When I was 15 I didn't have a rifle to hunt with, so Dad's boss said I could borrow one of his. He lived about a mile from us down the valley, so about 8:00 or so I walked down and picked it up along with a few shells. It was an old lever action 25-35 Winchester with open sights, but hey, I could see good back then:D
After I got away from the house I loaded the gun and started walking back to our house, but decide to take the long way along the RR tracks. Got about halfway home and rounded a sharp bend and saw an 8 point buck about 75 yards away standing broadside looking at me. I touched one off and he dropped in his tracks. Talk about excited! I ran up to him and had sense enough to check him before getting too close. He was still struggling to breathe, so I finished him off with a head shot. He was a BIG deer and it was all I could do to drag him off the tracks in case a train came along. Practically ran to where Dad was working on the farm and him and the boss drove over and loaded it up for me.

There is always something special about your first deer, and I've often wished I could find an old rifle like the one I killed my first deer with.