One of the great things about traveling to hunt, and hunting a variety of species in a variety of places, is all the different hunting styles you are introduced to, can learn from, and apply to new situations. It makes you smarter, more aware.

I grew up in the South and stalking hogs on foot in the swamp is one of my favorite things to do. You see whitetails, but usually the tail end. It's hot, there are snakes, spiders and mosquitoes. You read hog sign, play the wind and often sneak within archery range. Deer hunting in the swamp usually involves finding active sign, climbing a tree and waiting.

My friend Mark grew up in the mountains of New Hampshire where snakes aren't a problem. It's cold. There's snow. There aren't any hogs, but big bucks leave tracks in that snow, and the traditional hunting style here is to find that one good track, and follow it until you see the buck on the other end. Mark makes an annual trip to the 'big woods' of Canada to do just that, where the snow flies earlier and seasons come earlier.

I'd heard enough about it and 2013 was the year to make it happen. I joined Mark and friends at the Ontario hunting camp in late November in the middle of a cold front.

The storm left 25cm of snow, leaving a clean slate for tracking in the woods. Reports of rut activity were pouring in, but overall the consensus on the deer herd status was down due to a harsh prior winter, and wolf activity. Undeterred, day one was spent learning the terrain as snow dumped and winds blew. One track was found and followed, only to be lost by blowing snow. Human tracks disappeared in an hour. Evening on an exposed knob provided a show as two small bucks danced with each other and ran a doe around below me.

Day two brought flurries, but calmer skies.

Harper and I cut a track on a logging road that seemed worthy of a walk. Not super fresh, but tough to tell with falling and blowing snow, and you never know if they'll stop to feed, bed, or get tangled up in does. Time to track.

The terrain was primarily old and fresh logging, creating good habitat and transitional zones. His track started us through a younger cut, replanted with black spruce, now shoulder high. A fresh rub confirmed a buck walked before us.

Easy walking and good visibility changed to dense, wet, swampy cover on the edge. Rattling and grunting on the edge drew nothing out. Time to put the hood up, and suck it up. We punched through, counting on the sound-proofing snow dumping from the brush above us to cover our presence as we crawled, stepped through snow and ice into the muck below, snapped branches and cursed under our breath.

Edge cover eventually broke to blowdowns, a fresh scrape in the snow, and buck tracks going every direction in a winter wonderland. Creeping through, over and around blowdowns led to forked trail and a debate on path forward. The decision was made to split up and each follow a trail. Harper right, me left.

The first rustling I heard made me check Harper's position. His orange still in sight, it seemed awful loud. Sound bounced in here though. One more step forward and there it was again. Sudden realization that the noise wasn't Harper or my hood brushing a branch, I readied.

The scope cover came off my Marlin 1895 SBL 45-70 quickly, disappearing in the snow at my feet. Hammer cocked. The safety however, frozen in place in the single digit temps, did not cooperate in my attempt to 'get ready'.

That's when the back of the buck, head down, rack moving straight for me rounded a spruce ten yards in front of me. A fallen tree blocked his path. He paused, lifting his head. Thumb pressing the safety as hard as I could, it still wouldn't release. Think fast. 'Chamber another round and see if the vibration frees it' I told myself. The lever cycled.

I was already raising the rifle when I felt the safety slide. I'd forgotten to adjust the scope power for the dense cover, and all I saw was rack and nose staring at me at 9x. Lowering the crosshairs below the white patch on his neck, I squeezed. The hammer fell.

Neither of us took a step. The spruce next to him covered him with snow as he collapsed into it. The woods were once again silent and still. Snow fell.

Silence was broken with a 'Did you get him?' from Harper. 'Buck down!' I replied. Harper could barely hear the shot 50 yards away.

It all happened so fast. No time to judge, just react. That's how it is the tracking woods I guess. Sometimes tracks lead to ghosts, sometimes they lead to a buck in your face.