THE WEIGHT

The world goes cold—not for lack of heat—as I step into the dwelling of a fellow being. The ground is familiar. The air is not.

    My intention changes the atmosphere. My boots tread a familiar course more tenderly than ever before. Solemnity resonates throughout my body.

    A silent tension is latent in the trees, not manifest but when playing by the rules of the arena. Under the lens of the present mood, it forms a viscous weight in the understory.

    It’s a primitive game, worlds removed from the calloused, disconnected existence that modern living affords—one that is best played with primal senses, determination, and pensiveness. And so perhaps it is suiting that such a journey begins solitary, long before the sun awakens and the dissembled world has a chance to impose.

    Thoughts run rampant as the morning progresses, lost in a daydream that becomes more real as the cool, pre-dawn moonlight trades places with the gray of morning. If the dream comes to fruition, I’ll be blessed by a rendezvous with a storied local. Gaze panning nervously, I slide down a shadowy, pine-covered ridge.

    Much like my own, my target’s early hours are ruled by tradition. Nestled against the sprawling roots of an uprooted oak in a dense creekbottom, his eyes drift open by the light of a late-to-rise moon.

    The mating season is coming; and soon the world will be an even harsher place. The air says so. Carb-loading on freshly fallen starches will be a rule of survival going forward. Gently, he stands from his bed, shaking dirt from dark hair.

    His mood is heavy, too. Seven years of hooves on this ground have instilled a caution for the season. For it’s when the gums and maples ignite and the call to mate courses like electricity through his body that humans set out to fulfill their own ritual. He runs his tongue over a dark nose, whetting a vital sense.

    Nose to the wind, antlers bobbing, the character deserts his bed for the comfort of a well-worn foot trail, weaving through young forest, following the creek downstream.

    At the base of the ridge, I encounter a familiar beaver field—timber flooded and drowned by a beaver pond that jumped its banks four springs before—repurposed as a thicket. Through the haze of morning, I fix my gaze on an opening in the treeline opposite me, where, if all goes to plan, I’ll catch the first glimpse of my quarry.   

    More light filters through the canopy and illuminates his trail. The undergrowth grows sparser nearing an opening facing the base of a tall ridge. Cautiously, he approaches, pauses, nose to the sky.

    An ivory crown, perched stately above a steely gaze, catches my attention and sends my heart rate flying. All else falls into an inaudible background. My grip tightens around the handle of a bow that previously seemed weightless. 

    White-rimmed ears swivel as the crown falls. Satisfied, the veteran resumes, perusing his domain, unaware of the felon in his presence. 

    A few steps further, and the whitetail buck’s tawny form emerges from a tangle of rose and stump, mere feet away. Fear and dread flicker in and out of my body, mixed with feigned composure. The weight thickens. My muscles tremble.

    His crown, a culmination of dominant wit and character, drops to the brushy ground, browsing. He’s blinded.

    Seizing my chance, I drive away fear and draw the nocked arrow back with a deep breath. It’s mechanical, practiced. Exhale.

    The weight increases, ever more.

    Thwack!

    The animal dips, wheels, and sprints, frantically—body low to the ground, hooves falling over hooves. The world comes crashing back—the warmth, the color, the sounds, the smells.

    Elation fills my extremities, as the brown form bounds out of sight, and a mortal crash concludes chaos. Tension rattles my body uncontrollably as it escapes, returning to hide amongst the landscape within another predator, another prey.

     Shallow is my breathing as I lunge through matted tallgrass and drowned tree trunks towards the creek where I know my fellow to rest. My eyes fall on motionless coat and bone.

    The pain of death is a universal sting, felt by all who too know life. A trickle of doubt and self-loathing penetrate my mind. God speaks to me as it brings me to my knees.

    “This is what it means to live,” He says. For it, I am thankful.

    So begins the process of repayment—to the land, and to the spirit of my late companion. The weight I have come to know develops and lingers in a haze of reverence about my mind, but I find comfort in knowing, by some shrouded hint of heritage, that its burden is a manifestation of being truly, and utterly, human.□

*Originally published in The Rural Virginian

EARLY ARCHERY DEER SEASON IS HERE

As I write this, on the first official day of fall, the change of seasons is evident.  The morning suggests a sweater, the flaming embers of maples’ limbs lie lightly atop shoots of green summer grass, and the air smells of a few mornings I’ve experienced from a treestand.  With sunrise this Saturday will come a familiar fall tradition, what is probably the most anxiously awaited on the sportsman’s calendar—the opening of the early archery deer season, the first in a series of new beginnings to come.

The Facts

    Saturday, October 3 marks the beginning of the early archery season that will run through November 13 statewide.  The entire six-week period is designated “either-sex,” during which hunters are permitted to take either a buck or a doe.

    Midway through the season, a window opens for the gun-toting variety of big game hunters.  The early muzzleloader season extends from October 31 right through the heralded general firearms season opener, November 14.  Hunters are permitted to take a deer of either sex throughout the length of the muzzleloading season as well, unless specially noted in the VDGIF deer hunting regulations for the 2015-16 season, which can be accessed at www.dgif.virginia.gov.

    East of the Blue Ridge Mountains, except on National Forest Lands in Amherst, Bedford, and Nelson Counties, the daily bag limit rests at the historical number of two.  Hunters are permitted to take six deer per license year, provided at least three are “antlerless,” which is defined as a deer with no antlers protruding above the hair line.  Bucks with small “buttons,” or pedicels, that don’t break the skin or hair line are considered antlerless.

Four Eyes

    The falling leaves and half-bear trees that come to mind when one visualizes bowhunting in the autumn woods are often not reality during the front end of the early archery season in Virginia.  Such was my dilemma one early October evening in a familiar creekbottom.

    Evidence of a relentless summer was slipping away as dusk and the coolness of an October night settled in, when the growing sound of footsteps materialized from the peeping of birds and the trickle of a small stream in the background of my thoughts.  Still-green leaves blocked any chance of a long-distance ID.  From my position in a ground blind facing a hollow dominated by a small tributary, the noise was diffused, irregular, and hardly audible. 

    However, as the noise grew, I came to understand why.  There were two sources.  One seemed to originate from my right; the other, from my left.  Each bore different characteristics.  One was steady, soft, deliberate; the other, erratic, quick, and careless.

    The first source materialized first, on my right.  A mature doe browsed methodically down the slope of a ridge that ended at the creek’s confluence in front of me.

    My hand tightened around the handle of my compound bow as my heart rate quickened.  The deer moseyed behind the veil of a wide hickory tree.   I saw my chance.

    As I raised my bow, ready to draw, the second source strutted into view—a jake, a young turkey, seemingly with the intention of meeting my white-tailed quarry at the confluence.  Their paths ran into each other.

    But as the bird strutted into view, he froze and cocked his head at the foreign camouflage box in his turf.  Turkey have exceptional eyesight, so the fact that he didn’t bolt and send my chances of taking anything home to the table over the next ridge surprised me.  Nevertheless, I remained frozen, though my muscles were strained in the beginning stages of drawing. 

    Nervously, the bird sidestepped, still cocking his head inquisitively. 

    “If he just makes it a few more feet, that small beech might give me a window,” I breathed nervously. 

    My wish came true after several sweaty moments.  Naturally, at that time, the doe’s head had popped out from behind the hickory, still apparently oblivious to the tense moment at hand.  I saw my second of opportunity, and drew. 

    As subtle as I could be wasn’t subtle enough.  The doe swung her head up, her body still shielded by the hickory.  I had a fresh opponent in the staring game, and now I was at full draw. 

    Meanwhile, the jake continued his nervous dance, edging ever closer to the blind.  The doe twitched her ears, though her body remained solidly in place, teasing me.

    After what seemed an hour, I began to shake under the weight of the bow.  The jake had finally had enough, wheeled around, and trotted out of the scene.  The doe shot out a wheeze and bolted.  I relaxed, exhausted from the tension of a close encounter.□

*Originally published in The Rural Virginian

OPENING DAY

Rivers cool and skies clear, breezes blow crisp air through aging leaves and thunderstorms disappear as summer slips into fall.  There’s obvious change in the air.  

The clues are reminiscent of hardwood sunrises, leaves crunching underfoot to frost fallen in the night, the intoxicating aura about the woods as the trees greet the end of their year in fiery display, slight movements of game camouflaged by forest bathed in warm light.

Those that succumb most to these allusions find it hard to remain focused as the week wanes on.  Fridays are filled with meticulous planning and visualizing.  They return home and greet the weekend with an early retirement—alarm set punctually and pertinently.  But they can’t sleep.  With the sun comes the first day of bow season, perhaps one of the most-awaited dates on the sportsman’s calendar.

This year, October 5 is that date, when thousands of such hunters will usher in the beginning of Virginia’s early archery deer season.  The season will run until November 15, overlapped slightly by the early muzzleloading season that opens on November 2 and closes with the archery season.

East of the Blue Ridge Mountains, these seasons are either-sex in full, meaning that hunters are permitted to harvest either antlerless (defined as a doe, button buck, or shed antler buck) or antlered deer all season.

Different Types of Hunters

Within those that take to the woods during bow season, there are two distinct groups—those that hunt with a bow because it allows them early legal permission to take game, and true archers. 

True archers are completely immersed in their sport.  They begin target shooting and making adjustments to their weapon promptly as the season closes in the winter, and keep at it throughout the summer, patiently awaiting the arrival of fall.

I tend to fall into the former group; for my devotion to the fish of the rivers and lakes far outweighs my desire to maintain shooting form.  However I bear a complete appreciation for the challenges set forth by the archery season opener, and can usually be seen in my front yard shooting a foam cube several weeks prior, welcoming the coming season with enthusiasm.

A Different Kind of Game

Besides the difference in gear, there are many differences between bow-hunting and gun-hunting that can fashion better hunters.  To begin, shots must be taken at much closer ranges, requiring the hunter to work within about 20 yards of game to get a safe, sure shot.  Due to the multitude of variables involved in shooting an arrow straight and accurately, extra care must be taken in maintaining proper form as well.

One of my favorite ways to hunt this season is from a pop-up or hand-made ground blind.  In forests of new growth, there are plenty of dense areas of vegetation in which to conceal yourself, where, if chosen and prepared correctly, you may find yourself at a very short distance from your quarry.  Though, at such a small distance, and at eye level with game, it can often be difficult to draw without being detected; but that is just another challenge of the bow-hunting pursuit.

Because they put hunters above the eye level of their target, treestands are unofficially the bowhunter’s best friend.  They can be bought in many different styles and heights to suit individual situations, and offer a larger, birds-eye-view of the area in which they are placed, a feature that can be appreciated in the early morning hours.  There’s nothing like watching the woods warm as the sun peeks over the horizon on a crisp fall morning, an experience that is lost in part in a ground blind.

Where to Hunt

Virginia abounds with public land, over 200,000 acres of which are managed specifically for hunting as part of the VDGIF’s 39 Wildlife Management Areas.  Particularly worthy of note, C.F. Phelps WMA in Fauquier County, Goshen and Little North Mountain WMA in Rockbridge and Augusta Counties, and Featherfin WMA in Buckingham and Appomattox Counties support large and healthy populations of deer.  Nevertheless, huntable populations of deer may be found on just about any WMA, including the Hardware River and James River WMAs close to home.

Rules and regulations differ between WMAs, so make sure to educate yourself before hunting a new property.

National Forests represent another public land opportunity for hunters.  Virginia’s George Washington and Jefferson National Forests total 1.8 million acres, one of the largest pieces of contiguous public land in the eastern US.  Such a large property offers much backcountry, and biologists continue to support that hunters’ best chance at a large mountain buck may originate from the interior of the National Forest land, if they’re willing to work for it.

Regardless of where you hunt, you are likely to find good populations of deer in Virginia.