We’ll need lots of food for this week; he’s bringing his camera crew with him and you know how hungry we all get when we’re out in the mountains all day.”

     I got to the airport just as their plane was landing. We had to wait a while for all their gear; it must have taken up half of the cargo area. They had cameras and four tripods, guns and ammo, suitcases full of hunting gear and six sets of binoculars of all sizes and shapes, some of which I had never seen before.

     After we got home and unloaded the trailer, we headed up into the hills for the first day’s lesson. Billy Bob pulled out this monster tripod with a vice on it. It looked like it had a turret on it for a 50 caliber machine gun, but it was set up to hold a hunting rifle. Then he changed out the scope on my favorite hunting rifle so it had click knobs on it for making instant adjustments for wind drift and elevation. After sighting it in at 100 yards dead on, he smiled and said, “Now, let’s go for a long shot.”

     I set a couple of one gallon milk jugs filled with water on the side of a hill and Billy Bob told me to jump in the truck with the gear and drive straight away from the target, until we had gone well over three-quarters of a mile.
“Billy Bob, what are we doing? This is too far to shoot.”
“OK, Tracker, just pull over.”

     Billy Bob jumped out of the truck and set up that three-legged contraption. There was no wind; I had never seen it so still. He threw a range finder on the target and determined it was 1262 yards. Then he started fumbling with the click knob to make the adjustment for elevation. I heard him mumbling to himself as he counted; it was well over one hundred clicks of adjustments.
“Go ahead and shoot. It’s dead on.”

     I then believed that the whole thing was a gag, one big joke, but I was not going to taken in and made the fool. I refused to shoot and insisted I would watch in the spotting scope.

     Realizing he had to pave the way, Billy Bob hunkered down on the rifle, and yelled, “Fire in the hole!” to warn everyone he was about to shoot.
I saw him take a deep breath, exhale, and after a five second pause, “Kaboom!”

     It seemed like it took seconds for the bullet to reach the target and then “Kersplash,” the jug of water exploded like it had a stick of dynamite stuck in it. I was thoroughly convinced the whole thing was a hoax. There must have been some radio controlled device which caused the jug to explode.

     “Hmm,” I said to myself. “There’s one problem with that theory. I was the one who filled the jugs and set them on the hillside. I even picked the place to shoot. Maybe there is something to this system after all.”
There was one jug left so I said, “Move over, Billy Bob, I’m taking the next shot.”

     I was muttering to myself that it still didn’t seem possible, as I swung the rifle on the tripod over to the next jug. After reaching down and tightening the lug nut to hold the rifle in position, I realized that the rifle was firmly positioned as if it were in a shop vise. That impressed me. “OK. Deep breath. Exhale. Squeeeeeeze the trigger, slooooowly.”
“Kaboom.”
Seconds later, “Holy Hannah!” The water jug exploded just as before. I didn’t believe it, but I had just seen it.
“Don’t worry, Tracker, we have it all on video tape.”
He replayed it in the camera, and on the monitor I could actually see the bullet arcing and falling out of the sky.
“OK, I’m a believer.”

     I headed on home to do chores and left Billy Bob and his crew to work on reducing the coyote population. They got bored after a bit and came back to the homestead.

     It was deer season and one of the boys, J.D., wanted to get himself a trophy deer. He inquired if I knew anybody who would want the deer meat.
“My freezer is full and I don’t need it, but I am sure there are folks in town who would be happy to take it off your hands.”
J.D. responded, “Great, ‘cause I really just want the horns for my trophy collection.”

     J.D. and Billy Bob set out hunting that afternoon. When Billy Bob returned he was shaking his head, “You’re not going to believe what happened out there! J.D. got a shot at an absolute monster mule deer that I am sure would make record book. He knocked the deer down with one shot, but the deer got up and ran off. We need Tracker!”

     Thumper and I hopped in the truck and went back to where J.D. was waiting. We climbed up to the bench to look for the blood trail. Thumper started off with her nose to the ground and in a flash she returned holding an antler in her mouth. Her tail was wagging and she was very pleased with herself. It was a monstrous antler that must have weighed five pounds. As she dropped it at my feet, I noticed that it wasn’t an ordinary shed.

      “Hey, guys, look at this. This is no ordinary shed; this antler looks like it has been broken off.” Billy Bob turned to take a look, and as he glanced around, he spotted a large mule deer on the next ridge, looking back at us. He had one full antler on one side and the other side was just two inches long; he had lost his antler just below the brow tine.

     “I think J.D. shot that deer’s antler off. That’s why we couldn’t find the blood trail!” “Well, J.D. did say he didn’t want the meat anyway, just the antlers for his trophy room. Guess he got his wish.”

     The next morning J.D. got a good ribbing from all the guys.
“Hey, J.D. What’s today’s trick shooting? You going after the other side?”
“I know you didn’t want the meat, but I think you got a bit carried away!”
“Hope that deer already mated ‘cause he’s going to scare away any girlfriends!”

     J.D. admitted it was a long shot and he was holding high. Shooting the antler off was an accident; however, he will have a great story to tell all his hunting buddies. “Besides, I am the only true trophy hunter in this room! It would have been a shame to cull this one out of the herd. With the size of his antlers, I wanted to leave him around for seed to produce more off-spring.”

     For weeks, we saw that one-antlered deer all during the rut. I made it my mission to get J.D. a photograph to hang in his trophy room. Not only did I get the photograph, but in the spring when he shed his antlers, we found both the two inch nub and the other side. Now J.D. will really have a unique trophy!