Men Explain Hunting to Me
A trophy mule deer buck was bedded down at the base of a large formation of sandstone rocks. He was big. He was beautiful. He was relaxed. The distance was further than I prefer to shoot but I put up my gun, looked through the scope and watched him chew his cud for a few seconds. "Shoot! Shoot him!" "He's too far, I need to get closer." I crawled through the sage brush until I was out of sight of my hunting companion. I could still see the deer. He remained relatively relaxed although I was starting to see some tension develop in his muscles. He knew something was wrong. I laid down on my belly, put my rifle up, looked through the scope and centered it in the boiler room. It was a good shot. I heard an urgent whisper behind me. "Shoot! Shoot!" I took my eye away from the scope and saw a dry stick in front of me. I crawled over it as loudly as possible. The deer was gone in a flash, up a crevice in the sandstone to the top of the plateau. "What happened!!" he said, exasperated as I walked back. "I don't know," I said, "I think you spooked him."