By Carter Smith
My “bobbing for apples” started shortly after climbing into the hunting tripod. It was an unseasonably warm November opener, even for Texas, and try as I might I couldn’t keep my eyes open or my head upright. I knew better. I’d been taught better. And, at the ripe old age of 14, I was determined to prove that I was ready to hunt alone and, with a little luck, kill my first buck.
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