I've been bowhunting for over two decades, and with a fair amount of success. I've taken deer of all sizes year after year, including several that I proudly display on my wall at home. I've had a passion for bowhunting and I've dedicated countless hours to that passion over the years. This year, I dedicated two full weeks of my vacation to sitting in a tree and hoping for the right deer to come past the right set at the right time. From November 4th to November 15th I watched the sun rise and the forest come alive as well as the last sliver of light disappear over the west horizon. I was able to marvel at the wilderness I have so much love and respect for and I got to do it for two weeks straight. That moment of the stars aligning and the right buck at the right time at the right place never happened for me and I was ok with that. On Saturday, the 16th of November, I was getting ready to hang a new set in another section of timber closer to my house so that I could try and get a few more hunts in after work now that the days are short. My son and I were in the garage assembling a stand together and he asks if we still have time for he and I to get to the stand that allows us to hunt together. I was a little hesitant, I dedicated the first month of bow season to his hunts, as he isn't big enough yet to sit on his own. But I agreed, after all it would be nice to have him sitting next to me after probably 65 hours of alone time in the tree over the past two weeks. We finished what we were doing and got our gear together. We got to the farm, geared up, sprayed down, and began our trek to the double tree stand that sits on the northwest corner of a now plowed corn field. We spooked 5 doe walking in that were bedded in the thick draw that we use as an access corridor to the timber. My boy was bummed, thinking that those would probably be the deer most likely to come by the stand tonight and that his chances had decreased dramatically now that we bumped them out of there. But, we continued on, I sent him up the ladder, tied off our gear, climbed up myself, hooked us both up for safety, got his bow ready, and started to do the same for myself. We had been in the tree stand for about 3 minutes when I looked up and saw this deer coming toward us. I hadn't even nocked an arrow yet but here he came down the trail making his way into our shooting lanes. My boy was ready, he keeps his cross bow resting in the position he think he is most likely to get a shot. He was right on the money this time, I stopped the buck with a soft mouth grunt, and the boy placed a shot that any bowhunter would be more than proud of. The buck bolted off 50 yards or so and collapsed on the edge of the field and it was over. In less than 5 minutes total my son had accomplished what I had been trying to do in the 65 hours I had sat in the previous two weeks. Between the tears of joy falling off his cheeks, the first words from his mouth were, "Thanks, Dad!" we hugged, and celebrated, and laughed as quietly as we could thinking about how amazing the shortest hunt of our lives turned out. Then, ten minutes after we climbed up that tree, we climbed back down. After the initial rush wore off my boy must have started thinking about how I felt about the whole thing. He realized that I had been hunting hard for the last 15 days, up early, to bed late, still trying to balance he and his brother's school work and practice schedules along the way. He asked me if I was upset that it was him instead of me, and in that moment I realized that the way I measure my hunting success had massively shifted. Because this moment, well it's been my favorite of all the moments I've sat in the deer woods and I never even placed an arrow on the Hoyt sitting next to me. I'm so blessed to be able to share moments like these with a son who is falling in love with the great outdoors the same way I did at his age with my father. I don't think that the last day of my hunting vacation could have ended any more successfully than it did!