Frosty Morning Hunt

It was a good day to hunt. And just after 7 a.m. that morning, it got even better.

The day started out like many others in the deer hunting woods, clear and cold and more than a little bit frosty. Hunting where I was - on a friend's hilly hunting property in the state of Georgia - it was much easier than usual for me to find the motivation to drag myself out of bed in the morning, and this second morning of the hunt promised to be the best one yet.

We'd arrived on Saturday afternoon in a cool drizzle which turned the local red clay into a slimy goo that clung to and permeated the pores of everything it touched, at the same time being slicker than bearing grease. Sunday had been blustery, with the winter wind whipping every which way, but Monday morning promised a respite from this harsh weather.

For this southern boy, the morning was plenty cold. The various camp thermometers averaged twenty degrees, with heavy frost everywhere. Some folks from up north might consider that balmy weather - and with good reason - but it was pretty darn cold to me.

I bundled up, packed up, and climbed aboard my transport - a friend's ATV. The chill in the air would be magnified several times when riding, so I made sure to secure the furry earflaps of my warm cap before departing. I fired up the beast, and off I went, bidding the other hunters good luck.

The chill in the air had teeth that morning, and it bit into the exposed skin of my face as I motored slowly down the wet clay roads. I parked the machine well short of my hunting area, tucked into a niche just off the traveled way, and gathered my gear and my rifle. By now it was daylight, but that didn't bother me. I've had some of my best hunting on days when I got to the woods "late."

A breeze was kicking up, blowing from west to east. I reasoned that if I were a deer on a morning like this one, I would want to put myself on a sunny east-facing slope, where I would be sheltered from the wind while soaking up the warmth offered by the rising sun. Therefore, I had decided, I would hunker in the shade on the opposite slope while the breeze formed icicles on my nose, and watch for deer acting like I wanted them to.

I had just stepped away from the rutted clay road that followed the ridge, and started a slow descent down the shady slope. I was picking my way with care, and each step exposed a new portion of the opposite slope to my view. I was no more than fifteen or twenty yards from the road when, while scanning an area to my right, I saw something that caught my eye.

I don't know how it is for you, but often I will spot something in the woods and just know that it's something to be checked out. Thing is, my knowing is not conscious at first... it all happens inside, down deep. If my conscious mind could think at such times, it would ask why the heck I'm standing stock-still, staring at something on a sparsely wooded hillside. Thankfully I have it trained - or it has me trained - to just remain idle while my subconscious forms a message to send me, to let me know what's going on.