The Promise of a November Walk.

The gray shadows of predawn shrouded the surrounding wood and field with a blanket of dark. Differing shades of black, yet distinguishable to the adjusted eye. Little trickles of snow were all that remained along the south facing slopes. Things had warmed again in late November.

It was the second Saturday of the November rifle season in Wisconsin. In true fashion, this season had left us frozen, then thawed. The opener showed tremendous promise, as a solid three inches of snow fell the night before. Alas, the opening weekend found our Goof Troop without any venison on the pole. That isn't to say it didn't produce.

Indeed, after the initial opening morning sit, the Angry Dane and I ventured into a new patch of western Wisconsin woods. The kids had all quit, but the Dane and I trekked along. Over the years we had seen the same vehicle parked near this parcel, and more than once seen him carting out a good buck. This year his truck wasn't to be found.

The initial stalk into this chunk of wood and swamp amplified my senses. The Dane and I worked opposite each other, roughly a hundred yards apart. As we discovered the lay of the land, I stumbled into a deer corridor. It looked like a highway, with intersections, on and off ramps for some distance. There was swamp to the left, hardwoods to the right, and a finger of brush shooting off ahead.

Slowly I pushed my way through leafless alder thickets. A step, wait thirty seconds. Another step, and wait. I was slow, methodic, and straining to glimpse any movement. With this much sign, I knew we'd stumble across something.

The Dane was parallel of me, along the swamp edge, as we worked east. I came to what looked like a wall of brush and bramble between us, but beyond it was an opening. Drawing a deep breath and slowly stepping, I heard the unmistakable crunch of hooves moving the Dane's way! The silhouette of a big-bodied whitetail with head down was pushing ahead.

I made it to the edge of the mess and looked into a clearing of saw-grass. Trees surrounded this opening... perhaps two open acres. Again, something flashed, and I saw old Bucky pushing along the thicket line. I drew my pump shotgun trying to find an opening to no avail. Instinct told me he was going to turn. Perhaps I'd get my shot yet!

Quickly, I went along the opening edge, pushing, stumbling, and striving to see what the old fella was going to do. Sure enough, he took a turn, and came along the brush, but in front of me. As I tried to place a bead, Bucky suddenly ducked and disappeared. I'd gotten to within thirty yards, and this buck had not run, just methodically pushed through his maze!

The events were recounted with the Dane. As we continued our traverse of this patch, we kicked another couple doe out of their beds. We decided to come back later in the season. There hadn't been another boot-print coming in or out. No venison today. We'd let the spot rest, and come back with a plan.

Family events kept me out of the woods until that final Saturday, leading us back to the beginning. I was heading in early. The Dane decided to catch up on some beauty sleep. All kidding aside, he was going to the opposite side of the swamp. He planned to set up near where our outing ended, a bit after I ventured in. My stalk veered along a similar path from the week before.

I've taken many a deer sitting. Even more deer have been taken via the Wisconsin "drive". None are as satisfying as stalking. It puts your skill, will, and patience to test against the ever adaptable whitetail. When you stalk a deer, you become a part of the environment, and your senses are put to the test. Any mistake or misstep are unforgiving. I believe it puts you on equal footing as your quarrie.

I crept along a logging path which took me through an open expanse of poplar, maple, and the occasional oak. The path meandered along the lower edge of the rise. A mix of downed timber and cut brush allowed possible pockets for deer to bed. Chances were better I'd stumble across deer heading back to their beds from the neighboring fields. My pace was quicker along this path, than the previous week. I had an inkling where I'd rendezvous with deer.

The logging road opened up to a diked section of the river. I knew the Dane would be making his way through the pines a half mile along the other side. I'd make my way below of the surrounding swamp, cross the river, and make my way back towards him. Since we hadn't seen any other vehicles or prints, my spirits were again up. Moving along an old logging road, I came across my first deer track. The edges were crisp, yet smooth, and still damp. I exited the road, and began tracking this splayed print.

The deer was moving along a slight rise. With calculated steps, I followed the tracks, pausing to look in all directions every step. Not only does this allow one to move with little notice through the woods, it also allows the traveler to experience the area in it's entirety. Birds tend to ignore you, as do the squirrels. You pick out the low spots, brush piles, boulders, and blow-downs. I love to work a patch of woods as such.

I came across deer droppings. They were still warm. I fought the urge to push forward, and slowly made my way near the thicket I found old Bucky last week. The wind picked up, and brought with it a chill. It seemed November was waking up again, and flakes of clean snow began to fall.

Tell me friends, is there anything better than being in the midst of the woods with peaceful snow falling around you? The serenity of moments as such are difficult to top. Is it the freshness of the air, the crispness of the wind biting your nose, or the overall clean blanket of white defining the true change of fall to winter? I can't tell, but I'll accept it in its' entirety.

The area was a tangle of scrub brush, alder, and buckthorn. Tough going, especially if stealth is your goal. Thinking of how the deer passed through the last time, I slowed my pace, and searched carefully for any movement or sign. The snapping of twigs, and the rasping sound of brambles on your hunter's orange seem amplified when stalking. My heartbeat quickened, but I forced myself to keep moving slow. The snowflakes thickened.

It took near an hour to work through that mess, but no whitetail. Had I been too noisy? Too rushed? Surely I'd been careful enough to get close. The mind can play mean tricks on you, especially when you've been exuding a great deal of mental energy. All that sign, fresh tracks, the wind was right. I should have at least heard or kicked something up.

Exiting the brush, the woods opened up to marsh on two sides. I had to step carefully to keep from going up over my boots, and soaking my feet. I was well south and east of the Dane at this point. It was time to head out, and swing back to meet up. A little discouraged by the lack of deer had me moving a mite quicker than before. I wrestled with what could of went wrong.

I moved along the narrow finger of solid ground between the marshes. For no reason, I paused and took in the scene. New snow falling from a gray sky. A chilled November breeze, along the cold backdrop of woods, marsh, and thicket blew thick flakes. A pocket of alder came into focus, as did a sharp snap of a broken twig from within. The buck's head was pointed in the Dane's direction. If he stepped out, I'd have a shot. As what's typical, the deer swung around. If he went into the marsh, I was done. Fortunately, he worked back into the wind and broke for the woods to my right. The deer took a couple of bounds, as I drew a bead. I followed the deer up, and as he came down, squeezed the trigger. A resounding boom echoed and died amid the marsh, woods, and snow. I thought I saw the buck's tail drop as he disappeared at the wooded edge of the marsh.

Adrenaline had my heart racing. Slowing my breath, I soaked in what had happened, and decided to wait a few moments before looking for sign. I knew the Dane had heard the shot. Perhaps he'd come over to help out. I'll always be glad I took those moments. It gave me a chance to reflect on how great this season had been. Hadn't I stumbled upon a new section of Wisconsin woods to explore? Hadn't I discovered the haunt of a whitetail buck? Hadn't I put together a successful stalk? I was feeling confident in the shot I'd put when BOOM! A rifle shot resonated behind me. Next I heard "Deer down!" in the raspy voice of the Angry Dane. The call of victory.

Maybe I had kicked a few deer out of hiding? I went along to look for sign of my deer. I found his track, followed it into the woods, and saw it veer in a bee-line for the Angry Dane. No blood.

"He came walking off that finger, and was coming across the swamp!" said the Dane. The deer lay in the midst of a marsh muck a good two or three feet deep.

"Would have been nice if you'd let him cross it, instead of dropping him in the middle of it," I said.

"He stopped, looked your way and was about to bolt. I had to! Look, somebody has to be able to feed this group. Let's call the kids. This is a job for waders, deer cart, and young legs," replied the Dane.

It was the buck I stalked, and although my shot didn't find the mark, I was so glad we got him. The Dane put a beautiful hit through old Bucky. Dropped him where he stood! In all sincerity, I couldn't have dreamed of a better November deer hunt in the Wisconsin Woods.

I didn't get back into the deer woods that season, but had more than my fill. I didn't spend the time typical of the rifle hunt, but what was spent and with whom keeps my soul happy. Cheers to you all as we embark on the upcoming season. This time, I'll hopefully be a better shot.