This 8-pointer was the first buck to investigate my "liquid gold." Judging from his appearance, he was a real scrapper.

What makes a person a real bowhunter? Is it the number of days spent in the field, no matter the weather? Is it the number of animals killed? Is it the choice of equipment, and the price?

A grade-school student asked me this very question. And my answer concluded with a statement that my Indian Grand-father, Wolf, used. "You (the hunter) must give of yourself. You have to show the 'spirits' you are worthy of the gift of life that this animal is about to give. The hunter might have to walk a long way; climb high hills or mountains; hunt in rain, snow, or severe cold. The hunter might have to hunt days, weeks, or months before succeeding."

The 2007-2008 Illinois archery season became my "what makes a bowhunter" year. That year, Illinois was plagued with drought from spring to early fall. My husband, Herm, and I disked and worked the soil, only to have the dry, unforgiving heat scorch almost everything we had planted to attract whitetails to our farm. So we got new seed and continued to plant crops into the fall.

I filled three six-gallon water containers and drove them to the farm daily to refill the three small, clay-lined waterholes I had dug by hand. Was it necessary? To me, yes. And when I watched a doe with fawns coming to the water within minutes of my pouring, I knew just how right it was.

Bow season opened October 1, with oppressive heat and hordes of tiny buffalo gnats. The gnats bit hard and often, making hunting almost impossible, and no bug repellent seemed to work. Every day I watched the soybean fields as the doe brought the little fawns out for daily excursions. And the bachelor group of bucks was awesome. I felt that we had been successful in attracting and holding deer on our farm, so we continued disking, planting, and hauling water.

Herm saw a couple of "shooter" bucks from his stand, but distance or conditions kept him from releasing an arrow. One afternoon, my eyes connected on a heavy, 190-class buck. I called Herm from my Primos Double Bull blind, and he thought I was having a heart attack. He said my words weren't making any sense, and my breathing was short and raspy. All he could make out was my saying, "He's the biggest whitetail I've seen in a long time!"

With this sighting, I began a campaign to achieve a particular goal -- I would hunt every spare moment at the farm, trying to find any pattern that the 190-inch buck might have.

By January 2008, I still had not taken a buck. But during that last month of the season, I saw the big buck, the focus of my campaign, at least seven times within two weeks -- just never within bow range.

Almost every evening after arriving home, Herm and I compared notes and thoughts. My solution to our quest was to set up one more ground blind. Perhaps I was getting a little carried away. One day, when our son Jeff accompanied Herm to the farm, he said, "Dad, there are so many blinds out, the farm looks like a Primos Double Bull showroom."