A biologist might describe a deer as a hooved ruminant. She'd be wrong.
Deer are ghosts.
They materialize in the forest out of thin air, then disappear in an instant.
They crash loudly through the trees just a few feet away without ever coming into view.
They emerge from unexpected places, offering a fleeting glimpse, leaving you wondering if you really saw anything.
They will haunt you with their absence for days, and then suddenly a gang of them will sneak up behind you.
This year I started hunting on the 19th of October, and for two weeks I sat in the woods every chance I got. An hour hear and there, a few mornings, mostly afternoons. Oftentimes I'd get home from work with just enough daylight left to sit in my stand for 45 minutes or so, keenly alert for the footsteps of a deer. Keenly alert. There was a time or two I nodded off. Several times. But in between naps I was keenly alert.
