The old still-hunter’s mantra is a good lesson for the woods, and for life.
The end of the year is a time to reflect. It’s also a time to take advantage of the wonderful hunting adventures we enjoy here in North America. Depending on where you live, the seasons are either ramping up or winding down, but throughout the continent hunters are stocking their freezers, and their memory banks, with the fruits of this year’s hunts.
Such reflections got me to thinking about a recent experience I had while deer hunting in Pennsylvania, the state where I was born and raised, and where I still return often to try my luck on its exceptionally wily, wary whitetails.
It was a snowy day two Decembers ago, the kind of northern Pennsylvania winter day I remember from my childhood. A couple of feet of soft snow were on the ground, large white flakes drifting gently into my face from the slate-gray sky. There was deer sign all over the ridge top I was on: tracks, droppings, and places where they had pawed through the snow to get to some hidden treat.