The air was wet, dank, dark and intoxicatingly delicious and wondrous. To nonhunters it would have just been another boring, uninspiring, dull October day, but for us deerhunters — the most important day of our lives.
My buckpole was already sagging in protein overdose hangage, but with a pocketful of much-appreciated she-deer tags, my work was cut out for me.
Killer SpiritWild VidCamDude Ethan Whisker and I were perched in a towering, ancient white oak tree overlooking a vast marsh, eternal swamp and muck-heaven deer paradise, and duty called to reduce the agriculture-devastating and highway-bloodying cervid infestation. And I had the arrows!
I hadn’t hunted this old…