I walked down the gravel road in the pre-dawn stillness. The first frost of the year lay sparsely on the layer of leaves that littered the ground along my travel route. I could make out the shapes of feeding deer under an old Southern Pin Oak in a clearing just ahead of the point that the gravel road intersected a logging path that leads to my stand sight. I am certain that these deer saw me enter the woods, but it is early in the season and the hunting pressure had been light, besides it couldn’t be avoided.

  I finally reach my tree and attach my climber. Thoughts start to fill my head as I ascend to my elevated perch. Thoughts of past hunts and seasons gone by, some of which had seen long days spent in this very tree. I placed all my gear in its own location in the adjacent limbs. I caught movement of a fat young doe gracefully walking along the path that in moments will lead her merely twelve yards of my elevated seat. After several minutes the fat, two-year old deer made the final steps placing her squarely into my shooting lane. I placed my site pin tight behind her shoulder and touched the release. The doe bounded a few yards ahead then turned looking back at the noise, totally unaware of what had taken place. The doe steps forward a couple of more strides, then fell to her side almost underneath my tree.

  I spend the next several minutes watching two playful squirrels chase each other around and around a thick-barked limb of an old White Oak tree. Earlier the doe seemed to have been making her way toward that same tree. The doe now lay still on the damp forest floor as I descend from my natural overlook. Reaching the deer, I place my tag onto the sleek, clean, robust animal. Once again thoughts fill my mind about past hunts. I am also thinking about, and looking forward to, the future hunts to come.

  Sure, I have harvested bigger deer and have had more exciting adventures, but today I have provided my family with tender delicious venison. I thanked the good Lord and began the process of gathering my gear. I will be back another day.


Keep’em Sharp!


Written by Jason Wilborn    Monroe Tennessee