When I reach the tree edge after circling, the cedar skeleton is 300 yards distant and showing in pieces from behind a ground-hugging pinon half that distance. I remove my boots and began picking my way closer in slow, careful steps that avoid purplish prickly-pear cactus as much as provide stealth. I make the screening pinon in 15 or 20 minutes, being overly cautious, but the most challenging part of the stalk lays ahead. I edge around the shadowed side of the pinon, training my glasses on the base of the dead cedar, peering for what seems an hour but likely is only 15 minutes before tine tips are suddenly resolved clearly. I've been looking right at them all along and only abruptly do they reveal themselves.

What follows is two hours of slow belly crawling, the heat rising but a merciful skein of low clouds drifting in from the west, the pungent perfume of sage filling my nostrils until it nearly makes me nauseous. I meet dead-ends in rings of cactus that require backing out and attacking from a different angle. I place my bow at arm's length, wiggle ahead on my belly, reach the bow, struggle ahead, pausing to set twigs and sticks and rocks aside to create a clear path. After gaining 10 or 15 yards I lay and pant, catching my breath. After perhaps an hour I push up in slow increments, using the glasses to probe beneath the cedar. The banana-like tines show above wisps of sage but are still a world away.

The sky's growing increasingly woolly by the time I reach that place where hard decisions must me made--to take the long shot, or gamble on pushing closer for the sure thing. I can see the buck's rear, studying the situation and seeing that only one sage remains in way of dependable cover. I decide 10 more yards will be all I need. Gaining those 10 yards will require half an hour.

I see the buck's antlers turning and expect the worst, but they swivel to aim over his shoulder and not at me. He senses something nearby, a coyote, another deer perhaps. I take the opportunity to nock an arrow and swing my legs before me, setting my bow in my lap with the Ace Jet-tipped arrow between my knees so I can sit up slowly. The buck shows clearly through nodding sage tips and I lean back once more to gather my thoughts. I can't shoot now. The buck's attention is directed over his shoulder, his neck and head blocking much of his vitals, and bedded shots are always tricky. I wait impatiently, talking to myself silently, encouraging calm.

The buck stands suddenly, turning to seek the thing that has caught his attention, offering his opposite side. I take a deep breath and bring the bow up and draw in a single smooth motion. The buck continues staring. I snug an index finger into the corner of my mouth and chant silently, "Choose a hair. Choose a hair. Choose a hair."

And the arrow arches away, spinning in slow suspension, looking good all the way, until that final instant when it doesn't drop in and the buck also senses something, the thrum of bowstring, the hiss of feather slicing air, and drops just slightly. The arrow cuts over his back and buries into the hard cedar with an ax blow report. The buck throws up dust and sends sage sticks spinning. I howl an oath, feeling that all-too-familiar anger welling, on my feet suddenly and in a spin to launch that bow to the horizon. I catch myself, just holding onto the bow, stopped still, breathing through my mouth. I watch that gorgeous buck bound across the bench, mounting the rim above, stopping on its crest for one last backwards glance before sinking over the close horizon.

I step off 43 yards to the cedar and understand it was too far, producing a knife to work the imbedded broadhead from the soft, weather-aged wood. I begin to laugh out loud. It's only the first day. I've plenty of time. There will be others. I may not connect, but nothing else beats this.

And it occurs to me like a jolt that I've thought of nothing else this morning but the hunt, of wind and stealth and straight shooting. It's something. For the time being Vietnam is very far away. It's a start, something to hold on to. It's the beginning of something better in the world.