Walking
With a Rifle
The
snow underfoot crunches. Stealth is out of the question. Even plodding downhill
is difficult with the heavy snow almost up to the knees. Deer tracks, several
days old, cross to the west following the same path that a coyote did earlier.
Under
the softwood trees the land flattens out. The brook babbles, but the sound is
distant. Wet spots have melted the snow, exposing soggy ground that makes walking
difficult, but soon the ground rises and is firmer and the stream can be seen.
Huge
fresh deer tracks head to the west. Following them parallels the steep hill on
the right. Obviously, the deer didn’t want to go up it, nor cross the cold
rushing water of the stream.
The
snow is too noisy. Following an old footpath is quieter and leads away from the
deer tracks, but should intercept them again a couple hundred yards ahead,
that’s if the deer holds his course.
Where
the woods opens up enough to see the hundred yards from the stream to the steep hill, a seat is
found against a fat old fir tree. It is time to wait.
Time
slows. The rattle of the stream never stops. A squirrel chatters in a nearby
tree. Who is he scolding? Nothing can be seen moving anywhere in the woods. A
tiny bird creates a nasal buzzing in the boughs overhead.
Did
a twig snap? The water’s song never changes and swallows up most sounds. A blue
jay sounds an alarm and passes between treetops.
Other
than pursuing game, deer hunting and bird hunting share little in common. Bird
hunters, even hunting alone, usually have the comradery of their dog. Some of
the best days afield are spent with friends, joking and telling stories while
you hunt. Pheasant hunters talk about not slamming car doors before the hunt,
but stealth plays only a minor role in bird hunting. To most bird hunters who
hunt with a dog, the sport is all about the dog. Really, it is the dog that does
the actual hunting.
For
a deer hunter it is entirely different. The hunter becomes an apex predator in
the woods. As he immerses himself into the forest, his senses sharpen until he
hears and sees things most humans would miss. He becomes part of the forest.
And even when hunting with others nearby, he spends much of his time alone.
That
snapping twig had to be caused by something. And who or what is the blue jay
protesting? Time passes differently for the predator. Silence lingers. A red
squirrel darts up a spruce tree. For an eternity nothing changes.
Finally,
darkness seeps into the woods and it is time to head home. Walking back the big
deer’s tracks are found turning up the hill. He crossed over the hill where it
isn’t too tall. There is always tomorrow.
Both
types of hunting are enjoyable, but the hardest thing about deer hunting is
looking at the expression on my bird dog’s face as I am about to leave the
house with a gun in my hand.
That
is why I deer hunt so little.
