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I’m helping people supply themselves for hunting—a pursuit I can say I know a fair bit about—and I’d naively hoped that other people who go hunting might know something about it as well. Nope.

At 20 yards, he was easily in range, but there was no clear shot. Not even close. I worked along the edge of the perimeter to find a spot where I could enter the thicket with the least amount of noise and took a few more steps in. Watching his head, I only stepped when his antlers were brushing the undergrowth, hoping his noise would cover my own. It mostly worked.

My friend, Heath, fell out of a tree stand, one that I installed. I put the climbing pegs in myself, ratcheted the tree stand to the trunk, and attached a rope with prusik knots that made it possible to go from the ground to the stand and back down again while being tied off the entire time. Did one of my safeties fail? Standing in front of him laid out on a gurney in emergency, not sure if he’d ever walk again, I just shook my head, and asked, “Heath… what happened?”

“Dad, listen… I’m in trouble.” This is not a call any father wants to receive, especially when he knows his son is alone in the woods at night. I felt bad for putting him through it even as I said the words. But I didn’t know what else to do...