Nothing to do with Coronavirus

Oh, how the world has changed.

Here’s a story that has nothing to do with coronavirus.

It was nearly 30 years ago, and I was camped at an old homestead on Frenchman Creek in mid-October. I’d gotten permission from the landowner to hunt, and I had an antelope tag in my pocket.

I’d spotted some pronghorn when I arrived the night before and awoke anxious to go after them. But the crowing of rooster pheasants at first light prompted me to pick up the shotgun instead of the .270. New to pheasant hunting, I had yet to bag a bird.

The racket was coming from a brushy bend of the creek and I h...