During the entirety of my first sixty years, when I faced south on any given day, I saw the Sun rise (if I looked) to my left, and traverse the sky to my right. For the last fourteen years, my experience has been just the opposite.
I now face north when I want to align myself with the Sun's arc, and it rises (each and every time) to my right and proceeds to my left. Clearly, I must have undergone a significant relocation. Well, I did. I moved from the Northern to the Southern Hemisphere.
Even after fourteen years though, I still feel slightly at odds with the seasons here. Back in my part of the USA, snow flurries have begun, which is normal for November, while here in New Zealand, our roses are at their peak. Because of this discrepancy, I find it comforting to reminisce a little every once in a while. And what better time to do so, than on November 15th, the opening day of the rifle deer season in Michigan.
To my family and friends who, upon reading this, might comment, "Hey, this post sounds an awful like one he's done in the past, what's up with that?" I reply as follows.
"You're absolutely right. There are striking similarities. However, last month 4,847 people clicked onto my blog, so for the great majority of people who read this, I'm guessing it will be new. I ask your indulgence."
Besides, I've just gone through it again and corrected a bunch of punctuation and grammatical errors that I hadn't noticed before, so it might read a little easier this time around. It's still kind of wordy, but give it a go.
(I'm providing it in a little larger font. I don't know about you, but my eyes aren't what they were.)
Opening Day
As we crested the highest point on the Twin-Hills Road
in the pre-dawn darkness, and I felt the sort of turbulence you might feel on a
plane, 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 and
that meant that my head was ‘in the clouds’ compared to its usual position of
just off the pavement, like it is when I’m driving my own economy-minded 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 our 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 from it all. 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 into 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 hiking into our respective blinds.
Our day had 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 8 years
old. I had set my alarm clock for 4:00,
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 instantly answered 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 breakfast of meat, potatoes and eggs. I’d then drive to my land, load myself up
with about 30 pounds of clothing, 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 got there, I’d be wringing wet
from my exertions and from the 2,000 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. Hard fried eggs come next and finally, some
cheese. Usually pepper-jack. I think of these as cholesterol bombs as I
bag them up 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 my warmest overalls and parka and carrying the
rest of my gear, I put on only a light zippered hoodie and shouldered my
day-pack 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, 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 have 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.
Once we were ready, Fred and I eased the truck doors
shut and started the walk into the darkness. We carried 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 on 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.
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| The Notch |
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. And 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 shuddered 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 that Fred hunted in. 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 tramped down. The biggest problem was a thirty-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.
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| Cutting cedar in the winter is by far the best time of year to do it. These were taken between Christmas and New Years. |
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 was pleasurable and that made the effort
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 and carrots or apples.
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| My "Hunting-40 Blind" |
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 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 wall post and pushed its 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 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 first opened the canvas sheet that separated the old
portion of my blind from the new and tied it to one side. I loaded my rifle and
set it in its spot in front and to the right of my shooting chair. I had a twelve-inch-wide
shelf that ran across the width of the original part of the blind. It acted as
a combination table and bench-rest in front of my chair. I laid out my
binoculars there. 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-cam 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 covered the camera opening in the front of the blind.
Next, I started the Mr. Heater in the corner of this 'shooting room'. I had
originally worried that 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 bait pile. The prevailing winds were from the west.
Therefore, my scent should blow off to the east and not make it down to the
deer at the bait pile, even without the heater. The heater should 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 over 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 intended to 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 now preferred 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
while my portion of the world turned ever closer to the sun. I would not need
any additional light until the rising sun slowly lit the forest.
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 my bait pile.
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 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 could 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
that I kept in the larger area of my blind outside my shooting room. 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 buying the Mr. Heater though, I seldom 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 was otherwise unprepared.
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 took no more than eight
seconds. If I had gone home for lunch that day, I would not have harvested my
first trophy buck.
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| Not the eight pointer I mentioned, but a nice deer. Body size was always more important to me than the rack. |
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 heading out 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 often
ran across my blind, making a terrific racket inside. 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 flew over often. 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 that opening day as it 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 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 fully
dark by 5 pm. Often I would now replace my camera battery. I took no chances.
One year, when I was hosting Isaac, my friend Lee's son, in my blind, hoping to get him his first
deer, my battery showed only minutes of power left when he was able to
pull the trigger and harvest his first doe. I bought a second battery the next
day and from them on, charged both every night.
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| In the field across from the "Notch." |
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. 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 was icing on the cake. I think that the true
benefit of my watching is an internal one that I will always carry with me.
 |
| I always thought that this deer looks fairly dumb. Rather goofy looking head gear (short tines) and an expression that says, 'duh.' Maybe it's the 'planted' front legs. |
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 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, there was the first shot of the
day. Somebody couldn't wait. Then too, maybe the deer was in an open field and
the lighting was better there. 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 30-06 rifle and sight through the scope. It's a Tasco 3 to 9 power and I have it set
at about 6. The lens is 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 efficiently.
 |
| A closer look at my blind, in better light. The left-hand slot is where I viewed and shot from, and the right hand-slot was my filming port. |
My thoughts reach out across my acres of land. Friends
Mike and Kim are no doubt now in place in other blinds I have on the next hill
to the west. Mike is in The Annex today, which he and Kim built
about half-way down my big field and Kim is in the 11-foot tall Butchershop,
located at its end, 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.
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| "The Butcher Shop" blind. Not a work of art, but quite effective. |
 |
| 'The Door' blind, so named because Fred and I built it from oak doors he salvaged from a mansion in St. Paul. |
I now settle back into my chair and take in 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.
I congratulate those of you who made it to this point.
I did this post mostly for myself. I enjoyed imagining myself once again in Michigan, and on a very special day. It was just what I needed. Now I'm ready to get back to summer in New Zealand. -djf
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