Column by Hal Walter
Wildlife – November 1998 – Colorado Central Magazine
IT HAD BEEN SEVERAL YEARS since I’d killed a deer. Now the little buck lay dead at my feet, his eyes glassing over and blood running from his neck.
It was a golden autumn evening and I’d been hunting deer and elk in the muzzleloading rifle season. Earlier I’d found a wallow in an aspen glade. The small pond, a depression in the earth where a spring oozed to the surface, was stirred and muddy water was mixing with the clear. A few feet away I found milky droplets from the waterhole splattered on plants.