Daylight increased slowly this particular morning; heavy clouds, cool air and high humidity seemingly absorbing the light rays. The silence was absolute except for the patter of water droplets plopping on the fallen leaves.
The stand rails were covered thickly in the heavy dew, even the leaves dripped. I peered intently around me, trying to pierce the gloom, hoping, wishing for a buck to appear.
Then the snap of a twig behind me and turning slowly a glimpse of brown and flash of antler. My heart leaped into cardiac overdrive. The blood pounding in my ears, I aimed down the shooting lane, trying to calm myself.
Trembling, I watched in disbelief as a huge buck stopped in the opening – a perfect shot! Raising the crossbow I placed the shaking crosshairs behind the shoulder…
“WATCH OUT DAD!” my daughter shouted, snapping me out of my daydream.
I hit the brakes as a big pickup failed to yield. It wasn’t a close call, but I suppose my brakes could have been applied a trifle sooner.
Chrissy was eying me suspiciously, being young, aggressive and a big city driver as well, it was apparent she thought my backwoods driving skills severely lacking in the Pittsburgh, 4 lane, 80 mile per hour normality of her life.
“Quit daydreaming.” she snapped, quite unaware just how accurate her words were. Big bucks are so elusive that even in a simple daydream it’s difficult to bag one. My curiosity was killing me; how would my daydream have ended?  Now I’d never know.
Obviously, my beloved daughter wasn’t paying proper attention to the fact fall hunting and fishing were close upon us and avid outdoorsmen are wondering what adventures await in the upcoming season. It’s difficult to keep your imagination from running wild.
I was sitting in Jim’s kitchen demonstrating how his new mechanical broadheads, NAP Double Cross, worked. These broadheads are scary to look at. The two front blades open to a 1-7/8ths diameter and behind them a second set of broadheads unlocks at right angles cutting an additional 1.5 inch wide wound.
I’ve always been a Rage fan, but those darn shock collars are a nuisance. The Double Cross address that problem, using a camming action to hold its blades shut and never fail to open. Perfect.         
I was further exited by the X-shaped hole they cut. Such an entrance and exit wound should, without doubt, leave a better blood trail, for in my experience even well hit bucks bleed very little at first and can be devilishly difficult to track.
My memory drifted me away to my favorite buck stand and the two impressive bucks I’d seen last year. No one had harvested them to my knowledge and this year they’d be huge. If I was lucky enough to get a shot, these broadheads should make tracking much easier.
Replaying those two exciting encounters in my mind and relating them to Jim, I became distracted and suddenly felt a tiny, prick-like sensation, quite painless, on my thumb. Looking down I saw blood. Hmm, appears I became a little careless closing a broadhead blade as I talked. In all these years I’d never cut myself on a broadhead. Wade, quit daydreaming, focus man, focus.
“Hey, Jim. You have a couple Band-Aids?”
Jim’s face took on great concern. “Oh, no! What’d you do?”
“Daydreaming I guess.”
I quickly checked out the size of the slice. Nothing serious thank goodness.
Of course, fall is not simply about hunting. It also means fishing and fall fishing to me means muskellunge. Almost everyone of my bigger muskies have come in the fall and as the leaves change, temperatures drop and the faint gabble of high flying, migrating geese comes down from the fall skies I’m ready to hit the water and start casting or trolling for these large and savage fish.
Again I drifted away and back to a fall afternoon trolling. A hit and I slammed the hooks home, or so I thought. A solid, unmovable weight bent my pole to the breaking point, my line actually humming it was stretched so tightly. What in the world?
I pulled, pulled harder, pulled as hard as I dared; nothing. I might as well have been hooked to a tree. Relaxing the pressure slightly I wondered what to do next? Increasing the pressure a second time, right up to the breaking point failed as well. I tried again and suddenly the fish moved about three feet toward me, then stopped.
That was a little encouraging; repeating the process again the fish gradually moved slowly closer. This process went on and on until I’d worked the fish halfway back to the boat.
Suddenly, the lunge swam directly at me, stopping underneath the boat momentarily, turned at right angles swimming away with an immense, steady, unstoppable power. Then the lunge opened his mouth and spit the lure out. Deep gouges covered the Pikie Minnow and two long, one-inch broken off teeth glittered in the wood. How big was that monster?    
I stood, picked my muskie rod from the rack and held it, lost in memories. Attempting to return it I clumsily triggered a cascade of falling fishing rods, clattering down, twisting together into a tangled pile at my feet. What a mess!
Fall best hurry; my survival may be at stake!