What do you do when it’s the second week of November, you’re in southern Illinois on a six-day bowhunt and the temperature is climbing into the high 70s every day?

You park your butt in a tree stand and sweat it out, of course. After all, it’s November in Illinois.

I knew my outfitter and friend Doug Doty, owner of Illinois Whitetail Services LLC, was putting me every day in spots that held big bucks. The problem was, they just weren’t moving that well during the heat of the day. First and last light provided the most sightings on stand.

Driving to and from those stands in the dark, however, we regularly saw the giants residing in the area of Doug’s properties.

With the mercury soaring like it was every day, scent control was absolutely critical to avoid getting busted. I showered with Scent Shield soap and shampoo before every hunt, sprayed everything I carried into the woods with me with Ti4 and donned my Dream Season XLT suit – including head cover and gloves.

My attention to detail seemed to be paying off as the week wore on. Although I wasn’t seeing bruiser bucks, I wasn’t getting busted by does like the other guys in camp.

The last two days of my hunt, Nov. 11 and 12, I pulled all-day stints in a tree.

"You’re not going to kill one sitting in camp," Doug said. "I know it’s hot, but it’s November in Illinois and you never know when a hot doe might drag a buck by you."

I kept those words of encouragement in my mind right through the last hour of my hunt on Nov. 12. I was hunting from a climbing stand positioned in the corner of a block of timber bordered to the south by a grass field and to the west by a huge CRP field. Fresh rubs and scrapes littered the woods near my post.

Two small bucks were grazing on white oak acorns near my stand around 4:30 p.m., when I heard footsteps in the dry leaves up the hill toward the green field. I focused my attention in that direction and quickly spotted a deer with a large body. Instantly, I knew it had to be a buck, so I grabbed by Hoyt Maxxis 35.

There were several does running around in the creek bottom below me as they were being chased by a little six-point buck. Judging by the body language of the buck now approaching my stand, he could hear that chasing and he wanted to get in on the action.

The buck had a decent eight-point rack and looked to be 2.5 years old. I had promised Doug I wouldn’t shoot a yearling, so, in the last 30 minutes of the last day of my six-day adventure, this buck was a shooter and I prepared in case he gave me a shot opportunity.

The eight-pointer came toward my tree on a diagonal path that took him directly downwind of me. But he showed no sign of catching my scent and closed the distance between us quickly.

When the buck went behind a tree 20 yards out, I drew back my bow. He quickly stepped out from behind that tree and stopped, facing me at 15 yards. I wondered how long I was going to have to hold my bow’s 70-pound draw weight until the buck moved and, hopefully, offered me a shot.

Fortunately, it turned out to only be a few seconds. The buck started walking and turned just enough to give me a quartering-to shot at five yards.

It wasn’t the best shot angle, but my 100-grain Grim Reaper broadhead apparently did its job, because the buck ran 70 yards downhill and piled up without leaving my sight.

By the time I climbed down and walked over to my Illinois prize, daylight was gone.

Better late than never!