Although I had no trail-cam images or previous sightings of this heartland ghost, the giant rubs and large tracks in the area told me to stay the course.
Leaves fell like golden snow through the October sky, the final leg of a journey that began long ago, when spring rains and warmer weather promised a season of bounty and growth. Now, the sand had run out on that promise, leaving its casualties on the forest floor while the hardwoods prepared for its deep slumber. Although inevitable, the wind had catalyzed these events, blowing from the southeast with blustery gusts that rocked the oak tree I was nestled in like a buoy on the ocean.
It was October 27, 2021, and I was on my own journey of sorts. It had been 30 years since I first climbed an oak tree, nocked an arrow, and settled in for my first season as a bowhunter. Much had...