I got into the woods at about 3:00 PM yesterday. The temperature had dropped to 22 degrees. There were still traces of snow, most of it frozen into tiny icy crystals. The soil under the thick bed of leaves had frost heaved as much as 3-4 inches, so with each step my boots sunk 6-8 inches into a crunchy sandwich of ice, leaves, and frosty dirt. With each step, the "karaack" sound echoed through the woods like a gunshot.
The woods were deathly still and quiet. There was no wind, and nothing to cover the sound of my passage to my stand. My favorite spot sits on a high rocky point that is about 15 feet above an old logging road. There is a wide, flat swale on the north side that is wooded with large timber, mostly white oaks and tulip poplars. It is about 90 yards across, and the longest clear shooting lane I have is towards the northeast at about 135 yards.
The swale curves around another rocky hump about 30 yards to the northwest, and then turns west to the bottom of the swamp. I have a clear view down to the edge of the swamp, which lies about 90 yards to the west.
Because there is no way to move quietly, I figure the best thing to do is hoof it down to my stand as quickly as possible. It wasn't until after 4:00 PM last week that the deer came across the swamp, so I'm hoping I can get to my stand without spooking anything.
I make the best time I can, try to be as quiet as I can, stepping from rock to rock, walking along downed trees to minimize the noise. It takes me 1/2 an hour to get to my stand, which is only about 400 yards from where I parked the truck.
I lean my Encore against a tree, pull my scarf up around my nose, and settle in to wait. If anything moves, I'll hear it - there's no stealth on the floor of the woods today for anything: neither man nor beast.
I said there was no wind, but there was. Not so much wind as it was a steady pressure like an icy knife pressing against my left temple. It wasn't so much wind as it was current, like standing up to your thighs in a slow moving river. Not a leaf twitched, but the air pushed on, slow and constant. It almost hurt where it collided with any exposed skin.
And the woods stayed silent, save for the occasional chirp of a finch in the thicket, and the tap tapping of a Downy Woodpecker mining into a tree. The staccato call of a Pileated Woodpecker broke the silence of the swamp, sounding like some exotic jungle bird. All went silent again, then the pounding of the Pileated's jackhammer blows carried over the swamp. Another of the giant woodpeckers flew into a tree nearby, where it studied the trunk, moved slightly, and gave a single thwack of its beak into the tree. It sounded like an axe blow in the stillness. The bird moved again, inspected the wood, and gave another thwack.
The woodpecker chopped away as it moved around the tree, likely testing for just the right spot to kick in the jackhammer. Chunks of dead wood occasionally fell off as it tested the tree for weakness. It would seem the tree did not meet the bird's requirements. It dropped off the side of the trunk in a free fall for a couple of feet before it opened its wings, turned sharply around the trunk, and flew off into the swamp. Beautiful...
As the sun set, the temperature dropped further. I had stood unmoving for almost two hours, but was relatively comfortable thanks to having the presence of mind to dress appropriately with everything I needed for deer hunting in the winter: thermal underwear, insulated boots, gloves, rain pants, and parka from Cabela's, all of which is Gore-Tex lined, which not only keeps the water out, but the wind as well. Good stuff, that Gore-Tex.
The woods went dark, and I headed back to the truck. I didn't see - or hear - a single deer. The season closes on the 31st, so this coming Thursday will be my last chance until next fall to shoot another deer. But it's not about killing: although that is the reason for being out there, it's not the only reason for being out there. Slow days aren't so bad...
The woods were deathly still and quiet. There was no wind, and nothing to cover the sound of my passage to my stand. My favorite spot sits on a high rocky point that is about 15 feet above an old logging road. There is a wide, flat swale on the north side that is wooded with large timber, mostly white oaks and tulip poplars. It is about 90 yards across, and the longest clear shooting lane I have is towards the northeast at about 135 yards.
The swale curves around another rocky hump about 30 yards to the northwest, and then turns west to the bottom of the swamp. I have a clear view down to the edge of the swamp, which lies about 90 yards to the west.
Because there is no way to move quietly, I figure the best thing to do is hoof it down to my stand as quickly as possible. It wasn't until after 4:00 PM last week that the deer came across the swamp, so I'm hoping I can get to my stand without spooking anything.
I make the best time I can, try to be as quiet as I can, stepping from rock to rock, walking along downed trees to minimize the noise. It takes me 1/2 an hour to get to my stand, which is only about 400 yards from where I parked the truck.
I lean my Encore against a tree, pull my scarf up around my nose, and settle in to wait. If anything moves, I'll hear it - there's no stealth on the floor of the woods today for anything: neither man nor beast.
I said there was no wind, but there was. Not so much wind as it was a steady pressure like an icy knife pressing against my left temple. It wasn't so much wind as it was current, like standing up to your thighs in a slow moving river. Not a leaf twitched, but the air pushed on, slow and constant. It almost hurt where it collided with any exposed skin.
And the woods stayed silent, save for the occasional chirp of a finch in the thicket, and the tap tapping of a Downy Woodpecker mining into a tree. The staccato call of a Pileated Woodpecker broke the silence of the swamp, sounding like some exotic jungle bird. All went silent again, then the pounding of the Pileated's jackhammer blows carried over the swamp. Another of the giant woodpeckers flew into a tree nearby, where it studied the trunk, moved slightly, and gave a single thwack of its beak into the tree. It sounded like an axe blow in the stillness. The bird moved again, inspected the wood, and gave another thwack.
The woodpecker chopped away as it moved around the tree, likely testing for just the right spot to kick in the jackhammer. Chunks of dead wood occasionally fell off as it tested the tree for weakness. It would seem the tree did not meet the bird's requirements. It dropped off the side of the trunk in a free fall for a couple of feet before it opened its wings, turned sharply around the trunk, and flew off into the swamp. Beautiful...
As the sun set, the temperature dropped further. I had stood unmoving for almost two hours, but was relatively comfortable thanks to having the presence of mind to dress appropriately with everything I needed for deer hunting in the winter: thermal underwear, insulated boots, gloves, rain pants, and parka from Cabela's, all of which is Gore-Tex lined, which not only keeps the water out, but the wind as well. Good stuff, that Gore-Tex.
The woods went dark, and I headed back to the truck. I didn't see - or hear - a single deer. The season closes on the 31st, so this coming Thursday will be my last chance until next fall to shoot another deer. But it's not about killing: although that is the reason for being out there, it's not the only reason for being out there. Slow days aren't so bad...
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