I WAS SWEATING in my waders in the June midday heat, my bloodshot eyes straining to find even the smallest drop of blood as I searched on hands and knees. Finally I had to accept what I had known ...
, I’ll find myself walking through a freshly plowed field. Inevitably, I’ll spend as much time peering downward as I do listening skyward. I can’t help myself. I might be hunting gobblers, but I’m ...
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