Here, in Michigan, we call those kind of hunters "Detroit hunters". A semi-automatic rifle in one hand, and a bottle in the other. Scourge of the woods. I was still in high school, hunting with my Dad. Two does walked across in front of me. Law then was bucks only. I was watching them when shots started coming in from the other side of the deer. One hit the tree a few feet over my head. The does ran, and shots were still coming in. I rolled behind the tree and levered off a high shot angled up and over anything, but in the direction of the shots. All I heard then, was brush crashing off into the distance.
Dad asked what in hell was I shooting at? I told him I was shooting way over the head of whoever put that little white spot in the tree over my head.