Mag-bloody-nificent
By Judy VanderArk
I lay face down in the muddy sod watching the big red stag head slowly my way. The .300 WSM lay over my outfitter’s day pack, steady on my target. The mighty red stag took tentative steps forward. “What is that strange form in that depression in the tall grass ahead?” it seemed to be thinking. With nose in the air, he looked around. Advancing further, he tested the air again. The steady rain muffled sounds and held scents down. My crosshairs were still, my safety off, my finger on the trigger. The gold-medal stag turned, looked around, moved forward, and turned broadside, considering his options. That's when it struck him.