I have absolutely nothing against deer hunters who wait for the big buck, but I am not a trophy hunter. This season, like the four before, I sought only some meat for the freezer.
The season had gotten off to a painfully slow start. After nine hunts, I had seen a total of (wait, let me check my records) approximately one gray squirrel and zero deer. Approximately.
But this evening was different. I was in a new location, near a stream and some oak trees with a good acorn crop. As I settled into my spot, I could hear the squirrels loudly scurrying through the leaves in the woods behind me. They continued their antics for nearly an hour.
In the thick woods I hunt, I see as much with my ears as my eyes. The sights and sounds of the woods can be surprising when you let yourself settle in and become part. The wing-swoosh of a bird passing close by, the "chirp-meow" of some unseen creature. Even trees swaying in the wind take on a new tone. I was listening closely for the footfalls of a deer.