| July 09, 2008 |
| Winning Her Over |
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By Clint Anderson -- I awake to the smell of coffee and the sizzle of bacon frying on an old pot-bellied stove. Voices can be heard out in the living room, raspy from the early awakening. But nobody is complaining about getting up today, for it is opening day of gun season, and my brother, uncles and a few friends now gather around the stove. A plan is quickly construed as to where each person would hunt. We will sit all day, and only those with deer, or too wimpy to handle the cold, will return early. Due to early season scouting, I found a decent stand in a small saddle on top of a ridge, covered with a plethora of oak trees. I was excited. The air was so cold that it hurt to breathe. I knew if I broke a sweat, my day would be over. I wouldn't last long out there being wet. So I crept silently up the mountain. A lone coyote howled in the distance, sending an uncontrollable chill down the back of my neck. Instinct told me to hurry, but my deer hunter instinct insisted I keep my pace.
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