The fall has begun, the leaves are down, hunting season is in full swing and normally I would be as busy as a beaver stomping the woods and plotting and planning all sorts of strategies in pursuit of various game species. Not this year.
Since Jane has passed on nothing seems to be of any purpose. Life goes on, but it is the same color of gray every day. One thing doesn’t seem much different than another. Priorities, success, failure, indifference all seem pretty much the same. It’s a strange existence as so many of you know, struggling to exist, but not really knowing when your normal, or at least what you thought was normal, the life before.
You realize this of course, but you simply can’t snap your fingers and make the sun shine brighter or erase the fog surrounding you. It’s a subtle fog, edges not completely sharp, conversations heard and understood, but not really happening, dreamlike, something you go through.
People ask: ”How are you doing”? At first I said fine, but then it dawned on me I wasn’t fine at all. How am I? Well, I really don’t know; this is something so very different from what I’ve ever experienced it’s like a totally different reality or, perhaps, lack of reality. You find yourself in a different “existence”.
A life of continuance, but not at all like the reality you lived your entire life till suddenly, shockingly now.
I knew I had to go hunting, jump back into the life that had been so very important to me. But, now it was necessary to force myself to start, it wasn’t spontaneous at all. Instead of the ever growing excitement the call of the wild was stilled. It had turned into a business decision. Gee, I love to hunt. I’ve always hunted. Hunting has been part of me. I was born to hunt. What happened?
Well, the only way to get back into reality is jump back I guess. So, I called my daughter and planned my yearly archery hunt near Pittsburgh where the deer are bigger, more common and bigger than our area. The tables have flipped 180 degrees since I was a young hunter. Now there are more deer near the big city than home.
I realized the early dawns, short, steep ridges of the area, their acorn-filled benches and winding creeks still waited. The rich scent of damp, freshly fallen leaves fills the forest air, while bright red and yellow maple leaves still would reward the searching eye. That the ochres of the big oak and gold grandeur of large hickory leaves would bring back memories of the game industriously searching for mast on the forest floor around them and the thrill of stalking quietly through such areas should quicken the pulse yet again. Certainly the sight of turkey scratching would fill this hunter’s heart with promise for turkeys always excite.
Certainly all that had warmed my blood and filled my heart awaited, perhaps immersing myself in the wonder of it all would bring it back to life for me. It made sense; it was a start with promise I hoped.
The trail was still clear, its beginning had clear landmarks: a huge oak, a fallen tree, a long abandoned car easily found even in the dark. The tree tops were barely visible against a dark sky.
The cold air filled my lungs and the heavy pack bite into my shoulders, the left strap continually slipping off. Soon I began to sweat. Stopping, I removed my vest and coat, tying them to my back pack, rolled up my shirt sleeves and continued on. The cool air on my arms felt invigorating.
Reaching the stream I slipped and skidded up its slick bed. Last year’s blocking tree had washed away, another took its place a little further upstream. I climbed around its base slipping in the loose soil.
Soon the steep bank to my left dropped suddenly. It was time to cut sharply left and cross the bench to my stand. I stepped out of the creek up onto the bank and jump startled when a turkey putted and cackled in indignation, busting its way of the tree top right over my head with an explosion of wings.
Then another and another as an entire flock beat their way into the air and thrashed and crashed their way airborne. Whew, sudden, loud noises in the dark scare you half to death, but once you recognize what’s causing the commotion you relax though with a higher heart rate.
I soon prepared my scent trail, dragging it across the bench to my stand which I was pleased to find quite easily, climbing up and in, sitting down quite pleased that the walk in was over and one could relax and cool off. Once the crossbow was cocked I sat back and watched the sky lighten and the forest take shape around me.
It must have been around eight in the morning when I turned and looked yet once again down the bench. A deer stepped out and I saw shiny horns above his head. Instantly, I was vividly alive, suddenly remembering a part of the person I once knew; immersed in the moment and it seemed so real I could actually touch it and believe again.