A Bear, a Beaver, a Buck? This was how I thought the evening would play out.
I was driving to one of my hunting spots on the Tamarac Refuge when I witnessed a big old Black Bear sitting on his haunches and pulling down corn stalks for supper next to an empty county highway. Latter, while I walked to my ground hunting area, a Beaver scooted across the path and plunged into its run, splashed, and disappeared to the safety of a pond. I took these sightings as a sign I would close the evening with a set of three, and bag an early season buck!
The wind was right for an afternoon hunt. It was the same location I wrote about from an outing last year with a story titled, The Rattled Deer. On that hunt, I was busted trying to lure in a buck while hiding up against a downed tree, when I employed an old set of rattling antlers. I hoped for better luck this time around.
I was ecstatic, and filled with the wonder of being in the field again with my bow.
I left my vehicle on a maintenance access and set out on a ski trail that led to my destination. The area offered two big wood formations with a large field of wild grasses and Willow stands which served as a divide. Tamarac Lake hugged the far end. It was a mystical place. After a half mile of slow walking along the tree-line I slipped into a funnel that jutted off the field, found my ambush, and settled in.
Burnt orange ceiling
Over yellowed green
White Pines tower
Wait for winter rest
Impatient Geese break silent anticipation
The day spent itself. I waited until the last glimmer of shooting light dissipated, gathered my gear, and hiked through the dusk laden field with a full heart. I was immersed in timelessness.
The trilogy did not materialize, but these images, and this complete joy, never become weary.
A part of me,
remains in the wilderness.
A part of the wilderness,
remains in me.