Over thirty years ago I found a large scrape in a log road on the edge of a swamp hollow. Attached my homemade chain on to a pine and was back on a cold frosty morning open day. At daylite I began to hear something that sounded like someone swinging a baseball bat in the canes. It continued to get closer as a shivered from the cold ( I'm sure it wasn't Buck fever...). Shortly I could see them coming toward the scrape, three beautiful identical eights. They stopped on the edge of the scrape and two tied into each other and the third rammin the rear end of the other two. I drew my recurve and at 15 yards picked the best target and loosed a shaft. He bolted down hill, hitting the canes and I listened as he hit water, then another bolt and silence. My heart was about to pound out of my chest and then I realized the other two were still standing there staring at me 8' up the tree. They finally bolted in the opposite direction. There was NO seat on this stand and my legs were wobbling pretty bad. When I settled down I climbed down and tracked my stuck Buck until he hit a log road across the hollow. He stayed with it til it deadended at a beaver pond. Appeared he entered the pond, I searched for hours and came back the next morning with my dog... no buck. To this day my most regretted non retrieval but one of my most memorable hunts.