My hunt was down to about 45 minutes.
With the bow in hand and some light snow on the ground I now had the advantage of following their movements, and following them with precision.
It was like dropping a dried up sponge into a bowl of water … My head was now calculating information for useful action at an alarming rate. It had to. I only had a few days to go before the season was closed.
One morning in particular, I’d headed out along the trail in an effort to circle around and catch the deer as they headed to their bedding area. Their evening movements were now really late (presumably) and I was shifting to morning hunts. As I moved up trail I found some tracks. I took note and moved on. Their location and direction were of interest, but armed with a bow in the dark, I’m not stalking a damn thing. Plus the single track was unfamiliar. I was looking for the threesome and it was no time to alter the course. I continued on and took a position high on the ridge.
More than an hour later, the rising sun was having little affect on my rapidly chilling core. Quiet woods only invigorate my curiosity and thoughts quickly returned to those tracks. I moved toward them for some investigation. I was fascinated to see that the tracks had come to a dead stop, moved to a flank and then doubled back and headed directly into the thick pine zone. They were from that morning and based on their pattern it looked like the deer stopped dead when it heard or smelled me coming, moved to observe or satisfy curiosity, and then moved safely away.
Outstanding.
I continued into the heart of my hunting zone with an intent to learn more than find. And I learned.
I opted to follow a set of tracks of what appeared to be 2-4 deer … More likely 3. The 3 does I’ve been seeing all fall.
Their trail was a straight shot. Not a lot of hunting for food with this morning line. Very little acorn scrapes and very little wandering. These girls were moving with a purpose. As I was looping back near my home I came to my original trail (picture that I walked a ridge south in the morning, dropped east down a slope , headed back north and then northwest to my original route) and made clear note that these tracks were not there when I first entered.
So they followed me in.
This was perfect. Their route of travel is an area I have become very familiar with. The prevailing winds normally do not work in my favor, but when they move in this direction they do … Which might contribute to their haste through the area at dawn.
I was giddy. I can make a position in about 45 minutes without much noise or physically working myself into a stink and they’d shown me they weren’t worried about crossing my trail. So there it was. Take the longway around before the sun rises and steady your aim.
Passed on the next morning to keep them honest, and set the alarm to leave the house at 4:30 am the following. The schedule was kept.
Right off the bat as I entered the woods and connected to the trail I saw a big track. Either the loner doe my neighbors and I have been seeing (a big girl) or a buck. Not a concern. Not what I was tracking. So I moved on.
Farther up the trail I came across a few more tracks … A bit out of sync from what I was expecting, and early, but movements were more jagged. Still no scrapes on the ground. Something seemed out of sorts and then I saw why. Paw prints. Multiple paw prints. Coming in from a different angle, but following. One of the prints was big. Big as my own dog … German Shepherd size. I hear the coyotes at night, but this was my first confirmed track. Some scat and bedding areas have been suspected, but now we had something real.
And it wasn’t dog. The added snow was wet and heavy. Movements weren’t just clear, but could practically be time-stamped in 15-minute intervals. These were all fresh. It was enough to take pause. With a headlamp barely illuminating the area around me, no firearm I could legally carry, and a bow strapped to my back, I took an account and opted to cut down the ridge earlier than planned and avoid the tracks heading down trail.
I moved on.
And then I came across them again.
Again.
And again. The hunt was on, and it wasn’t just me.
Soon I found myself crouched. My bow now in hand and an arrow slid through the basket … Not that it would do me a bit of good. The sun was over an hour from giving me anything in regard to light, and one arrow against a pack of coyotes would do little. On most occasions you can count on coyotes to avoid you. However, these were on a hunt, and I was standing in the midst of it. For the first time in years, I found myself afraid of the dark. I sat still and tried to listen. Nothing. Nothing ever makes a sound out there when you need it to.
I kept my light on although I wondered if it was giving me a disadvantage. I was nervous if I looked too far into the dark woods I would find eyes staring back at me. It should also be noted I’d recently learned the coyotes in our Vermont woods are sometimes called coywolves. Apparently as settlers eliminated wolves from the Northern seat of New England, coyotes from the great lakes region moved in and bred with wolves … Giving us a coyote different than the prankster-like critter found in Navajo folklore. Fear had a good grip and humility seeped over to respect. On this morning, I was no longer welcomed into the woods.
It was not long before I doubled back on my own trail and I was back at home. Pride took a hit, but once again I found myself in awe of the land.
And for the record, I don’t care what the law says, you can bet next bow season, I’ll have a sidearm.