I KEPT HEARING the same word. “Did you see the new compounds? My buddy just bought a compound. Do you have one yet?” It was the buzzword of the day.
Then one late fall day in 1980, my brother-in-law, Gary Fischer, killed a buck with a compound. I was happy for him — but wildly jealous. I was a gun hunter, but this compound thing was calling my name. I went to the local newsstand to begin some research, and there she was: The glossy, full-color cover of a magazine called Bowhunter , staring at me — flirting like a gorgeous woman making deliberate, lingering eye contact. It was love at first sight.
I read every word, even the ads, and subscribed immediately. This was a strange, new world, and…
