HUNTING? GO CLIMB A TREE
By Jim Foster
Once upon a time many, many years ago a young man went hunting in the piney woods of his state.
Despite the opening the story is true, but I have always wanted to begin a story that way, “Once upon a time”.
The young man walking along that morning in the dark was me. The small beam of my old Boy Scout L shaped flashlight did keep me from tripping over a few things and crashing into the guy I was following. We were walking to my stand. I hadn’t ever seen this stand, but from the stories told the preceding evening, old Bill Hunterguy had killed a big one out of that stand several years ago.
A few minutes later I was shining my light into what looked like a tangle of twisted boards held on by rusty nails driven into dead limbs.
“It was alright the last time I was here”, came a meek voice from the dark. Even at my young age, or maybe because of my age I bit my tongue and didn’t ask how many years ago it had been.
My flashlight was dimming so before the batteries died and I was in the dark I started the climb. The steps creaked and the tree groaned, but soon I was sitting on the horizontal board with limbs sticking in my back.
“Get a big one,” said by buddies as they walked off their lights vanishing into the trees. It took me several minutes to break off enough limbs to lean back against the tree. I hadn’t been told to but I did take a length of rope and tie myself snuggly to the tree so I could relax and wonder what is was I had forgotten to do.
Well, for one thing wear more cloths. My thin Sears and Roebuck long Johns were not doing the job and my old coat was leaking frosty air at every seam. It was cold.
After what seems like hours the woods started to take on shape and form as the sun thought about getting on with the day – now the sounds started. It could have been deer but my best guess it was squirrels and birds that made those noises. A mockingbird was chasing grasshoppers in a dry creek bed 50 yards away while someone in the distance started a chain saw. I just sat and watched and watched and watched some more.
I watched right up until the eight-point buck appeared in the creek bed. Where did he come from?
It was then I remembered what I had forgotten to do.
You guessed it - my rifle and daypack were still at the bottom of the tree. Oh yes, I had tied a rope to them so they could be pulled up but in my desire for comfort I had not accomplished the task. The old Marlin 336 .35 Remington was of no use where it was.
I wondered if that buck had ever seen a rifle climb a tree as I started hoisting the fire stick. The rifle was doing fine until the barrel bumped a dead limb, this tree was loaded with them, breaking off the stick. Now the little buck was on full alert and took several steps. As I eased the rifle into the stand another thought crossed my mind. My ammunition was in my day pack.
Being recently discharged from the service I did have plenty of descriptive words to fit the occasion.
Lifting the pack went a bit quicker because I felt I was running out of time. It now was full light. Quietly I found my ammo and tried to load the lever action as quietly as I could.
The buck reacted to each click and metallic mini-sound but at last I was loaded. Easing back the hammer the buck was looking right at me. Taking a deep breath then letting half out I started to squeeze the trigger. At that very second the buck’s head snapped around and a split second later he was gone.
Before I could utter further expletives someone said, “Did you see anything? Its cold out here, come on down and let’s get some coffee.”
Will power is a wonderful thing.
If you have comments or news for Jim Foster please Email him at: jim@jimfosteroutdoors.com
