By: Gordon Whittington
I hadn’t yet thrown in the towel, but I was in the middle of
my windup. When you’ve spent over a week fruitlessly scouring western Alberta’s
“big bush” for a trophy whitetail, it’s easy to conclude the last half-day of
your hunt isn’t going to yield one either.
Then, as I eased along, my eyes picked up something big and
dark in the timber ahead. Was this the monster buck I was looking for? Uh . . .
no. While clearing a seismograph line years before, an oil company bulldozer
had tipped over a lodgepole pine. What I’d spotted was the rootwad’s dark
underside, which contrasted boldly with its snow-speckled surroundings. Bummer.
But approaching the felled tree, I realized it might not be
a disappointment after all. It offered cover, and the narrow cutline afforded
visibility in two directions. From here, perhaps I could call in a big buck. It
was the only trick still up my frozen sleeve.
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