istance has always been more of a friend than a foe to me when it comes to deer hunting, so it is not surprising I wound up finding this spot I want to tell you about that exists on a scrubby sidehill the better part of two miles away. For thirty-some years it was simply a long walk beneath moon and stars both ways—the cadence of my boots scuffing through autumn’s leaves or the rhythmic padding of a fresh winter snow compressed beneath each step, is a part of the hunt which I welcome and cherish. Shouldering my backpack, toting my rifle, and treading the worn trail out to where a subtle path known only to
