Special programming

 --We interrupt this blog to bring you a special bulletin.  Doug's virtual hunting season is still in progress; he's visualizing being 'in camp,' and continues to reminisce.  In lieu of regular programming therefore, we bring you some items he has transmitted from his achieves.

Regularly scheduled programming may (or may not) return next week.  

Hello, thank you for your continued patience as I spend a little time away from it all, so to speak. I hope you're in the mood for a little reading today.  I have provided something for you that I wrote almost 20 years ago. (Hard to believe.) Some photos follow that relate to my essay.

The opening day of the firearms deer season was always anticipated with great pleasure. The following shares one of them.    

 Opening Day

 As we crested the highest point on Twin Hills Road in the pre-dawn darkness, and I felt the sort of turbulence which one might feel on an aircraft, I realized that it did almost seem as though I was flying over the landscape of Gourley Township.  This may have been because I was riding high up in Fred’s big 4-wheel drive pickup. My head was ‘in the clouds’ compared to its usual position when I’m driving our own Suzuki subcompact.  At that point too, we were passing a Christmas tree farm, and the rolling acres of 24-inch-tall trees that stretched off into the dark valleys on both sides of the road made it easy to imagine that we were hundreds of feet in the air and making the approach to our base camp in the wilderness. 

 On most days, this back road we were taking to my land was infrequently traveled.  Any other morning at 5:30 I could have driven its length without seeing a soul, but today, the opening day of the firearms deer season in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, the red taillights of other hunters heading into the woods dotted the road in front of us.  How odd that the very day that started my annual week of ‘getting away from it all’ would begin by falling into line with a steady stream of so many others who were also getting away.  Still, I felt better as we neared our turnoff into the fields, hardwoods and cedar swamps that formed my 130 acres; the line of vehicles that had made up our convoy had dwindled as the others pulled off into dozens of other side roads and lanes and disappeared.   Soon, Fred turned in to my 20-acre ‘big field’, parked the truck near the apple tree that marks the edge of that particular ‘40’, and turned off the engine.  We sat for just a minute or so without saying a word, letting our eyes adjust to the darkness before we left the truck, shouldered our gear, and began the hike into our respective blinds.

 

Our day had actually started much earlier.  My brother-in-law Fred and I are well into our fifties now, but at least a part of our psyches must still be 13 years old.  I had set my alarm clock for 4:00 a.m., but I was awake a good hour earlier, and must have looked at the clock a dozen times as I waited patiently for it to work its way round to “morning.”  I could tell that Fred too had been watching the clock by the way he answered instantly when I knocked on his bedroom door.  That was OK.  We didn’t discuss our opening morning jitters, but we both grinned and shook hands and went about the ritual of the first day. 

 The ritual starts by brewing up pots of coffee.  Extra-premium coffee that was roasted just days before at one of those trendy coffee shops in St. Paul and brought to us each hunting season by Fred and McKenzie, the most generous guests any host could ever wish for.  The beans are dark black, with a shiny, oily look that shouts flavor.  We grind them ourselves and the smell that rises from the coffee maker as it begins to fill the pot says, “This is the Only way to start a deer hunt.” 

Years ago, when I first started hunting, I would start the day by having a big breakfast of meat, toast, and eggs.  I’d then drive to my land, put on overalls and parka, and hoist up my day pack, rifle, lantern, binoculars, extra ammo and my 2-quart thermos of coffee.  I’d then hike through the woods to my deer blind.  By the time I arrived, I’d be wringing wet from my exertions and from the 1,000 calories I had consumed for breakfast.  I would soon start to shiver as I sat steaming and cooling in my blind and the cold of the morning began to make itself felt. 

 The ritual, these days therefore, consists of making sandwiches of our breakfast entrees.  I make toast, generally of either Italian or potato bread, and then heap on bacon, sausages, or even side pork now and then.  A couple hard fried eggs come next and finally, some cheese.  Usually pepper-jack.  I think of these as cholesterol bombs and I bag and stash them, piping hot, in our day packs.  These beauties will be eaten once we make the trip into our deer blinds. 

 As Fred and I prepared to head into the woods that day, other changes in my ritual were observed.  Instead of putting on that warmest overalls and parka and carrying the rest of my gear, I put on only a light zippered hoodie, and shouldered my daypack and rifle.  Everything else had been taken to my blind in the days leading up to the opener.  I didn’t usually even wear gloves because I knew that once we started hiking in, or more accurately stated, once Fred began hiking and I began jogging, (They don't call him Fast Fred for nothing) I’d soon be a little warm, even dressed as lightly as I was.  The adrenaline pumping through our veins meant that our internal furnaces were set on high. Bare hands allowed me another means of shedding unwanted heat. 

 But not all the changes to my ritual had been positive. Since my early days of hunting, 70 acres of fields which had been owned by other non-hunting family members, and which had allowed me to drive my car to less than a quarter mile from my hunting blind, had been sold. Instead of hiking a few hundred yards on a wide trail, I now walked about a half mile and had to approach my deer blind from across a cedar swamp.  Not an easy thing to do in the pre-dawn darkness.  At this point in the morning, part of me envied Fred whose blind was one of my newer ones and had been placed on the edge of the field almost within sight of his truck.

 Still, once I had made it to my blind, I knew I could settle into my routine and savor the beginning of the day's hunt.

 

In the present again at the truck, Fred and I eased the doors shut and started the walk into the darkness. We wore headlamps that we used when moonlight was not sufficient to light our way. Fred generally led the way, and he was the one who kept his headlamp turned on, set to a minimum beam, and positioned to light just a few steps ahead of us. I found that I could see well enough with just his light so I didn't need to use mine. We felt our rule should be, 'the less light the better.'

 In about five minutes, we had reached Fred's blind, nicknamed The Notch. We again shook hands and in whispers wished each other luck. He circled around to the back, entered through the canvas tarp that served as a door and began setting up.

 I always felt a bit of thrill at this moment. Despite my regrets about the sale of the other forties, I had to admit that I didn't really mind now having to start this longer stage of my walk. To me, hunting is a solitary pursuit. I greatly enjoyed hosting family and friends at our home, our deer-camp comradery, and the companionship while heading into the woods. But my hunt itself had to be solitary. I had heard stories of great deer drives of the past where groups headed for the swamps. The drivers and the shooters. I would shudder at such a thought. What I needed at that time of year was to move into the forest as gently as I was able, and, using my blind as my vehicle, to disappear. 

 To get to my blind, I would first walk to the upper left end of the 'Y' -shaped field in which Fred hunted. I rarely turned on my headlamp while in the field.  I'd then turn left, enter the woods, and soon do the swamp crossing. For that the headlamp was a necessity. I'd be under the dense cover of the trees, and it was impossible to see.

 Years earlier, when I realized that I would soon have to start crossing the swamp to hunt, I studied the area and found a narrow neck that allowed me to move through it easily. I did some brush clearing and soon had a very passable trail. The biggest problem was a twenty-foot-wide area of deep mud and some open water that could be 12 inches deep, even in the summer. I felled several trees along the edge of this area, cut the logs to length and used them to make a very rough sort of bridge. It was no more than layers of logs laid over one another, but it allowed me to cross the water and gain the higher ground that marked the forty where my blind was located.  Once across the swamp, I had a choice of trails that I could use to take me to my blind. I used both during the summer when I was hiking for pleasure, but for the purpose of the hunt, I always chose the one that approached my blind from the north and not from the west, the direction of the prevailing winds. That, I felt, gave me the best chance to avoid spooking deer with my scent.

 To further give me an edge against the senses of the deer, I had also for years raked the north trail free of leaves for the last 50 yards before my blind. That was probably silly, but I didn't care. To me, any little preparation I wanted to make before the season was pleasurable and that made it worthwhile. And each morning during the hunt when I reached the point on the trail where my raking started, and what little noise I had been making as I walked disappeared, I congratulated myself again on my foresight. 

 My blind was perfectly situated. It was on a little knoll. The trail rose up to it from the north. My baiting station was 100 yards directly south of it and probably ten feet lower in elevation. This allowed me to approach and enter my blind without the deer being able to see me at all. The openings through which I filmed, watched, and shot the deer were covered when I was not in the blind. Over the years, I had more than once entered and found deer already busy at my offerings of molasses or carrots or apples.

 My blind had started out at just 25 square feet, and I called it the Hunting-40 Blind. It got the job done during those early years even with such modest dimensions. After a while though, I decided that I wanted more room. I used living trees to form the outline of a nine by twelve-foot addition. I had just replaced my old two-car garage door at my home, so I had some ready materials that I used for the roof.

 I now had it all. Plenty of space to store extra bait, to stand up and stretch when I got tired of sitting or to even lay out flat on the ground for a short rest. The ultimate touch of luxury had to be an old microwave oven. No, there was no power, I just chiseled out a couple of slots in a nearby cedar post and pushed it's plug prongs into that. Nice touch, I thought. I used it to store food items like granola bars and a couple of extra pb&j sandwiches. It protected them against the squirrels that would chew through almost anything to reach food.

 As I approached my blind that opening morning, I took off my headlamp. I preferred to hold it in my hand and keep its beam directed straight down, the less light the better. My blind's door was a couple of layers of canvas and only about 5 feet high. I bent down, pushed the fabric aside and entered. Everything was as I expected and hoped it would be. Once in the past, I had had a surprise upon reaching my blind. I found that a bear had visited it, no doubt sniffing around inside, and had rolled my then empty microwave out the door and down the trail about 10 feet. It was no worse for wear, so I hauled it back inside, placed it back on its shelf, and continued using it.  I was glad this morning that there were no surprises.  

 I now opened the sheet of canvas that separated the old portion of my blind from the new and tied it to one side. I loaded my rifle, double checked its safety, and set it in its spot in front and to the right of my shooting chair. I had a twelve-inch-deep shelf that ran across the width of the original part of the blind. It acted as a combination table and bench-rest. I laid out my binoculars. I hung my daypack on a nail driven into the cedar post that was the corner post for the right side of that section of blind. I now took out and inserted a freshly charged battery into my video-camera that I had left in my blind on its tripod overnight. I carried a backup battery as well. The camera was already positioned and focused to record the scene at my bait pile once I opened the hinged panel covering the camera opening in the front of the blind. Next, I started the Mr. Heater in the corner. I had originally wondered if the odor of the heater might spook the deer, but this did not seem to be the case. I thought about it. My blind was situated 100 yards due north of the baiting area. The prevailing winds were from the west. Therefore, my scent should blow off to the east and not make it down to a deer at the bait, even without the heater. The heater might actually improve my chances of being undetected, since the heat escaping from the top of my blind would carry any scent rapidly upwards, making it doubly unlikely that my activities within the blind would alert my prey. I reached to my right and untied the rope holding my canvas divider open. My ‘shooting room’ would now stay warmer than it would if I had tried to heat the entire blind.

 I was just about ready for my day of watching. First though, I would eat breakfast. It was in the daypack I had hung to the right of my shelf. I got out the big sandwich and noticed that it still held a little warmth. I also got out my thermos and poured a large mug of steaming apple juice. Fred carried two thermoses of coffee, but I had come to prefer this drink in the blind. With all in readiness, I no longer needed my headlamp on, even on the lowest setting. I turned it off.

 I was ready. It was pitch black within my blind and still full dark in the woods beyond it. I would eat and drink and pass the time in darkness while my portion of the world slowly turned to meet the sun.

 This was my favorite time of the morning's ritual. In total darkness, eating and drinking filled my senses in a way that it normally didn't. There were no other distractions. I felt a comforting warmth as my stomach reacted to the first food of the day.

 After I finished, I sat and waited for the light to arrive. I usually had about 15 minutes before I decided it was time to raise the panels over both my camera and rifle openings. My Mr. Heater was giving off only the faintest blue glow and experience told me that this was not enough light to alert the deer that might soon start arriving at the bait.

 I was still dressed only in my light hunting outfit. It consisted of high-tech moisture-wicking underwear, wool pants, my favorite long-sleeved camo-pattern hunting shirt, a blaze-orange hoodie and now that I had finished all my tasks, a pair of matching light-weight gloves. Michigan law stated that blaze orange outerwear must be worn even while inside a hunting blind. I thought that such a rule was a bit ridiculous but complied.

 Even with the heater on, if temperatures were low enough, I would add another layer of clothing if I began to feel the cold. I had blaze-orange camo overalls and a parka put away in a hanging duffle bag. To this protection, I could further add a hat, heavy duty insulated mitts and even a face mask if the wind really got nasty. I was truly ready for the worst that the weather could throw at me. Since I bought the Mr. Heater though, I rarely had to resort to full protective gear. 

 My personal preference was to spend the entire day in my blind. I didn't want to miss a moment of opportunity and this plan had proven a wise one some years earlier. Toward midday an eight-pointer suddenly walked across my baiting area, intent, I think, on following the scent of a doe. Since there were some yearlings feeding and playing around the bait at the time, I was recording their fun when he appeared, but I was otherwise unprepared.

 At that moment, I had my chair leaned back against the rear wall of the blind and was busy eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I had a cup of hot apple juice in my other hand. When I saw him, I sat my chair quickly upright, set down my food, grabbed my rifle, took off the safety, and shot him, just as he reached the limit of my sightline. It had taken no more than eight seconds. If I had gone home for lunch that day, I would not have harvested my first trophy buck.

 When Fred hunted with me though, we did things a little differently. I knew that he preferred to stretch his legs around noon and so we headed home for lunch each day. We had purchased two-way radios that allowed us to communicate with each other. We were 'Buck 1' and 'Buck 2', and over the years made frequent use of the radios when either of us shot a deer and wanted help hauling it out, or when we needed to coordinate leaving for lunch or at the end of the day. What good times those were.

 I was always surprised that my solitary days in the blind would pass so easily. I would spend up to eleven hours out there after all, but I loved it. Every moment carried the possibility of a harvestable deer showing up. And there were other distractions. Squirrels were common and seemed to make a terrific racket when they would run across the aluminum roof of my blind. Over the years, I also saw flocks of turkeys walk by, and once a mother bear and two cubs. I saw a hawk dive and kill a squirrel that was eating an apple on my bait pile. I often saw ruffed grouse and one day, a snowy owl sat on a branch along the edge of my shooting lane. Canada geese often flew over. Some days it might rain or snow, while others, tiny bugs of some sort would dance in the sunbeams and amuse me.

 And I had my headset radio. I especially enjoyed Saturdays, because then I could listen to Bill Moore's, The Outspoken Sportsman at 8 a.m.  Each hunting season, he would play an audio tape he had made of one of his hunts. In a whisper, he described his opening day as it had happened and culminated in shooting a ten-point buck. What a delightful thing to listen to as I sat and waited for my own opportunity. Rush Limbaugh came on at 11 a.m. five days a week. He would keep me entertained for three hours. During that time of day too, the temperatures often rose, and I would shed any outer layers that I might have added earlier. Truth be told, it was during this part of the day that a series of mini naps might occur as I leaned back in my chair.

 Once Rush was done, it was time for me to put away my radio, shake off any residual sleepiness, and get ready for the afternoon. The temperatures would now start falling and the chances of deer coming in would increase all afternoon. From 3 pm onward, it was prime time. It would be full dark by 5 pm. Often, I would now replace my camera battery. I took no chances. One year, when I was hosting my friend Lee’s son, Isaac, in my blind, hoping to get him his first deer, we almost had a catastrophe. My battery showed only minutes of power left when he was finally able to pull the trigger and harvest his first doe. I bought a second battery the next day and from then on, charged both every night.

 My method of hunting from a blind over a bait pile never seemed to me to be true hunting. I was harvesting deer, but this was fine with me. And the hours I spent in my blind were not so much hunting, as they were watching. I talked about this at length in a story I wrote called, The Watcher. Further, I was not in the woods to prove anything, either to myself or others. My purpose was not to kill the buck with the biggest rack and show myself better than other men. My purpose was to escape for a time the stresses at work and to harvest venison for our freezer. Even without the distractions, I would have enjoyed every day in the blind. I had many hours of quiet time and found more than enough time to consider many aspects of my life and sometimes to pray. One year, I did not even see a deer for five full days. The deer I harvested each year were icing on the cake. I think that the true benefit of my solitude and watching is an internal one that I will always carry with me.

 There is a slight breeze in the woods this morning. I have just opened both my filming and shooting panels and the cold air rushed in. Sometimes when it's warmer, I can smell the wet leaf odor that pervades the woods, but this morning, the temperature is about 20 degrees (F.) and there aren't many smells. That's fine. Preferrable really. The temperature is cool enough that the deer may still be moving and not yet ready to go to their bedding areas for the day. And it's warm enough that Mr. Heater will keep me toasty. I doubt that I'll have to break out the heavy clothing.

 I strain to see more clearly through the darkness to my bait pile, but I'm quite sure that there is nothing down there. If there were deer there, even now they would show up as indistinct light-colored blobs that would drift from place to place as they moved. Besides, the legal shooting time doesn't start for another 10 minutes.

 But, listen; there was the first shot of the day. Somebody couldn't wait. Then too, maybe the deer was in an open field where the lighting was much better. A very forgivable (in my book) act.  It was at the very limit of my hearing, and I couldn't tell the direction.

 As the light inside my blind increases, I pick up my rifle and sight through the scope. It's a Tasco 3 to 9 power and I have it set at about 6. The lenses are clean and clear and with the ever-increasing light, a deer coming in will now be sharp and defined. I put the gun back in its place and practice turning on the camera. It is firmly set in place and the focus is good. I repeat the rifle and camera drill several more times until I'm satisfied that when the time comes, I can react quickly and efficiently.

 My thoughts reach out across my acres of land. Friends Mike and Kim are no doubt also now in place in other blinds which I have on the next hill to the west. Mike is in The Annex today, which he and Kim built about halfway down my big field and Kim is in the 11-foot tall Butcher Shop, located at the end of the same field, which Fred and I built. They have radios too and we use the same frequency. Only The Door blind is vacant this morning. It stands not far from where the old Pigpen blind used to sit, before time claimed it and it sank into the tall grass surrounding it. 

 Now, I settle back into my chair and take a deep breath. This is it. The preparations, the day's rituals, the anticipation is over. Another opening day has started, and I am alone, where I love to be, invisible in the forest. I savor each moment. Just enough cold air blows in through the openings to keep me alert. I wait and I watch.                     -djf

 

A view of my deer blind from my baiting station on The Hunting 40. (If you're interested, you can read the side bar on this page under this same picture. 

A close up, showing the original blind in the center of the picture, with its watching and shooting window on the left and the filming window, on the right, and the addition, mostly obscured by greenery to the left of the original.  

The Notch, where Fred usually hunted.  

'The Door Blind,' in the fall.

The Door in the distance late in the season.  The Butcher Shop is on top on that hill on the far left. The Annex is on the far side of hill, about 100 yards to the right of the right edge of this picture.  The top of the hill is all open field. We rented it out to a farmer who alternated hay and corn crops.  

Part of the northern trail I would take to get to my deer blind during hunting season. 

Snowflakes start as this young buck walks by my pre-season camera.  

When I talked about crossing the swamp and entering my blind, this is what it looked like to me. It was taken on just such a morning.  

I wish I had a picture of my blind from this place.  It is located just to the left of this trail. We'd need to turn about 45 degrees to see it. This trail turns to the left up ahead and then continues to the end of our land, a couple of hundred yards from here.  

I'm working on the interior of The Notch, Fred's blind. 

This is the trail cam location that took the nighttime deer photos.

This is my baiting station.  The wood is placed as it is to force the deer to stand sideways to me while feeding, giving me the chance to make a perfect shot, dropping them many times, instantly.  

This was taken one afternoon, just before the season started. It's not my field, but it is near our land, and deer cover a wide area while feeding.  

Can you imagine the damage numbers of deer like this can do to a farmer's crops?  And there are no bucks out there. They are much more cautious, so this doesn't even represent the full herd.  

It's little wonder why some need to be culled, and a hunter's bullet is much quicker than winter starvation, coyotes or wolves are.

I don't know what your views on hunting are, but if you've read through my post, you have perhaps a little better idea of what hunting means to me.  I've been proud to be able to harvest venison efficiently, and provide my family with top-quality meat.     -djf

I still buy beef schnitzel every now and then here in Henderson and season up a batch of jerky, using the same recipe I did when I made it out of venison. It takes me back....