Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/433799
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 1 3 7 I have been to heaven and it's in North Dakota. In the frozen glow of dawn a group of does slips silently over the hill out front, followed by a buck. Definitely a beast with horns, he looks like a ten-point in the grainy, light-starved view through my binoculars. I've never killed a ten-point. An hour later my cell phone buzzes, signaling texts from my son, Mike, in another blind. I ignore it. I am spellbound by the continuing parade of whitetail bucks, short- circuited by sensory overload. A South Carolinian, I've never experienced a "bucks gone wild" episode like this. By comparison, the rut back home is modest, and I steel myself to wait before doing something I'll regret on this, our first day. My box blind rests atop a snowy hill overlooking a draw to my left, choked with oaks and brush, a humble creek in front, and a bare, glistening field rising up beyond. Most of the deer are coming over the ridge, across the wind, and down the snow-laden slope to the draw, where they congregate, feed, and court. I catch glimpses through the trees, tantalizing images of antlers and big bodies on the move, necks outstretched, heads low, looking for love. I spot a magnificent, high and wide eight-pointer 50 yards directly downwind of me. He pauses to watch the action below, assesses the frantic bucks and the does fleeing their advances, and pays no attention to my scent, which must be swirling around him. Does that pass downwind of me stop, raise their noses, and light out in controlled panic, but Hunting the draws north of Bismarck, North Dakota, the author endured bitter winds and frazzled patience as he watched a parade of large bucks and passed on several that were bigger than any he'd ever killed. He had his heart set on a ten-pointer. vic schendel