Whitetail hunting has grown to be my absolute favorite hunt all year. Contrary to the dream of chasing elk around the majestic mountains of the west, I have grown to yearn for the stillness of a tree stand. For over 20 years I have hunted the high country of Colorado, and it will always hold a special place in my heart. However, my schedule has grown more hectic, my daily grind has become more fast paced, constantly analyzing, problem solving, and stressing. The pursuit of western game often requires the same, the search for the animals. When I get into a tree, that all becomes irrelevant. You are where you are, there is no second guessing, no change of plans, no analyzing, you need to “let go” and be 100% present in the moment and location you are in. The work and planning done preseason has cultivated an opportunity to be tested and all that is left is to do just that, trust your efforts.
Hours before the dawn it begins, blindly fumbling to silence the alarm on my phone that sits somewhere seemingly unreachable on the wooden floor of the loft bedroom. Not many worldly things seem to pull you from a warm bed quite like the anticipation of a late October whitetail hunt. My tight muscles hesitantly loosen as the hot water of a shower rinses the drowsiness away. Sliding into my camo in the warmth of the living room, the darkness outside hums a tune of cold tranquility. The overhead light of the truck cab constricts my pupils as I step out into the void. Slowly, under a vast sea of blackness, my eyes return to their primitive state. Clumsy steps in the dark become more precise, cautious, quiet. As I make the turn at the bottom of the hill to walk along the edge of the timber, my senses are buzzing. Every sound echoes through my ears and into my brain sending a signal to dissect and evaluate what is causing the rustling within the river bottom. Silently, one step at a time, I advance until reaching the familiar tree, branches stretching out over the two track. Although still engulfed in the blackness, I know this is the trail to get to my stand. Now within the river bottom, the dark is amplified, trees surrounding me shield my path from any light attempting to slip through. In the black I see a faint silhouette of the familiar ladder. Climbing up, this is the moment of truth, my muscles are tight, senses pulsating with anticipation, a metallic noise now would be a deal breaker. Slowly pulling my bow up the tree by it’s paracord harness, I always feel such relief when the carbon riser is in my grasp. Entering an environment completely void of noise while maintaining total silence is a necessity to setting your mindset for the morning. If you can slow down enough to get to your stand without alerting anything to your presence, you are well on your way to being immersed in the stillness that encapsulates hunting from a tree stand.
Whenever I do a morning sit, the goal is to be in the stand, fully settled in and ready at least an hour before first light. Aside from allowing things to calm down in the woods around you, this also primes your mind for the task at hand. Often I will close my eyes and listen to the silence, sometimes I nap, sometimes I simply just exist and anticipate the light. It is also amazing how every sound you hear in the dark is imagined to be a deer. As the blackness turns to grey, then to light, I hone in, staying still, and tight to the tree. The grey time is often when you can catch previously nocturnal bucks moving, and if you’re lucky, it might even be legal shooting time. Most often however, it is not, and you must simply watch the dark silhouette of a deer walk past.
Seemingly out of nowhere you catch it, a subtle rustle of leaves. My brain shouts out to whip my head over to see what it was, but my experience dictates a slow and stealthy rotation in that direction. To my right, on the edge of the timber I see him, a buck standing right where I had walked in earlier, carefully picking apart the timber in front of him before advancing. The sound of a deer walking towards your stand is one that gets my heart racing like nothing else. The tempo of steps and subdued volume of caution foot falls is unmistakably exciting. As the buck walks a trail in front of me, I see a second buck following behind him. The first is vastly larger, both in antler and body size. As he hits a clearing I can see his right antler is broken off after his g2. I shift from killing mode to video mode as I also determine the second deer is a young buck, not mature enough to hang my tag on. As quickly as they appeared, they were gone. Once past 50 yards, the sound of their steps was again indistinguishable. The silence returns as the sun now breaks over the horizon.
The crisp autumn air presses against my face as I peer out into the timber. Scanning, listening, appreciating the stillness, I feel the most at peace. We all hunt for our own reasons, but at the end of the day, it is the wild places, the moments that make us feel foreign and out of place that truly call to me. Sharing a fleeting instance of coexistence with the animals that live there is an experience that cannot be replicated. Not only have you made it into their world, but you have made it there undetected, and correctly chose the exact location that you felt would yield the best opportunity for that interaction. Truth be told, I could have shot either of those bucks and would have felt grateful and blessed to do so. But, was I ready for my season and my chances to slip in to that world of stillness in hopes for another encounter to be over, absolutely not. Sweet November is only just beginning after all. The best sits of the entire year are just around the corner, and you better believe I will be in a tree stand to experience them.