At the top of an oak-covered ridge was an old fire break dotted with about five years of brush growth. My brother-in-law hit the fire break about 150 yards south of me and higher on the ridge. I was lower in elevation, having angled through a saddle that had me on the rim of a canyon about 1600' deep. I was glassing below towards the river when I heard the commotion. My brother-in-law had jumped a young buck that was headed wide open straight towards me! My brother-in-law, the buck, and I were all lined up, so neither of us had a shot -and even though I was mostly out in the open surrounded by a few waist-high manzanita and mountain whitethorn, the buck didn't see me. He was closing fast, with my brother-in-law directly behind him. I was thinking my best option to avoid a collision would be some sort of matador move, and I prepared to leap out if his way. The buck realized I was there at about 15' out, and made a quick change of direction, leaping over the mountain whitethorn to my left and into the canyon. As it did, I turned and fired the .35 from about eight feet.
It was a good lung shot, but with adrenaline, inertia and topography working against me, in a matter of seconds the buck made it several hundred feet down into the canyon on just a few full speed bounds. Packing the deer back up to where my brass lay was far more difficult than the 3/4 mile pack from the rim of the canyon back to the truck.
We didn't eat breakfast that day.
Edit: The dog wasn't a part of the hunt. She showed up at the truck with my dad before we got back there.
Grandpa shot a lot of deer, but took very few pictures. 