SWEET, SWEET NOVEMBER. As I write this, another bow season has come and gone. As usual, I find myself reliving Novembers past, and dreaming of those yet to come. For many of us, we can’t imagine spending that magical month any place other than perched high in a tree and anticipating that a mature buck will pass within 20 yards, nose to the ground, with one thing on his mind.
As a whitetail fanatic living in upstate New York, I have always dreamed of hunting the rut in the Midwest. Growing up in a family that dedicated every fall to chasing whitetails, it was never if, but when we were going to make a trip to a place where Pope and Young bucks are not uncommon, and putting a tag…