February's confusion continues and the springlike 60 degrees and sunny skies are begging me into the woods...I decide on a 40 acre tract that I haven't hunted in years. Maybe today will be my day to find a trophy...headgear shed from some gnarly old buck. Amazing how much the property has changed since I last tromped here. The newly dug pond with just a trickle of water has grown into a full lake, surrounded by cattails and blow downs. The ash trees that were just saplings have turned into logs...At the edge of the trees I find a likely looking trail and make my way in. It all comes back, all familiar, just a little more age...I wind my way along the trail and take notice of the deer tracks littering the ground. Evidence of turkeys, too. I come upon a giant old shagbark, blown down in some unknown wind storm. The black and char reveal a victim of a lightning strike. It's sad to think of how many winters the old tree had seen and now it will be nothing more than dirt... I make my way over the enormous trunk and continue on the path...
Down a steep hillside and across the creek. I scramble up the other side towards an old cedar thicket where the bucks used to bed...hopefully I'll find some horn in there. I scan the hillside looking for a prize, but no luck. The cedars are thick with green, almost dark inside them. I take a moment, a deep breath...it's fresh, clean smelling unlike the rest of the earthy smelling woods with its damp, decaying maples, oaks and hickories on the forest floor. Time to trek on...
I follow the ridge top trail to a behemoth of a red oak. It's a perfect location...the intersection of a four way stop used by 100's of deer over the decades. A natural ambush point... I glance up at the remnants of my old perch, scabbed together from 2x4's and pieces of a pallet balanced on a trunk sized limb. A few stubborn boards have hung on over the years, but most have long since rotted away. I can still make out a few nails that the tree has long since absorbed and can almost hear the pounding of the hammer strikes from so many years ago...I kick the debris away from it's base and have myself a seat. The years come rushing back and I'm 18 again when I close my eyes...A young hunter, greener than green, full of anticipation, a real nimrod. I grin as I remember my time up this tree. The things I had seen, the experiences she gave me, the lessons learned...18 again...I think of the thoughts of an 18 year old and what must have went through my head perched up there all those years ago. The missed opportunities, the chances not taken...and the smile of a teenager crosses the face of a 43 year old man...
I rub my sore knee and shake my head at the frustration of age and get back to my feet...I've sat long enough. I rest my hand on the old oak and am grateful for the reminiscing...time to move on and see where the path will lead.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
A morning shoot...
A heavy frost and a bite in the air...The sun is bright for once this winter with a blue bird sky as its rays feel warm against his back as he steps back and forth to fight the chill while he waits his turn to enter the timber and take his shots. A dad notices the youngster throws a larger shadow than he should and shakes his head as he wonders where the time has went...
The dozens of boots that went in before have turned the semi frozen trail into a soupy mess of mud. He slips and slides into the shade of the trees and a shiver as the distinct temperature drop becomes evident hidden away from the sun. He spies his quarry and takes aim...intense, burning focus...right behind the shoulder. Draw, exhale, release in one fluid, graceful motion...thump as the brightly fletched green and white arrow connects with the target...The rest of the morning is a repeat of the first shot as multitudes of animals; deer, caribou, elk, bear and hogs fall prey to his arrows as the older archers take notice of the boy and his recurve...
The finale, a grapefruit sized ten ring on a plastic bobcat some 35 yards distant...calm as can be, a real cool customer...bow arm canted, shoulders tense as he pulls 45 pounds of stored energy back to the corner of his mouth...anchor, smooth release as the cedar missile cuts a path through the air and archs towards its target...the satisfying thud of wood striking foam...No sights, no range finder, no unnatural calculations...just the sinewy muscles of a gangly teenager and the primitive, instinctive part of the brain taking over from hours of muscle memory...the older set again takes notice as the boy's chest seems a little wider and his shoulders a little more broad and upright...A heartfelt handshake and "great shot" from another gentleman bowhunter and in an instant, the kid's voice even sounds more mature, deeper, almost manly as he replies a humble "thanks"...
And the dad steps back and let's the teen stand a little taller, a little stronger, a little more independent and dad thinks to himself that he's done something right as he grins a smile of satisfaction...
The dozens of boots that went in before have turned the semi frozen trail into a soupy mess of mud. He slips and slides into the shade of the trees and a shiver as the distinct temperature drop becomes evident hidden away from the sun. He spies his quarry and takes aim...intense, burning focus...right behind the shoulder. Draw, exhale, release in one fluid, graceful motion...thump as the brightly fletched green and white arrow connects with the target...The rest of the morning is a repeat of the first shot as multitudes of animals; deer, caribou, elk, bear and hogs fall prey to his arrows as the older archers take notice of the boy and his recurve...
The finale, a grapefruit sized ten ring on a plastic bobcat some 35 yards distant...calm as can be, a real cool customer...bow arm canted, shoulders tense as he pulls 45 pounds of stored energy back to the corner of his mouth...anchor, smooth release as the cedar missile cuts a path through the air and archs towards its target...the satisfying thud of wood striking foam...No sights, no range finder, no unnatural calculations...just the sinewy muscles of a gangly teenager and the primitive, instinctive part of the brain taking over from hours of muscle memory...the older set again takes notice as the boy's chest seems a little wider and his shoulders a little more broad and upright...A heartfelt handshake and "great shot" from another gentleman bowhunter and in an instant, the kid's voice even sounds more mature, deeper, almost manly as he replies a humble "thanks"...
And the dad steps back and let's the teen stand a little taller, a little stronger, a little more independent and dad thinks to himself that he's done something right as he grins a smile of satisfaction...
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Need
Down time...I guess there is something to be said for having down time. Most people enjoy it. But for someone whose mind never seems to be at ease...there's not much good to say about down time, especially when it's forced on you.
February is forced down time for me. It's a middle, a no man's land, boring. Too far removed from the joy of the holidays and not quite close enough to the new of spring... Sure, I can hunt for shed antlers or maybe even try my hand at predator calling, but it just not the same as being in a tree, watching and waiting, listening. Being part of nature..I suppose the silver lining is that it's only 28 days of seasonal pergatory...During a normal February, at least there's some snow, some cold, some chill to go along with the beauty of winter...Not so this season. Gray, damp, lifeless...sunless, rain, clouds...
I find myself craving the outdoors, longing for my time in the woods. I look forward to walks through the winter and my dormant hunting grounds and this "forced" down time doesn't sit well with me. I can bend my bow, fletch some arrows, read, write, but it all draws me back to my need of the outside...
This wet, dank, dark February forces me to be a captive to the indoor life and I want the freedom of my treestand and the deer trails...I want to hunt! To sit motionless, to feel the breeze...I need that outlet...that escape from the everyday February with it's hearts and chocolates and cards and Presidents Day...I need to be set free...
February is forced down time for me. It's a middle, a no man's land, boring. Too far removed from the joy of the holidays and not quite close enough to the new of spring... Sure, I can hunt for shed antlers or maybe even try my hand at predator calling, but it just not the same as being in a tree, watching and waiting, listening. Being part of nature..I suppose the silver lining is that it's only 28 days of seasonal pergatory...During a normal February, at least there's some snow, some cold, some chill to go along with the beauty of winter...Not so this season. Gray, damp, lifeless...sunless, rain, clouds...
I find myself craving the outdoors, longing for my time in the woods. I look forward to walks through the winter and my dormant hunting grounds and this "forced" down time doesn't sit well with me. I can bend my bow, fletch some arrows, read, write, but it all draws me back to my need of the outside...
This wet, dank, dark February forces me to be a captive to the indoor life and I want the freedom of my treestand and the deer trails...I want to hunt! To sit motionless, to feel the breeze...I need that outlet...that escape from the everyday February with it's hearts and chocolates and cards and Presidents Day...I need to be set free...
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Solitude...
I'm not anti-social...Far from it, just the opposite. I'm an extrovert of the highest degree that thrives on being the center of attention and I tend to be a know-it-all and always want to have the last word. I enjoy the company of others and spirited debate and discussion on just about anything. But, when it comes to my time in the woods...that's a different story...I'm alone, but never lonely.
When I'm alone, when it's just me and the elements and nature, that's when some of my best conversations take place...my mind never stops, but it does slow in the trees and I feel myself melting into the woods. I find out who I am when I'm perched up a red oak or leaned against an old stump over looking a deer trail. I get to know myself, all of me and my thoughts...some good, some not. I can't find it on a golf course or in the gym or at a movie or even if I'm rabbit hunting with a group of buddies...most of the time, I like being with me and who I've discovered. There's almost something religious about being out here. Cold, hot, wet or dry, fall or winter...Doesn't matter if I bring home antlers or meat... It does something for my soul...it's cleansing and it washes the everyday away. After an evening's hunt, I never go home empty handed. I've gained something each time...a new sight, a new sound, a new experience. A new memory, a new story...I've added to "me" and who I am and I'm better for it...
There's something to be said for camaraderie, shared experiences and time around a campfire with family and friends...I enjoy the back slapping and laughter, the story telling and suspense with others, but it all fails in comparison to the communion I have with nature when it's just me and my woods..."In solitude, we are least alone"...Lord Bryon-1824
When I'm alone, when it's just me and the elements and nature, that's when some of my best conversations take place...my mind never stops, but it does slow in the trees and I feel myself melting into the woods. I find out who I am when I'm perched up a red oak or leaned against an old stump over looking a deer trail. I get to know myself, all of me and my thoughts...some good, some not. I can't find it on a golf course or in the gym or at a movie or even if I'm rabbit hunting with a group of buddies...most of the time, I like being with me and who I've discovered. There's almost something religious about being out here. Cold, hot, wet or dry, fall or winter...Doesn't matter if I bring home antlers or meat... It does something for my soul...it's cleansing and it washes the everyday away. After an evening's hunt, I never go home empty handed. I've gained something each time...a new sight, a new sound, a new experience. A new memory, a new story...I've added to "me" and who I am and I'm better for it...
There's something to be said for camaraderie, shared experiences and time around a campfire with family and friends...I enjoy the back slapping and laughter, the story telling and suspense with others, but it all fails in comparison to the communion I have with nature when it's just me and my woods..."In solitude, we are least alone"...Lord Bryon-1824
Monday, February 6, 2012
A February Walk
Mid 40's and it's almost balmy...Something just doesn't feel right. It's supposed to be February... Normally, we'd be locked in the coldest part of a Southern Indiana winter with snow, ice and wind chill...It should be a time for ice augers on the ponds, busting open the dog's water and 2 hour delays...
It almost seems awkward in the woods. The field edges squish like a wet sponge with every step of my boot. The grass and clover on the south facing slopes are confused as new growth shoots out from under the leaf litter towards the sunlight. Even the saplings and small shrubs have their calendars wrong as buds have appeared on their limbs...It's unusually quiet...too quiet except for the crunching of leaves under foot. No song birds, no deer...The wood seems dead as I make my way through the thicket hoping to find a shed antler or two.
There's plenty of evidence that the deer were here as their tracks cover the open trails in the mud. The forest floor in the hardwoods has been swept clean by flocks of marauding turkeys looking for a meal and the small leaf mounds give up the location where the squirrels and chipmunks have hidden their acorns and hickories. I find the remains of a coyote's dinner from last night and it looks like the song dog had a taste for rabbit...but still, the woods is lifeless today. Off in the distance, I hear a pileated woodpecker pounding out his beat against some tree deep in the holler. All is still, not a breath of wind...
I crunch and slip my way along an old logging road and pass by an old stand and pause...I remember each hunt from that tree and the memories put a grin on my face as 20 years seems like yesterday. The sun pours in through the branches and something bright catches my eye. Something out of place...a shed antler from last year, bleached bone white by months of sun and elements, gnawed nearly in two by mice and squirrels. Not the trophy I had hoped for, but not going home empty handed. I collect my prize and make my way towards the field. A noise to my right and a squirrel appears on s stump, 10 yards away, fat and sassy from the mild winter. We have a stare down for several seconds and I count coup on the busytail as I draw my imaginary bow and send an arrow his way. I trek on and crest a rise in the field and a lone turkey races away from me and jumps to flight, seeking safety in the tree line. His beard hangs like a short rope and I smile again at the reminder that spring is just a few weeks away and if all goes well, tom and I will meet again in the green woods...
It almost seems awkward in the woods. The field edges squish like a wet sponge with every step of my boot. The grass and clover on the south facing slopes are confused as new growth shoots out from under the leaf litter towards the sunlight. Even the saplings and small shrubs have their calendars wrong as buds have appeared on their limbs...It's unusually quiet...too quiet except for the crunching of leaves under foot. No song birds, no deer...The wood seems dead as I make my way through the thicket hoping to find a shed antler or two.
There's plenty of evidence that the deer were here as their tracks cover the open trails in the mud. The forest floor in the hardwoods has been swept clean by flocks of marauding turkeys looking for a meal and the small leaf mounds give up the location where the squirrels and chipmunks have hidden their acorns and hickories. I find the remains of a coyote's dinner from last night and it looks like the song dog had a taste for rabbit...but still, the woods is lifeless today. Off in the distance, I hear a pileated woodpecker pounding out his beat against some tree deep in the holler. All is still, not a breath of wind...
I crunch and slip my way along an old logging road and pass by an old stand and pause...I remember each hunt from that tree and the memories put a grin on my face as 20 years seems like yesterday. The sun pours in through the branches and something bright catches my eye. Something out of place...a shed antler from last year, bleached bone white by months of sun and elements, gnawed nearly in two by mice and squirrels. Not the trophy I had hoped for, but not going home empty handed. I collect my prize and make my way towards the field. A noise to my right and a squirrel appears on s stump, 10 yards away, fat and sassy from the mild winter. We have a stare down for several seconds and I count coup on the busytail as I draw my imaginary bow and send an arrow his way. I trek on and crest a rise in the field and a lone turkey races away from me and jumps to flight, seeking safety in the tree line. His beard hangs like a short rope and I smile again at the reminder that spring is just a few weeks away and if all goes well, tom and I will meet again in the green woods...
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
I used to be Superman...
It wasn't all that long ago that I could move mountains and leap tall buildings in a single bound...I was strong and incredibly fast in her eyes. If it was broken, I could fix it. If there was a problem, I could solve it. No task was too tough...yep, a real Superman.
In what seems like the blink of an eye, Superman was struck by kryptonite and my powers faded fast...It came in the form of ballgames and driver's license, boyfriends and girl talk, texting and sleep overs, sports and homework and camps and cars and part-time jobs. It came in the form of time, zooming past, faster than a speeding bullet...
But come November, a little bit of Superman comes back in her eyes and I get to put the "S" on my chest for 2 or 3 days in the woods with her. She sees me in my element and that spark of the outdoors still flickers in her. Regardless of the weather, warm or cold, you'll find us bundled up, 20' up a tree over an ancient trail, rutted into the dirt...Watching, waiting and whispering...Not much talking, but there doesn't need to be. Everything that needs to be said between us has been as we've played this game each fall. The breeze blows against us and we settle back in our seats for our ritual. Eventually, I'll feel her head rest against my shoulder. Her breathing becomes deep and soon, she's drifted off, dead weight against me and I'll smile...I turn to the right and watch her as she cat naps and my mind races back to the little strawberry blond girl walking into kindergarten for the first time, her backpack bouncing up and down...eyes well up and a lump in the throat as I grin from the satisfaction and the privilege of watching her grow.
A twig snaps and the leaves crunch...I nudge her awake with my elbow and she's at the ready. Both of our hearts beating out of our chests and our breath quickens! Just a few more steps, safety off, finger on the trigger...
Yeah, my super powers have long since left, but I'm content just being her Dad...and so is she.
In what seems like the blink of an eye, Superman was struck by kryptonite and my powers faded fast...It came in the form of ballgames and driver's license, boyfriends and girl talk, texting and sleep overs, sports and homework and camps and cars and part-time jobs. It came in the form of time, zooming past, faster than a speeding bullet...
But come November, a little bit of Superman comes back in her eyes and I get to put the "S" on my chest for 2 or 3 days in the woods with her. She sees me in my element and that spark of the outdoors still flickers in her. Regardless of the weather, warm or cold, you'll find us bundled up, 20' up a tree over an ancient trail, rutted into the dirt...Watching, waiting and whispering...Not much talking, but there doesn't need to be. Everything that needs to be said between us has been as we've played this game each fall. The breeze blows against us and we settle back in our seats for our ritual. Eventually, I'll feel her head rest against my shoulder. Her breathing becomes deep and soon, she's drifted off, dead weight against me and I'll smile...I turn to the right and watch her as she cat naps and my mind races back to the little strawberry blond girl walking into kindergarten for the first time, her backpack bouncing up and down...eyes well up and a lump in the throat as I grin from the satisfaction and the privilege of watching her grow.
The best daughter a Dad could hope for! |
Yeah, my super powers have long since left, but I'm content just being her Dad...and so is she.
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