A Hunting story for you guys.....
The morning was great from the start. Driving in I sipped black coffee and the Allman Brothers played softly, a background for my thoughts of the coming hunt. When I parked my truck I noticed a very slight southerly breeze, and got even more excited, the perfect wind for a spot I was very excited to hunt, but had been leaving alone waiting for the conditions to be perfect. I piddled with my pack, and gave my gear a final inspection under the light of my headlamp. No need to rush, I thought to myself. I had all the time in the world to get on stand, and didn't want to get myself all sweated up in excitement and rush.
The walk in was slow and methodical. I had two entry paths to this stand scouted, depending on the wind. I didn't want to blow the deer off their beds, and I had plenty of time before shooting light.
At the bottom of my tree I put on my harness, and swiftly organized things in my pack so that I could access them in the order they would be needed once seated. It struck me as odd, in most other facets of life I am wildly unorganized. Not so in the woods. My bow on the haul line, and my pack situated to my liking, up I went.
I went through the process of situating my stand and gear the way I like it. Once again, a system, practiced many times. Like many other times it came together swiftly and quietly. With my pack hanging on a screw-in hook within easy reach, I hauled my timberghost into the stand, and hung it on its hook.
I fished around in a shirt pocket and found my Copenhagen can, the first chew of day was just one more pleasure on this magnificent morning (I promise, it's my only vice
) On went the gloves and facemask, and very last, a simmons tipped Easton on my bowstring. The hunt was on!!!
This particular spot sat at the top of a drainage, which combined with a honeysuckle thicket on the top side created a perfect funnel. One trail ran across the top of the drainage, and a second up from the bottom below, and both converged 7 yards from where I now sat. Off to the left several white oaks were producing a bumper crop of acorns, with a nice little persimmon to my right for desert. Yes gents, this is the kind of spot that keeps guys like us awake at night.
With first light cracking, a barred owl sounded the alarm clock for the rest of the woods. Instantly I was surrounded with squirrels hastily making winter preparations, and songbirds that were just happy to be alive....just like me. The cool November air condensed my breath in my facemask, and I could feel it gathering in my goatee underneath. I felt the stress and bother of work and life washing away, and marveled at how lucky I was to be seeing the woods come to life.
Several hours passed, but it seemed like minutes with so many things to watch and keep my mind occupied. Then I caught a flicker of movement, off to the right. I stared hard in the direction I had last seen it...all of sudden the shape of the deer was plain to me, a doe, though only an instant earlier I was struggling to see her. She was picking her way down the trail across the top of the drainage, in no rush at all. Several times she stopped to munch on the abundant honeysuckle. I quick glance up at the down feather tied to the top limb of my bow showed the wind to be right. I would have to take my shot if it presented before she got too far past me, or this mature old girl would surely wind me.
She worked her way, ever closer, stopping to munch, to sniff, and just generally doing the things undisturbed deer do in the woods. 40 yards out she stopped with her head behind a privet bush and gave me the opportunity I had been looking for to get stood up. In one fluid motion I was on my feet and the grip of the bow like an old friend in my left hand, my right slowly coming to its place on the string.
She picked her way along, to within 10 yards or so, and stopped. Not yet, the angle was wrong, I didn't like the quartering to me shot she was offering. Like magic, she slowly turned straight broadside. My eyes burned through the spot I had chosen, just up the shoulder line, and my focus was so intense that time seemed to slow itself. The draw and anchor were without thought, ingrained from countless hours of practice, just the spot, nothing else in the world. I let the string drop...
My eyes sprang open, it was dark, and hot. Not knowing where I was I looked to the left and the radiant glow of the alarm clock brought it all into immediate focus. I had the dream again. I have it often. It intensifies after turkey season ends, and worsens until the last Saturday of September. I lay back flat, disappointed that my hunt had never happened, and grumpy because its only June and so damned hot. All that washed away as my eyes got heavy again, and I was smiling from the thrill of the hunt as I drifted back to sleep.
Sorry for the long winded tale, I have this dream, or a version of it , year round. My wife is gone tonight so I thought I would share this. Good (dream) hunting gang, fall will be here soon.
Jake
Topic: My Dream Hunt (Read 286 times)
