Season Opener: Maryland

November 26, 2005. Dawn broke cool and clear on the first morning of the Maryland whitetail deer season. It was chilly but not frigid and the sky turned beautifully purple as the sun broke the horizon. Dom and Steve were in their usual stand in the narrow treeline that marked the northern edge of the property. Little Dom was in the Eagle’s Nest, perched high where two treelines intersected at the center of the farm. I was in the bow stand I built two seasons ago, on the southern perimeter, on a corner between two fields; my shots would be either be just into the edge of the eastern field, or in the trees.

This was my first hunt of the year. I missed the entire early bow season, mostly because of moving plus work and other life-evolving experiences. I hadn’t yet become at ease in the trees and field again, had not become attuned to the breathing of the woods, had not memorized the various weeds and shrubs that formed dark deer-like shapes in the distance. The clattering of water over rocks and the erratic scamper of squirrels on the dry leaves still were mistaken for footsteps. Nonetheless, I settled into my perch high above the forest floor, and felt at home.

This was the third year of our tenuous new tradition — tenuous because of the uncertain access to hunting ground here in Maryland. This year, though I gave up the house at Sweet Surrender, Scott still leased the hunting rights to me. Hopefully, there will be more years. But today, rather than simply walking out the back door, we had to make the 15-minute drive from Uniontown and don our gear from the trucks. Small price to pay for exclusive access to 120 not-bad hunting acres. (Exclusive, that is, except for the trespassers; as one of the three bears noted, someone’s been hunting in my treestand, and was rude enough to steal my bow hooks.)

The first deer I saw were three small ones crossing in the greenway mid-way into the field. They were relaxed and looked like they might work their way toward me, until a shot rang in the not-too-far distance. They disappeared into the treeline, and soon I saw them b-lining across the neighbor’s back field.

Shortly after, I heard footsteps close, and a lone deer was working its way by me through the trees. It was small but not too small, and close. It would have been a not-bad bow shot. I turned and put the crosshairs behind its shoulder, waited for the pause, and then dropped her (actually, him as it turned out, a button buck). A clean, instant kill. A blessing.

There were a few shots here and there in all directions. Before long, movement caught my eye in the corner of the treeline. It looked like the first three had circled around and come back the other way. I turned around to face them. It was thicker where they were; I waited for one to clear the brush and tree trunks, and shot. Some took off to the left, and the one I shot jumped and went off to the right. I saw three run back through the neighbor’s field again; either the original three had picked up a fourth, or it was a new group of four, or I had missed completely.

I waited for another half-hour or so, and then climbed down. I went to the tree I marked when I shot and circled around a couple times. It didn’t look good; not a drop of blood. I circled a little further; still no blood. So I started walking in the direction I thought she went, and within a few yards spotted bright red blood. The trail was solid and short. I could see the deer twenty yards away. Another button buck. The freezer would have some good meat in it now.

As I was walking up the field, Steve called to say Dom had gotten a 6-point. I retrieved the lawn tractor and cart, which I hadn’t moved yet (obviously) and made the rounds to pick up the deer. Not a bad morning’s hunt.

Steve left before the afternoon hunt. The two Dom’s hunted the north-edge treestand, and I went back to my bowstand. After a while I heard a shot, and shortly after, Dom called and said there were two more, did I want another one? I decided not. Little Dom had shot a little doe. I saw nothing that evening but a beautiful crimson sunset. It was a good day’s hunt.