I was 16 and hunting deer with my dad. I was not feeling well, so I wasn't too focused on anything but being quiet and following my dad to a blind we had built over summer so we could build a small fire when it was cold and it not be visible. I don't know what made me take my focus off my dad's back, but as we walked through a snowy meadow atop a hill, I glanced down into the valley below us. It was then I saw him.

There was a man, leaning far too forward in his tree stand. He had straps holding him in place, a safety precaution to prevent falling. I paused, lifted my rifle and focused on him. He wasn't moving and he had a growing amount of snow on his hood, his shoulders, and upper back. I told my dad to stop, told him what I noticed, handled him my gun (he was using iron sights), and watched his face change from confusion to the sudden realization that I was not wrong.

We emptied our guns, shouldered them, slowly descended the hill, and picked our way through some brush to the base of the tree. I had known human death, several times, by that point in my life and as I stared up at the dead eyes and pained expression on the hunter's face, it slowly dawned on me who the man was and I had to sit down on a log because my legs felt weak.

I didn't know the kid, Craig, very well, but we had rode the same bus from elementary school and we still were at that point when we both were in high school. He was very quiet and shy, and while I had not seen his dad in a few years, I knew the dead hunter was this kid's dad. We had to call 911 and make our way back to our house to meet the cops and paramedics.

We eventually learned that Craig's dad had suffered a heart attack, most likely around 7 or so AM, meaning he had climbed the tree stand before day break and died shortly afterwards. It was around 3 PM when I spotted him. I quit hunting after that year.