It was one of the more surreal experiences I’ve had. Just a couple days before, I’d set a stand for the opening day of Illinois’ firearm season. I had three different bucks I knew I’d be interested in and had gotten all of their pictures at that spot, more than once, the week leading up to the opener, each in daylight. I couldn’t imagine a better place to meet one of them.
That made the argument I had in my head, walking in the predawn dark to my stand for opening AM a bit odder. I had just started the walk, when I started arguing in my mind that I should veer left at the fork, instead of heading for the freshly hung stand. I’ll spare the details, but I was arguing forcibly for the downwind side of a doe bedding area that one of them checked regularly first thing after leaving the fields. I veered left, after convincing myself I’d be tagged out before 7:30AM, if I did. I was correct and the one that consistently made that a first stop was in the back of my truck before 8 AM.
For many, the rut is a crazy flurry of unpredictable chaos. That can literally be a blast, having no clue what one is going to see
