A day later I went out with my buddy Rick Murphy, and we pushed several small parcels. These were all pieces that had been hunted since bow season, and nary a deer was seen. On the last drive of the day, we worked a piece behind his dad Kevin’s house, and walking into post we bumped a great buck. He clearly heard us coming and got off his bed, snuck into a creek bottom, then boogied across a cut corn field where Rick saw him in plain view—a dandy 8-pointer. That deer had been living in a ribbon of woods, next to a cut and crap-sprayed cornfield, off a state highway, surrounded by houses. It’s a spot that hasn’t been hunted, and the buck had been hiding, more or less, in plain sight.