Stand in the Valley
That buck wasn’t supposed to be standing there. Not in a beanfield an hour after sunrise in October—on Tennessee public land. I have a game warden buddy in the Volunteer State who says Southern deer are so notoriously wary because, in this part of the world, “critters get got after.” Yet, here he was—a heavy, potbellied 8-pointer standing there as if he lived on 1,000 private acres in Iowa. He wasn’t 200 yards from where I’d parked the truck, and I would’ve had a chance of killing him had I brought my bow. Unfortunately, I was just holding binoculars, scouting ahead of a hunt the following week. I could hardly wait to come back.