SURE BEATS CHEMO

nnocently enough, all I had been doing was teasing a couple yearling bucks with my grunt call. Mid-October, bow season in full swing, way early for great expectations, a casual smile split my face each time one of the bucks thought to take a step only to be frozen again with my bleats. The duo, while appearing addicted to my call, remained too wary to advance. Instead they shared occasional glances as if to say, “you go first.” In my treestand, tucked into the heavy cover of a dense hemlock some 40 yards distant, I commanded their actions like a mischievous puppeteer. My grunt