The River / Bill Stokes

The predatory genes we cannot deny are never more exercised than in deer hunting. In each individual, they travel an age-related arc that begins in youthful passion and settles finally into old-age relaxation. The blood lust with all of its attendant furies and dictates can be an awesome thing when it consumes the deer hunter in the velvet of his life.

Crossing the wild water was crazy, I knew, but I had a desperate need to bag the buck.