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The predatory genes we can not deny are never more exercised than in deer hunting. In every individual, they travel an age-related arc that commences in youthful love and settles finally into old-age rest. The bloodstream lust with most of its attendant furies and dictates can be an amazing thing when it consumes the deer hunter in the velvet of his life. Crossing the outdoors water was crazy, I recognized, but I needed a desperate need to bag the buck.
