Into the Darkness

I should have known better, but the wind had been frigid and fierce all day - with only ten minutes of daylight remaining, my patience was tapped and I thought I might take a slow stroll through the pines back to the truck. 

As I descended the ladder I thought I heard a noise from the woods directly behind me. Halting my descent, I held my breath and turned my head towards the woods catching a faint flash of white as it disappeared into the darkness.

I don't know if it was a deer or delirium - what I do know is that tomorrow my resolve will not be shaken by a little wind. 

At Evening's Edge

When his boots hit the ground, the freshly fallen snow betrayed his presence with a slight crunch under foot. Pivoting from the ladder to the towline dangling from the stand he quietly unlatched his rifle, slinging it over his shoulder as his Mama descended the ladder behind him.

It was nearly 6pm, cloudy, and dusk was just beginning to set in around them. Restless from a day of hunting and with a slight and persistent mist in the air, Charlie coaxed his Mama from the tree, "We should go sit on the power lines."  Given Charlie's growing inability to sit still and the resulting cacophony of sound emanating from the old plywood stand, his Mama happily obliged. 

The power lines bisect the northern part of the property, stretching over a half-mile long and almost two-thirds of a football field wide- the perfect vantage for a boy and a rifle. Together they crossed the open expanse traveling southward up a slight hill to a stand of fallen Pines.

Five minutes or so had passed since they had taken their perch, nearly an eternity when your eleven years old.  Charlie was looking to the right, while his Mama was scanning to the left when a deer emerged from the far side of the woods, "Charlie, there's a deer!", his Mama whispered enthusiastically.

Charlie raised his rifle finding that his scope had fogged over obstructing his view completely. Quickly cleaning the condensation away, Charlie shouldered his Mama's old rifle and waited patiently for the perfect opportunity.

As the deer made it's way across the open field it halted in mid-stride, staring directly at the unlikely duo at the edge of the Pines. Charlie didn't give his query time to think about it's predicament and pulled the trigger. A crisp shot echoed through the country side.  In a panic the deer lurched forward and began rushing directly at them!

Charlie quickly lowered his rifle as he rose to his feet, being a left-handed shooter with a right-handed bolt action can make the second shot a bit of a challenge. Following his grandpa's advice, Charlie aimed five feet in front of the approaching animal and when his scope filled with brown he fired a second time. 

The six point buck tumbled dead to the ground and with that, Charlie took his first deer from the land that we call Buckwood, penning his own chapter amidst the the Pines and the Popple. 

Thank You

To Sir, 

I saw the listing for this property just a stones throw away from Pine River.  When I was a younger man, I would make the drive from Park Rapids to Crosslake each fall, passing by this property I don’t know how many times.

I’ve been chasing after whitetail and waterfowl for the better part of my adult life, and while a suburban boy from the metro isn’t the likeliest of hunters, each fall I call the woods and the bog my home away from home.  

When we first visited your property, I was immediately in love with all of it.  Given the care you have taken with your stands, the trails, and your trail signs I have to imagine that you loved this place too.  

While I have passion for hunting, I want you to understand that for my family and I a place like this means so much more.  It is about finding the better parts of ourselves and being able to share it with those that we love the most.  

I could not help but notice the trail signs that you named after people.  While I will never know their stories, I believe that a part of them as well as a part of you, will always be here in this hallowed place that my son has named Buckwood.  

As ownership passes from one family to the next, know that my son, my Father-in-law, and I promise to be humble stewards of these grounds as we make new stories, share in new adventures, and create our own legends of the fall.

With all my Love,
Matthew Goodenough

Winter Kill

With the trees bare and the snow plentiful, it was easy to spot the three deer moving in a single file line through the woods towards my stand.  

I slid my cell phone into my jacket pocket and reached for my bow while slipping my finger tips out of my mittens.  With my release secured, I lifted the bow level to my chest and turned my head ever so slightly towards the incoming trio.   

The group, completely unaware of my presence, was led by a doe, followed by a spike buck, and presumably a fawn bringing up the rear. I watched them intently, ensuring that my movements from the tree were obscured by the underbrush below.

With little noise to betray her, the doe had quickly reached the edge of her cover, pausing mid-stride to survey the open path before her.  The bows of a fallen pine temporarily obscured her body, but after a few seconds of deliberation she stepped forward into an opening and paused yet again. 

As she stood there completely exposed, her two companions followed silently behind, both animals now obscured by the same fallen pine that a moment before had been her refuge.  With the pin of my sight perfectly illuminated against her body, I hesitated and considered waiting for the trailing buck. 

As I questioned my target, the doe turned her head and looked directly toward me.  With the bow fully drawn, my face was largely obscured and fortunately for me I must have melted into the tree.  The doe moved her head in a circular pattern, possibly trying to focus, or maybe attempting to draw me out.  

I've never sat so perfectly still. 

Confident that I was not a threat, she turned her head back in the opposite direction.  Without any further hesitation I pulled the trigger of my release.  The arrow flew forty yards and sliced into her with a loud ’thwack’.  Seemingly hit, she turned 90 degrees to her left and flew back into the underbrush with the buck and fawn trailing close behind. 

I sat motionless in the stand, 99% certain that I had hit her.  The adrenaline was coursing through me with the satisfaction of a dead deer just beyond my field of view.   

I decided to stay put in the tree for the next hour, hoping she would bed down relatively close by and bleed out before nightfall.  In all honesty, that 1% of doubt mixed with an hour to contemplate ones shooting prowess is agonizing.   

With the hour nearly up, I was about to stand when I spotted three more deer emerging from the woods.  I was reticent to alert these newcomers of my presence, so as before, I sat motionless watching this new group perform the same ritual movements as the group that preceded them. 

As before, the lead doe approached the fallen pine with two fawns in tow.  Just as she was about to reveal herself, she stopped abruptly and turned her head to the left, scanning the landscape behind her.  I assume it was the presence of the previous group still lingering in the woods, but instead of moving on, the three newcomers decided to stop and feed. 

So I sat and waited.    

What had been a relatively sunny day had slowly transformed into a gloomy afternoon with the prospect of nightfall less than twenty minutes away.  I watched patiently as the new trio foraged back through the woods towards my hopefully fallen doe.  Fearing the oncoming darkness and the prospect of leaving a deer overnight, I started to descend from my stand. 

Turning on the ladder, I immediately focused on the outline of a deer and realized yet another doe was attempting to cross a path directly behind me.  Hesitating for a moment, I took in the scene and discovered it was not one deer, but in fact four were attempting to silently pass through. 

While amazed at their numbers and proximity, I was less patient with this next group. Intent on getting out of the tree, I descended the ladder swiftly spooking these latecomers back into the woods.   

I approached the spot where I thought I had hit the doe, and was discouraged by the lack of any blood on the freshly fallen snow.  I surveyed the area for a few minutes until I stumbled across the arrow, which was covered in blood and tallow from the tip of the broadhead all the way to the fletching, appearing to have bisected her completely.

Without any blood to lead my way, I followed the tracks that best matched the direction she had retreated.  My spirits had been buoyed by the discovery of the arrow, and about fifty yards from its resting place, I was rewarded with my first spot of blood.  

Shortly thereafter I found several larger areas where it appeared she had laid down and then several areas of spray, indicating that she was aspirating blood from her lungs. 

As I followed the blood, the trail seemed to all but disappear.  Both panic of a lost deer, and the darkness of nightfall began to creep in swiftly.  I continued forward on the path, and to my relief, blindly stumbled across more blood.  

At that very moment, three deer spooked up to my right and ran deeper into the darkening landscape.  Assuming one of them was my doe and hoping to keep her close to this area, I conceded my quest for the evening leaving the woods empty handed.

The next morning, accompanied by my wife and son, we made our way back to last spot of blood that I had found the night before.  From there we criss-crossed the forest floor following a single path of blood.  For nearly forty-five minutes we trudged through the snow until finally, having passed two larger patches of crimson, I spied my fallen quarry.   

It appeared that in the doe's final moments she had circled around a small outcropping of trees and had fallen over with her legs outstretched.   

Kneeling beside her, I was grateful that she was not wasted to the woods and I let out a victory cry of satisfaction.  My son asked if I wanted to do it again, and I asked if he wanted to join me, and together we yelled our victory cry into the woods. 

With her discovery, in those precious woods in Fairfield Township, my two year drought for a deer as well as my 2016 hunting season had come to a triumphant end surrounded by those that I love the most.