Diary of a morning deer hunt

No matter how much preparation you’ve already done, when the alarm clock rings at zero dark-thirty (3:45 a.m. actually) on a hunting morning, you still have lots to do. A certain amount of second-guessing is done about what gear to take, and what to leave behind. Do I need a water bottle, do I need something to nibble on, will I need these heavy gloves or will the other lighter pair be better? But finally, the clock’s inexorable march forward dictates the need to head out the door and begin the trip to the stand.

Wearing a quilted camo jump suit with two pairs of long-johns underneath means stepping out into the 30 degree pre-dawn darkness is actually a relief. I don’t bother turning on the heater in the truck because I don’t want to delay the adjustment my body needs to make to the freezing temperatures outside. Neither do I listen to any radio as I drive because I want my hearing to begin the process of sharpening, and the radio only forestalls that.

I sip a small cup of coffee as I drive, and I think carefully about my choice of stands this morning. A certain amount of second-guessing happens here too. Mentally I weigh the pros and cons about what position I will be taking on this hunt, factoring in such things as wind direction, and whether it will sunny or not. But eventually the choice is made and ratified in my mind. Passing some does standing alongside the road waiting to cross gives me hope that my hunt will be a success. After all, if the deer are walking here along the roads this morning, maybe they’ll be walking the vicinity of my tree-stand too!

Parking my truck I glance at my watch. The time is now 5:00 a.m. Sunrise is at 7:11 a.m. at this latitude, which means legal shooting time begins 30 minutes before at 6:41 a.m. My goal is to be in my stand and situated no less than 30 minutes prior to “legal”. That means I have exactly 1 hour and ten minutes to walk 800 yards and climb 25 feet up a pine tree.

Leaving the truck behind, I step off the road onto a pre-marked trail that heads downhill through a pitch black forest of small pines and hardwood saplings. Glow-in-the-dark tacks every 25 yards or so confirm that I’m on the right path. My head lamp is the only light visible since the closeness of the forest blocks out any view of the moon or stars. It’s beam reflects eerily off the clouds before me that are my exhaled breath. The leaves crunch beneath my steps so loudly that surely everything within a mile is aware of my approach. Stopping for a moment, I take note of the absolute silence that reigns over the cold dark woods. I can hear nothing save the sound of my own breathing; no traffic, no barking dogs, no nothing. Just a cold oppressive quiet that makes me more aware than ever of the noise I am making as I pass through this place.

After an indeterminate length of time, I come to “the bottom”: the tiny creek drainage that flows through the area. Carefully I thread my way across the narrow boggy strip, stepping from root ball to weed clump, step by step, all the while trying not to make a false move. False move being defined as not stepping in a spot that appears solid, but isn’t…with the result of sinking up to my knee or beyond in swamp muck and stagnant water.

Once across, and painfully aware that I’ve been pretty loud in the process, I now start the climb up the other side through saplings that are thicker than ever. I don’t really need glow in the dark tacks here. The trail that I’ve cut here months ago stands in marked contrast to the thick saplings around me. I couldn’t get off this trail even if I wanted to!

I’m sweating now. My cap brim actually drips a sparkling bead of sweat that glistens in the blue-white glow of the headlamp before falling to the ground…leaving evidence behind of the passing of this human predator. I feel the clamminess of my jumpsuit as it soaks up the perspiration. Cold isn’t a problem now, but later…later it certainly will be.

A few short yards ahead I step out of the barrier of saplings that shields this side of the creek bottom. In front of me I know there is a large circular tract of big pines surrounded on three sides by the curving course of the creek. I know this, but I cannot see it. All is still very dark, and the woods look pretty much the same in every direction. Only the trail of glowing tacks allows me to distinguish which way to go.

Dividing the pines from saplings along the creek is an ancient logging road that starts from nothing, and leads to nowhere. I know this because during the previous summer, on one of my scouting sessions, I explored its entire length. It has long since ceased to resemble anything other than a vague trail, but it offers an easy path to my destination. During the summer I used a small pair of clippers to trim away limbs and branches that overhung the path so that now I can pass along with a minimum of disturbance.

As my head lamp beam plays across two glowing tacks placed side by side in the manner of staring eyes, I know I’ve reached my stand. My tree-climber is still attached to the tree, just like I left it. This far down in the woods there’s little chance someone would steal it, but I took the precaution of locking it to the tree nonetheless. What a horrible thing it would be: to arrive at my stand and find my climber stolen by some unethical bum!

As quietly as I can I ground my weapon and my gear. I flip the seat pad of my stand over so that the frost is down toward the seat and won’t be pressed against my backside. Tying my rifle and gear bag to a rope attached to the stand, I lay them down in such a way that when lifted from above they won’t bang into the tree. Climbing into the stand I’m careful not to slip on the icy bar that is the lower step. Cutting off my headlamp as unnecessary, I begin to climb.

Allow me to describe for you how a climbing tree stand works. There is a lower step that grips the tree as you stand on it. Most tree-climbers either have straps or a bar arrangement whereby you slip your feet into position such that while seated you can lift up the lower piece with your feet. While standing on the lower piece, you lift as high as you can the upper piece that forms the seat. It is also designed to grip the tree when you put downward pressure on it (such as when you sit in it). By alternately lifting the lower piece and then the upper piece you gradually ascend the tree at approximately 8 inches per “step”.

On a hardwood tree a practiced climber can ascend fairly noiselessly. But on a pine tree a tree-climber is damned loud, especially in the relative silence of pre-dawn. The key is to take your time and not get in a hurry. Just don’t try to rush the process or you’ll get sloppy, and that means you’re getting even louder. Another trick is to use other sounds to mask the sounds you are making. A stray gust of wind, a big truck out on the highway, an airplane passing overhead; all these things can provide enough covering noise to benefit you. But then sometimes these noises are too few and far between to be of any use. A peek towards the eastern sky tells me that time is dwindling. So as quietly as I can I continue the climb.

Sometimes, the first time you climb a particular tree, you get a surprise: the resulting view of the area can be either better, or worse than you expected. Sometimes it has to do with how high you climb. There are times when the canopy of surrounding trees is so low that if you climb too high, you actually ruin the view. All you can see are the tops of the little trees around you. Other times, you climb so high that the resulting view is spectacular and rewarding enough that even if you see no deer, you still feel good about it.

Twenty or so minutes later I reach the height I intended. I settle in and pull my gear up after me. By this time I am almost drenched in sweat. I open up my jumper top and remove my long john top. I pull out a fresh long john top from my gear bag and quickly pull it on. Tied up in a bundle is my big camo overcoat, which I’ve lined the inside of with adhesive-backed chemical warmers. It feels really good now as I pull it on. Underneath my behind I shove an oversized cushion, and across my legs I lay my Browning automatic .243. I cover my head with a camo stocking cap that I’ve cut out holes for the ears. I cannot allow anything to impede my hearing since most often you hear deer before you see them.

In silence I sit awaiting the dawn…and the deer.

Sunset is almost eleven hours away. When it finally arrives, I’ve seen no deer.