The deer must have fallen out of the sky. That was all I could think because just seconds before I had been looking at the scrape where he had been standing.
Seeing nothing, I turned to look in another direction, and then, with one of those strange senses that venerable bowhunters learn to trust, I had a hunch that I had to look back at the original scrape. A towering, 8-point buck working a licking branch made me catch my breath and reach for my bow. I shouldn’t have been surprised. The area I was hunting was no more than 15 acres, and the deer utilize it as a travel corridor on their November forays in search of does.