While I settled gently back into my chair, I checked my watch; it was eleven thirty. I was now convinced of my failure in this morning’s hunt for a buck.

My eyes popped open as the yearling’s bleat made its way through my sleep-deprived brain. He let out another mewing cry as I slowly lifted my rifle from the arms of my camouflaged sling chair.

My address for the next three nights will be Burnt Pine Plantation near Newborn, Georgia.

The low point of my thoughts coincided with 1) an elevated wind strength and 2) the appearance of the young buck.

I have upcoming hunts for whitetail deer as well as a Tactical Course at the Government Training Institute (a.k.a. GTI).