Hunting report

I have been spending time in the woods recently in a vain attempt to slay some bambi for the purposes of consumption. It’s probably correct to say that I suck as a hunter. But at least it’s not for a lack of trying! My excuse is that I don’t have what I’ll call “the luck” for hunting.

Hunting deer and squirrel is an absolute passion of mine that forces all other pursuits onto the back burner this time of year. But unlike my late brother, and some friends I have, I have to work very hard to be successful. Nonetheless hunting for me is like an itch I can never fully scratch. So I just keep plugging away at it and enjoy whatever nature throws my way – like this little incident:

I got into my stand early Saturday morning long before sunrise. My plan was to get into position and let the woods have plenty of time to settle down. No matter how quietly you ease in, by comparison to the natural sounds of wildlife, a human entering the woods makes quite a bit of sound and disruption. Once I get into my stand and climb to around twenty or thirty feet, I can get extremely still and quiet and take in all that’s going on.

Mine is the most comfortable treestand in the world, and it allows me to safely cat-nap without any fear of falling. So Saturday I was just getting settled in to snooze while waiting on the dawn when I heard a group of coyotes start barking and howling. It came from the area of woods where I had been set up just the previous morning. The first group was then answered by another group of “yotes” a few hundred yards farther off, and finally a third distinct group could be heard way off in the distance.

It was quite a sound to hear – let me tell you; particularly when the thought occurs that I had walked into these swamps bordering the Satilla River all by myself with only a crossbow as a weapon. And here I was, several hundred yards back in the swamp, in the deep pre-dawn darkness, being serenaded by what sounded like forty or fifty coyotes. For about fifteen minutes they set up the most outlandish caterwauling, yapping, and wailing that you could possibly imagine. Some of the sounds they made even sounded like human screams and screeches, and it was enough to raise the hair on the back of my neck. I took much comfort in the knowledge that I was more than twenty-five feet off the ground, and thus well out of their reach.

The following morning, I took comfort in the .40 pistol hanging on my hip when I entered those same dark woods all by my lonesome. Technically it’s illegal to carry a firearm during bow-season. But that’s one of those rules that I will forevermore ignore.