Me, my dad, Mike, and my son, Kingston Thank you all for the opportunity to share a little about myself and my hunting experiences. My name is Gavin Jackson. I was born and raised in Jefferson, SC, where I still reside with my wife and our son. From very early on, hunting has played a big part of my life. It isn?t just a hobby, it is so much more. It is a passion, a pastime, and a right of passage, but also an avenue for many memories to be made. I look forward to sharing those memories with you all. My first hunting experience is one for the books. My dad and I, along with several of our friends and family, were glad to be out on my first deer hunt. The eager young man that I was, climbed into the multi-person deer stand, which my papa built for us, with my dad. It was a luxury stand- ten by ten with a couch and cup holders, which I didn?t see the huge importance of at this stage in life. I not so patiently waited for what seemed like an eternity to have my chance to get my first kill. After thirty or forty-five minutes, it finally broke daylight. We were scanning the field below looking for the monster buck!  My dad quietly whispers to me, ?I see one.?  ?Where? Where? Where? Where? I don?t see it!? I didn?t quite whisper back to him. Well, I decided it was best for me to climb out of the sixteen foot home away from home into the five foot tall weeds to get a closer look at this supposed deer. My dad recalls me creeping through the weeds like Rambo. Finally, I saw the deer. He was about twenty yards from where I was standing. I pulled up my twenty gauge single shot youth model? BOOM! I got him! Words can not express the adrenaline and excitement I felt at that moment. Something happened, the deer didn?t move. I knew I had shot him but he didn?t budge! As I examined this massive beast in front of me, I could see the hole in his shoulder. Then I could see the styrofoam coming out of this hole. Then I noticed the plastic horns. ?It?s a dog gone fake deer!? I yelled up to my dad. Then I kicked him! At least then he fell over. My dad climbed down to have a look for himself. He walked his distraught son, whose first buck was a 6-point piece of styrofoam, back to the truck. Once he disarmed me, he let me in on his secret. He had set me up. I don?t remember if I was mad or sad, probably both. But it?s a story I will never forget. I look forward to one day telling this same story to my son, after I get him too! All hunters have a story to tell. Those stories bond us together.