The sun was setting in the western sky when I decided to climb down from my treestand and call it a season. I had spent 70 hours perched in various stands over the past 15 days, but for the past hour I found it difficult to focus my thoughts. My fingers gently caressed the crossbow that was in my lap, but my attention was on the large 11-point buck that was lying 20 yards to my left. Only the small, crimson-colored spot behind its shoulder revealed the method of his demise. As I approached the animal, I was overcome with…
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