From where I sat, 20 yards would handle 90 percent of any deer within 50 yards. Unless they were passing way out in the field, they’d be cruising the field edge trail 7 yards away or approaching one of the fainter trails at my back. The wind was blowing straight into my face, so I knew that was dicy. The woods were downhill of my perch, but there was no way to tell if I was high enough. I knew the winds would lessen at sundown, hurting my chances.
I didn’t care. I was in it. I had a chance. Sine I’m basically a meat hunter, absent some jaw-dropping buck bigger than any I’ve killed before waltzing by,
it felt good just to be in a tree again, back in hunting mode. I found myself picking apart the land before me for trails and sign. With unfocused eyes, I let my gaze wander, looking for any pattern below me that might turn out to be a trail. I spotted half a dozen, even if some were only the parted grass from a single deer passing recently.