PREDATOR STATE OF MIND

A VERY DEAR FRIEND OF MINE NAMED LEE EVERETT FULLER ONCE TOLD ME THAT EVERY GREAT STORY STARTS WITH, “SO, THERE I WERE…” ¶ SO, THERE I WERE: ARROW NOCKED, BACK PRESSED AGAINST A FROZEN ROCK FORMATION, WINDSWEPT SNOW STINGING MY FACE. JUST DOWN THE HILL 50 YARDS AWAY WAS THE MULEY DOE I HAD SPOTTED FROM TWO RIDGES OVER. AS I PEERED AROUND THE ROCK, I COULD SEE SHE WAS STILL LYING DOWN, HEAD UP, JUST STARING OFF TO THE NORTHEAST. IT WAS A TOUGH SHOT—WIND QUARTERING TOWARD ME, A 20-DEGREE DOWNHILL ANGLE, AND IT WAS MINUS 10 DEGREES FAHRENHEIT; AT LEAST SHE WAS DIRECTLY BROADSIDE. UNFORTUNATELY, THOUGH, THERE WAS NO WAY TO GET CLOSER. THE HILLSIDE WAS ALL BUT BARE, AND THE SNOW WAS KNEE-HIGH WITH ABOUT AN INCH AND A HALF OF HARD-CRUST COVER FROM A WARM SNAP A COUPLE OF DAYS BEFORE I GOT THERE.

This was it. I had spotted and stalked over 30 animals in the past three days, and this was the best opportunity I had by far. I needed to take it. In a single motion, I leaned around the corner and drew all 65 pounds of the custom recurve in my hands and prepared to let it fly. She never saw me. It was impossible for her to wind me, but for some reason known only to God Almighty, she decided to stand up at that very instant. She stood, turned, and began to walk downhill to my