Several years ago I gave my deer hunting rifle to my grandson and became an on looker. For as long as we have lived here, my family has always hunted across the road. At first it was just my son and I and some friends from time to time. But slowly and surely the two grandsons grew up and took their place in the ranks along with my granddaughters husband. It was also about this time that I started to have lung problems and the cold air and the coughing wasn’t conducive to being quiet in the woods so I decided that after fifty some years of hunting, it was time to quit.
So for a few years I went out and helped put up stands and became the chief cook and bottle washer. It was also about this time that I lost my desire to kill anything, anyhow, but I kept that to myself. The last year I hunted, on the last day of the hunt, a nice doe ran up a ridge and stopped right in front of me. I could see her eyelashes flicking she was that close, as she stared at me, not sure where to go next. My rifle never left me lap as I shouted, “Get out of here” and she did.
Yesterday, the fifteenth of October, Molly and I went for a walk in the woods. I wanted to go out to my old deer stand and I wanted to go early enough that Molly’s scent would be out of the woods by hunting time. Back in the earlier days you drug some lumber out there and built yourself a platform for a stand and I had. Maybe an old piece of carpet to sit on and some steps nailed to the tree to get up there. I doubted any one had used it since I quit hunting and I wasn’t even sure it still existed. But I found the old familiar path that took me down to the edge of the swamp and there it was. The railing had fallen off but the platform was still there and the steps were too. Molly made herself comfortable under the tree and up I went. As I sat looking out over the swamp a flood of memories came back. The time seven does ran out and I didn’t have a doe permit. The time that eight pointer ran out and he smelled me but not in time and I still managed to get him. The time a fawn bedded down right under my stand. Then my thoughts wandered to other memories. The year our friend’s son got his first deer and threw up after we made him gut it. Then there was the first hunt after my wife had died, when I sat in the stand and cried. Even today, the day I left, I thought I had something in my eye but it was for a different reason.
Molly was restless and it was time to go. The woods were spectacular that day with red and yellow leaves everywhere blending into the green spruce and the white birch trunks and I was so glad I had come back out. I stood under the stand for a few minutes just taking it in and then I reached up and board-by-board, I pulled it all down. This was my little corner of the world and selfishly I didn’t want anyone else using it and I knew I would never be back. They say you close a door and another one opens but that day I closed a door that will never be reopened and I knew it. But I was so glad I had come and I hope that my son and grandsons will hunt here for many years to come. I hope they will build the memories that they will grow to cherish out there in the woods. Memories only a deer hunter understands. This year I will be gone when the deer hunters come. I wish them good luck and a safe hunt.
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