A photographic essay.
Whitetails evolved to disappear in thick woods. And then the snow comes, and with it the rut.
Now the big bucks are moving, and you can track them and see them, standing still and dun against all that white.
Red drops against the white, a trail leading to the end of a story that began more years ago than anyone can count. This is the modern version, but the story of a hunter’s quarry against the snow will never change.