I'm always amazed by people who claim they have no regrets.

I don't know who these folks are, but they sure aren't bowhunters. Heck, I've got plenty of regrets just from my time in a treestand -- not to mention the rest of my life!

We bowhunters know all too well that failure is usually the result of our own shortcomings. Although errant shots top the archer's regret list, there are hundreds of other factors that can result in a good hunt gone bad. Maybe you didn't pay enough attention to scent control. Maybe you were busted by an ill-timed movement. Maybe you neglected to keep the wind in your favor. Maybe you just picked the wrong stand and watched helplessly as Old Mossy trotted past your second-choice location.

The bottom line is, if you hunt with stick and string long enough, you'll accumulate enough "coulda, woulda, shoulda" stories to fill a book.

Like me, I'd imagine most of you have two or three really BIG regrets that continue to haunt you years after they happened. One of my "best" regret stories concerns a late-season hunt from seven or eight years back. Although I had scored on a couple of does during the regular season, my buck tag was still hanging on my back come mid-January, and I was down to the final Saturday of Pennsylvania's late archery season.

Shortly after lunch, I strapped a climbing stand onto my back and headed up a small, wooded hillside not far from my home. It was a bitterly cold and windy day, and by the time I selected a tree along the well-worn deer trail, attached my stand and climbed into position, I had lost all feeling in my extremities. As the wind tossed my tree to and fro, I shoved my hands into my pants for warmth and wondered why I even bothered to leave the house.

The next four hours crawled past. Not even the squirrels were moving in the howling wind, and I was essentially holding on for dear life as the biting breeze swept over my hillside perch. Desperation will make a bowhunter do some crazy things, but this was getting a little ridiculous.

Then, to my great disbelief, it happened.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and dusk began to envelop the winter woods, I spotted a doe cautiously making her way around the hillside, slowly picking her way in my direction. Not far behind her was a respectable 8-point buck -- not a record-breaker, mind you, but plenty good enough under the circumstances. Maybe, just maybe, I was going to be rewarded for running this fool's errand. However, I still had to make my move, and a naked

January landscape offers precious little cover for that.