By Kelly Multerer
NORTHERN MICHIGAN – Here we are, once again at that moment in time when we are saying goodbye to summer and all those glorious days enjoying the water and the sun, and now anticipating the cooler weather and landscape transformation.
Yes, fall, one of a deer hunter’s most coveted times of year. Many summer days have been spent planting trails on our land, scouting new spots, dreaming of this time. The smell of a crisp fall day is a mixture of fading ferns and leaves mingled with the musty scent of moss and earth.
Sounds of early morning shots echo along the river from duck and goose hunters seeking migrating waterfowl. The lingering fog that hangs low in the air diffusing the sun’s rays casts a mystical hue. All these smells, sounds and sights plant you easily into fall.
Along with this planting comes the excitement of pursuing the mighty whitetail. The freezer is empty of the previous year’s harvest, and store meat prices give us one more reason to harvest, like we really needed another.
Our spots for archery opener have been selected based on wind direction. Mother Nature has a way of making sure you know she is in charge, so you make sure you have options.
Through the night I have several false wakes before it is time to get up and moving. My best friend and hunting mentor (aka my husband), compares this to the night before Christmas as a young boy.
The excitement is hard to contain, but I’ve got it all planned out. My clothes and gear have been placed strategically so I can get out the door quickly and with confidence that I have everything I need.
I’m ready to go.
Dang. My license! I run to my jewelry box and pull my combo tags from the bottom drawer. I purchased them back in April when I got my fishing license and purposely stashed them in this spot to remember where I put them.
My licenses placed in the front pocket of my waist pack, I gather my bow and head out. I walk with my headlamp off, enjoying the calm and still the dark provides. Purposefully, I make my way down the trail to where I set up my climbing tree stand.
As I walk, I listen and step softly, trying not to make extra noise. I am sure I sound like a freight train, yet I do my best to be stealthy.
My morning hunting spot is up in an oak. This oak is just the right size, and the bark welcomes my slow and steady ascent to the key height. My outline is camouflaged by a black spruce, and there is an opening to a well-used trail at 25 yards, just right to catch a deer walking through.
I attach my safety harness to the belt on the tree and cinch down the seat with the strap. I then begin pulling up my bow. I need to remind myself to take it easy, pull even and smoothly. I don’t want it to swing and knock into nearby branches.
Once my bow is in hand, I nock an arrow, draw back and aim at a spot while mentally following through with a shot. Slowly I let down, depress the drop-away rest and place my bow in the holder. I now sit and try to be still, calm my breathing and listen.
It is glorious to experience the waking of a day. As the sun begins its rise, so does the activity of the critters in the woods. As I strain to hear footsteps of deer, there are so many other sounds. On a calm day, the release and landing of a single maple leaf is amazingly loud.
The abrupt screech of a recently arrived blue jay shatters the calm. Then a tree frog speaks up with several chirps. A beaver splashes, as it swims in the channel it created to maneuver trees to its dam.
Beaver … my eyes find the poplar tree with a couple chomps out of the base. Didn’t it suit his taste or was he interrupted by me bringing my stand in or by a wolf seeking her favorite meal?
I am amazed by these industrious animals. They are fun to watch, but they have been cursed by many who have had to unplug a culvert time after time or by a landowner who finds their young grove of poplar harvested for the beaver’s lodge and dam.
That dam now provides a well-used passage for deer. In my perch I can easily monitor this spot in hope that a mature white-tailed uses it while I go unnoticed.
Suddenly, I hear leaves softly crunch underfoot. My senses perk up, my ears straining to hear that next step. Yes, another and then nothing. My eyes scan the area as I gently pick up my bow and try to pick out a flick of a tail, a wiggle of an ear.
Nothing.
Then … another step.
Yes, it must be a deer.
Is it that monster that the neighbors have on their trail camera?
Another step.
The brush is thick, but I continue to scan for any movement. It is not that confounded squirrel. He is up and to the right, keeping watch on this human in his oak.
These steps are coming from where a smart, old buck would come. My heart is beating faster in anticipation and then … flutter, flutter, flutter, the flight of a ruffed grouse.
Dang, you little bugger, you got me!
I smile to myself.
This is what it is all about. You never know what you will see, hear, experience. Time spent being still and watching the woods come alive is healing, settling, a soothing balm.
Oh, there are the “woot, woot, purr” sounds of the grouse as they meander through, pecking at the ground. Then I notice Mr. Squirrel caching a mushroom on a spruce limb. After seeing them do this, I realize there are mushrooms cached on limbs all over the area. He goes from one limb to another, picks up a mushroom, takes a few nibbles, sets it down and travels to the next and repeats. So cool! He does give me the side eye, probably thinking I am competition for his bounty.
And so it goes. I may not have encountered that buck this sit, but there is beauty and wonder in every moment if you just be still, observe and soak it in.
