I eyed the big oak with suspicion, knowing that Mark's stands were somewhere up in the clouds. When you make your living filming deer hunts, you tend to hang high. And when you dislike heights the way I do, such climbs make your palms sweat. Snow and ice had covered the limbs and steps, making them extra slippery. "How are we going to get wn in the dark?" I thought. Mark made it about halfway up before slip-sliding back down. "Man, that's too hairy," he whispered, "even for me." I breathed an inner sigh of relief.