A Sense of Place: A Perfect Start

By Dan Brown

The alarm clock clanged at 4 a.m., awakening my senses to the sizzle and smell of frying bacon, the rattle of dishes, and the aromas of gun oil and coffee.

Despite a fitful night's sleep, I felt energized and excited on this morning of my first deer hunt. After years of hearing my dad and uncles tell and retell their hunting and deer camp stories, I was now taking part in this rite of passage, this fall tradition.

Hearing floorboards creaking overhead and a quiet bustling throughout the cabin reminded me that I didn't want to be last to the breakfast table, so I dressed quickly and went upstairs from the basement.

I ate breakfast with my uncles Tom and Joe, while Dad and my uncle Dewain studied an aerial map of the Chippewa National Forest and explained our options for the morning's hunt.

I had grown accustomed to the incessant, deprecating humor my uncles directed at me, so I was surprised when Dewain asked me which stand I'd like to use, based on the rub lines and scrapes I'd found while scouting the area the previous weekend. It occurred to me that since my arrival the night before, I hadn't been the source of any jokes. My uncles had welcomed me to deer camp, and I began to feel like a respected member of the group, instead of just a 15-year-old nephew.

We left the cabin at 5 a.m., taking two vehicles up the highway to the north end of Little Sand Lake. Along the way, we dropped off Joe and Tom at trailheads to trudge through the dark, snow-covered woods to their stands. Dad, Dewain, and I walked a trail together until it forked.

As we parted ways, I received some last-minute encouragement, and we exchanged good lucks. With a blanket of snow on the ground, I found it fairly easy to follow the faint logging trail by starlight. I arrived at my stand 30 minutes before shooting time.

Sitting with my rifle resting across my legs, I had time to relax and listen in the predawn woods. I heard the cadence of distant hunters as they walked through the woods, their boots crunching the snow and leaves and snapping twigs and branches. I noted the sharp, high-pitched squeaking of nails in cold wood as hunters climbed ladders and settled into their stands; the mice scurrying through leaves and over the bark of fallen trees; and the distinct, low hoot of owls.

As the sun neared the horizon, I picked up the distant sound of something heavy moving through the woods, a sound unlike the rhythmic strides of a hunter. I checked my watch and was surprised to discover that only a few minutes remained until shooting time.

Through the trees, I could see Dewain sitting very still, looking down at the trail that eventually wound its way to my stand. A few minutes later, he waved his red cap high over his head, and I could only assume that a deer was heading in my direction.

In the half-light of dawn, I saw a large deer 50 yards down the trail, heading my way and closing ground quickly. Quietly, slowly, I shouldered my rifle, eased the safety off, and watched the mature buck through the gun's open sights as he neared my stand. I forced myself to breathe, certain the deer could hear my heart beating as I waited for him to quarter away. The gun roared; the report echoed through the woods until the air fell silent again.

A number of years later, Uncle Dewain admitted to me that, yes, that deer, my first deer, passed directly in front of him only minutes before my historic shot. When I asked him why he let the buck pass, he smiled and replied, "Danny, we all knew how excited you were that day. And I guessed that buck would stay on the trail until he reached your stand. I watched you through my field glasses; and I gotta say, it took nerve and patience to wait as long as you did for that shot. That was a great first deer."

It has been 23 years now since that memorable weekend. It took some time and reflection to understand why my uncles treated me with courtesy and something approaching reverence. For those three days, they recalled old emotions and saw again their first deer hunt through my eyes: They wanted my first deer hunting experience to be perfect.

Dan Brown, Taylors Falls, is a human services director. In his spare time, he is a fly-casting instructor and trout guide.