I drove out to a woodlot near my Virginia home, walked a mile in the dark and sat down against a white oak. The sun rose and the mercury plunged another five degrees. It was cold, so cold it hurt. I shivered and thought for a couple of hours. When I added it all up, the good stuff still far outweighed the bad-I had my health, a beautiful wife and two strapping young sons. I stopped my mental whining and began to warm up. Then_ pop, pop, pop_ in the frosty leaves. The forkhorn tipped in, fat as a beef calf, its hide glowing in the new sunshine. I raised my .270 and gently squeezed the trigger.