1975 July-Aug Vol 20 No.4

I could hear Jim muttering things under his breath as the deer moved slowly away up the hill. He was carefully stalking them with a long tele photo lens—an awkward thing to carry at any time, and more so when one is crawling through short heather trying to become invisible. My own nose was buried in the heather too, as I lay, almost afraid to breathe, so wary are these animals. We were deep in the heart of the Atholl estates in a lush, green valley with brindled hills all around.
Category: | 1975 |
Created Date: | 07-15-2023 |
Last Updated Date: | 02-11-2025 |