TROPHY DOES TURN ME ON
Thursday, June 25, 2020
By: Ted Nugent It was early October, 1970, and young Ted was once again up a tree, hope throttling eternal. I had already been bowhunting like a madman for nearly 20 years, following my dear old bowhunting dad, yew longbow and cedar arrows in hand, through the state and national forests of Northern Michigan each fall since I could walk. But alas, not only backstrapless, but not a single bowshot to be had at a whitetail deer in all those years. Yet here I was, back at it, gungho, bright eyed and bushytailed as eager as ever to figure out how to ambush and waylay one of these mythical beasts with a sharp stick. And finally, on this stunning fall afternoon, like an apparition from the dark forest, she came. I remember holding my breath so forcefully that I actually got a little dizzy and felt like I was about to fall off the oak limb to which I clung. Taunting me maliciously as they always d