Happy Hunting !

It was mid-afternoon on a cold December day, but the obscured sun was already edging lower as the shortest days of the year were upon the countryside. There I was, near a frozen riparian paradise in a tree that was creaking and bending in cold prairie winds that swept down from Canadian tundra so far north. I was standing there in a home-made hunting stand, hoping for the chance at a very late-season deer. My bow ready, an arrow nocked, I waited in dreary skies and air temperatures that were -10 F and dropping fast.

Something interesting happens in a hunting stand. You get time to think. But it is not the place where thoughts turn to school or the office or the business of modern human life. I contemplate my place on this earth. Indeed, I contemplate my existence in that specific moment. It is utterly quiet, with senses tightly tuned to the world immediately surrounding you, and slowly, oh so slowly, one gains the feeling of truly becoming one with nature. Every other hunter I know understands this. It is a shame that more
people can not experience this all-too-brief version of “wolakota” --a Lakota Sioux word that roughly means being balanced and in harmony with your surroundings.

As sunset approached, the surface winds began to subside as the air nearly froze in place. On the edge of the horizon, the cloud cover was being quickly swept away by high altitude winds, revealing the setting sun. With the wind in my marsh a mere whisper what it had been, and the hyper-cold air transmitting sound waves more efficiently, I could literally hear everything for miles.

The deer stepped out less than 100 yards away, and knowing the trails as I did, I knew it would be moving past me. It was a small deer—not one I normally would have taken, but it was late December as well. As it moved closer, I could hear the combined crunch of snow and ice and leaves under its hooves as it took each step, making it’s way towards me in the most brilliant last orange-red sunlight of the day. Forty yards, twenty yards, ten yards, and then directly below me.

“I shouldn’t be able to make the shot.” I thought to myself, believing the sounds of drawing the bow back in this utter silence would alert the deer. Then I thought that if I can draw the bow without alerting it, the deer is meant to be mine. I drew back the string, laid the sight pin on the vitals of this deer only 10 feet directly below me. The deer looked around perhaps thinking something is not quite right, and he paused.

I released. The arrow flew straight down passing directly through the deer and embedding itself into the hard frozen ground. The deer bolted, running West about twenty yards before stopping and turning broadside to me. It was looking back at me, breathing hard, but just standing there. The setting sun behind it cast the most beautiful light that caught and amplified the glistening of frost in its fur. The horizon ablaze but fading, a crimson and purple twilight sky was taking over. I could see blood dripping, and each breath it took instantly condensed and froze, hanging in mid-air and refracting those last few remnants of that magical sunlight. I will never forget that site. Fifteen seconds later, the deer fell over.

There was no rejoicing. There was me, and a deer, and harmony, and a feeling that this was LIFE as it was meant to be.  Hunters will understand this.  I hope the rest will someday have a chance to understand.