In the fall of 2007 I had a rare opportunity.  I was done with college October 1st, but couldn’t start my full time job at GM until November 15th.  I was left with no choice but to hunt everyday during the Michigan bow season… what tough luck.  To top it off, my Dad wasn’t working anymore either so he would be right there with me.  We were going to be professional hunters.  

My Dad and I were always extremely blessed to have the privilege of hunting my Uncle’s land.  That fall a large land renovation began to double the size of his pond and change the landscape for better water management (as seen in the top photo).  The influx of large equipment during that bow season temporarily changed the deer patterns and gave me a shot at my biggest buck to date… this is the story.        

It was already November and the deer were changing their patterns so fast our heads were spinning.  We would sit for days without a single sighting.  The equipment started up everyday at sun up and worked until sun down, echoing for miles.  It was disheartening at times, but we were hunting every day together and had nothing else to worry about but those deer.  It was time to embrace the Marine Corp. mantra to improvise, adapt, and overcome.  It was time to forget everything I knew about the land and start over.  

The area east of my Uncle’s house is thick and gnarly.  It only encompasses a few acres but it’s filled with briars that will shred anything sneaking through it.  There, in the thick of it all, stood one tall tree perfect for a climber stand, perfect for an ambush.  The area is normally to be off limits to human pressure to give the deer a sanctuary, but not that year, it was time to overcome.  I nicknamed the spot, “The Tree of Destiny” and carved a tunnel through the briars to take it to fruition.  On November 8th gun season was drawing near and the wind was right.

The alarm pulled me out of bed that morning with all its strength.  I headed to the couch with the ache of 37 straight days in the tree stand twisting my face.  My bloodshot eyes blurred the weather channel as I searched for the wind direction.  Today was the day, the temperature had dropped and graced me with a direct wind from the west and an opportunity to give “The Tree of Destiny” it’s time.  I was re-charged that morning.  We got into the field early to give me time to set up and my Dad shot me a grin as we parted, “good luck, bub”.  I headed into the black with my tree stand on my back and watched my feet to make sure I was hugging the trail.  Each step picked up speed until my breathing became hard and fast.  The excitement had me almost running while my tree stand punished my shoulders.  I remembered to breathe and throttled back into stealth mode.  The tunnel entrance into the briars was threatening in the darkness and crawling was the only option.  They fought back in an initiation ceremony to the sanctuary.  I felt like I was going somewhere I shouldn’t, as if my actions may have consequences set in motion, but I pushed forward.  The base of the tree had afforded me a small clearing to get set up to climb.  I calculated each movement to slip just above the brush line in complete silence.  Everything was in place and now the story could unfold. 

The sunrise that morning changed me slightly, just as most do.  It burned the frost away in a sleepy fog that gave “The Tree of Destiny” an incredible allure.  Just as I was getting lost in the simple stories of the wild the thundering diesels came to life.  I moped for a moment but remained hopeful that the bedding area would bring a surprise.  The equipment continued digging for hours, building a mountain of dirt just to the north of me.  A little after nine o’clock I caught some movement while scanning the terrain that jerked my head toward that newly forming mound.  My jaw fell open at the stoic sight of a beautiful 2.5 year old eight point that had climbed to the top to survey the area.  He stood where a truck had just dumped a load moments before!  He remained a solid statue for a moment, then dropped his head and headed for the briars.  His figure vanished in the thickness and without thinking I was up with my bow.  Now I had time to process.  Where had he gone?  Was he headed to the bedding areas below me in search of does?  My mouth was hanging open sucking for more oxygen.  I caught him to my right near a crossroads.  Time stopped while I watched him decide: right or left.  Things kicked into fast forward as he turned right and was beneath me in ten steps.  I overcame my shaking body to draw my bow and pick a spot.  He completely ignored my grunts to stop him and maintained a fast pace to the bedding area.  I panicked; remembering my Dad’s words to never shoot at a moving deer no matter what.  Buck fever was in control now and I gave little effort to negotiate.  My Diamond Black Ice silently slipped an arrow through the lungs and he gave a short kick before disappearing into the thickness. 

 I was a mess.  My body was shaking and I no longer had legs.  I shed my mask and hat thinking it would help me suck in more air.  My feet hit the ground in record time as I slid down the tree and packed up.  The excitement was exploding out of me and I had to get to Dad right now.  I crashed through the briar tunnel, taking a pounding, and spilled out onto the trail.  My tree stand and bow hit the ground and I was moving.  I ran full tilt down the field edge toward my Dad’s setup with little thoughts of my burning lungs and aching legs.  He watched me trip and fall towards him and started down his tree.

 “I got ‘em, I nailed him, Dad, he’s nice man, I got ‘em!”  I said what I could between breaths.

 “You did!  Awesome, let’s go get the truck” His was the voice of reason, and filled with pride. 

 We moved quickly and it seemed surreal to me at that point.  The blood trail was all over the place; a zig-zag through the briars and into some small pines.  As it led us to an opening I spotted the white belly.  We emerged into my Uncle’s back yard and my buck was right there next to his fire pit.  He was a nice buck and I was bursting with pride.  It had been a long season and this was the biggest buck we had ever even seen around there (pre QDM).  

My November 8, 2007 Deer

My Dad awarded me with a quick hug, making it all worth it.  I looked up and saw my Aunt waving from the kitchen, somewhat perplexed at us standing over a buck in the back yard.  We had improvised, adapted, and now overcome.  This was no giant by any means, but a trophy to me forever. 

That season was the last with my Dad and those 45 straight days hunting with him will always be in my heart.  I hunted “The Tree of Destiny” a few times in 2008 with no luck.  I got a call from my Uncle recently with somber news: the power company had come through clearing trees with limbs near the lines.  “The Tree of Destiny” was cut down and is gone forever.  I think it’s time to head out and plant a new one, just in case the pond needs some work again someday.

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I grew up hunting whitetails in mid Michigan.  It guaranteed two things for me: that most everyone I knew hunted and that I most likely would not have access to the kind of bucks I watched the stars bag on Saturday morning TNN.  Michigan has been in the top three states in license sales for a long time.  The real estate environment here has split up larger farms into small tracts of land for the hobby farmer and fosters heavy hunting pressure.  The deer hunting religion among my circle of friends was always to shoot anything with horns and never ever shoot does. QDMA refers to this as “Traditional Deer Management”.  My hunting passion and drive completely changed when I got to know two guys that I worked with at GM. Jay and Dean are incredibly smart and experienced hunters.  I can never thank them enough for the knowledge and wisdom they have shared with me, as well as taking my whitetail obsession to a whole new level. 

            My last conversation with my Dad didn’t seem to be overly profound at the time.  I came to him that night with my eyes popping out of my head as I relayed stories about Dean’s land and how some days they see fifteen bucks in one sit.  I told him about QDM and how they had had a couple thousand acres committed to it for the last five years on the most beautiful Maple River land.  It was my fantasy hunting land.  My Dad took it all in and seemed impressed, but just responded with the fact that we could never get the guys around my Uncles land to agree to do anything like that.  He wouldn’t believe it now but 2009 will be the second year of our own 2,000 acre QDM co-op thanks to the hard work of Brian Elliston. 

 Last fall Dean and Jay graciously invited me to hunt with them for three days on the Maple River in late October… and this is the story. 

            There was little point to trying to sleep that first night but I still went through the motions.  My mind danced with visions of big bucks and memories of my father.  I knew he would be with me the next morning.  I felt as if I was getting ready for a big game, like this was the playoffs of hunting.  At the same time I felt I had won the lottery with the good fortune of simply being here.  It was a pure exhilaration that I would hope everyone could experience at one point in their lives.  Nothing could take the smile off my face that morning and I loved every minute of it.  We got out of the truck and suited up.  The air was smooth and crisp in my lungs.  The cloudy, moonless night was dark; the kind of dark that taunts your imagination.  I followed Dean and Jay into the woods.  Jay split off to his stand and I tried to stay close behind Dean’s shadow through the black.  The woods were thick.  This was not the clean cut wood lot on the edge of a crop field I was used to.  This was a thick, swampy, angry river bottom that we were disappearing into.  I was amazed at how Dean knew where to take each step.  It was hard to remember to breathe.  My heart was racing and I was shaking with excitement.  We made our way across his handcrafted bridge spanning a wide stream and passed through a mowed down food plot.  He led me to the edge of another stream and danced across on a dead log without hesitation.  He looked at me with a crooked smile, as if what he had just done was easy.  The log seemed smaller once I was on it and I just barely made the last step onto solid ground before I lost my balance.  Dean was waiting for me to get wet with a laugh caught in his throat.  Just beyond the stream was the spot he had guided me to.  Dean continued on to his stand and I started up the tree.  Those guys hunt high up and it was unnerving for me to be twenty-five feet up in the darkness.  The ground was lost in the black dampness of the air.  It was my time; my time to breathe and wait for the sun to bring the woods to life.  

            The few moments before dawn will always have a special place in my heart.  The simple clarity that it gives me strengthens my soul.  I watched the sun slowly take the haze away from my eyes and unfold the painting below my feet.  This place was incredible.  There were very few avenues that deer traveled at my Uncle’s land, but here was unexpected, they could come from anywhere, and they did.  As soon as the woods came alive there was a deafening crash to the north, followed by a grunting buck, “mehhhhh, mehhhhh, mehhhhh!”  I spotted a doe panicked, zigzagging through the trees towards me.  Behind her was a beautiful three and a half year old eight point following her every step.  I was up and breathing heavy.  Time slowed down and without thinking I had my bow tightly in my fingertips.  Here was a different style of hunting.  I remembered to force a new way of thinking and process the moment.  The buck had a nice typical rack but it was just even with the ears, a sign he needed some more time to grow.  Dean had told me to shoot whatever was a trophy to me and I knew that this was a trophy.  My heart beating in my throat told me this was a trophy.  QDM told me this buck would be a monster in two years.  The doe got loose and disappeared into the mist.  The buck stood broadside at seven yards and began to graze on clovers, allowing me to make the decision.  I took a cleansing breath and raised my bow, hanging it back on the tree.  It was a new way of thinking, a new hunting experience.  I knew two things: it was satisfying to allow this buck to grow to be a monster and there were much bigger bucks in this swamp.  He disappeared after the doe once again and I tried to regroup.  That was an exertion of patience and self control I have never been tested with.  Moments later it was validated.  A group of does and fawns blasted through the stream behind me and I whirled around, broken from my thoughts.  Following stoically behind them was a monster swamp buck.  He was the biggest buck I have ever seen.  My lungs froze followed by the rest of my body.  My legs went numb and disappeared underneath me.  He kept his distance and paced behind the does as they disappeared out of sight.  The giant paused for a moment and then continued after them.  The encounter lasted ten seconds and it took me an hour to catch my breath.  I didn’t have a shot because they were never closer than eighty yards but the memory will keep me warm during long, cold sits for years to come.  Giant bucks were real in Michigan and I had just been awarded the pleasure of seeing one.   I was different now.  Hunting was different now.  

            I saw thirty deer that morning and they came from every direction.  Not every sit during those three days was that good, but I did pass on another buck of a similar size.  I also missed a nice four and half year old when my Easton deflected off a sapling branch and over his back.  QDM in that area had created the most intense hunting experience with the sheer number of bucks competing for each doe’s attention.  It completely changed my passion for hunting and made me realize a whole new level it can be taken to.  I can’t sleep at night because I am thinking about hunting.  I write about hunting to help me sleep.  I have become a 365 day a year hunter, a new breed completely obsessed with growing and holding big bucks.  The satisfaction from watching them age through trail camera pictures, sheds, and sightings are almost as fulfilling as harvesting them.  Dean and Jay gave me that gift through their knowledge and expertise.  QDM makes hunting an incredible experience.  It requires patience and delayed gratification, but it is worth it.  Support QDM and get involved. 

            I lost my father after the 2007 season so hunting last fall was extremely lonely.  I realized that sharing in the hunting experience with others is half the fun.  I did not know how important it was until it was gone and for those three days I had it back.  Be a mentor to another hunter.  Share in the experiences together to enrich your time outdoors, because the only thing better than shooting a great buck is having your best friend there with you, just as excited as you are.

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his is the story of my first buck.  It was a 1 1/2 year old typical six point.  I shot him on Oct 1, 1999.  Afterwards, my parents took a million pictures… but the film never advanced in our camera.  Instead I will post a picture of pops with one of his nice bucks.

My relationship with my Father always seemed complicated.  My love for him was deep, but frustrating.   It wasn’t until October 1^st, 1999 that everything started to make sense and became simple.  I ran home from school to catch my dad before he headed out for an afternoon hunt on opening day of my second bow season.  I was fifteen and a freshman in high school, but I already knew hunting was the only thing that got my heart pumping.  I didn’t have any success my first year but I knew this year would be different.  He was already loading up the truck when I started down our street. He hollered when I caught his eye, “Come on, get suited up!”  I jumped in the truck grinning from ear to ear and Dad cranked up Ted Nugent’s “Fred Bear” as was the tradition on the way to our stands.

We slipped through the field along a pine row and settled into our stands on the edge of a wood lot.  It was a textbook afternoon with a calm southwest wind and a dropping temperature that we hoped would get the deer moving.  I kept my eyes searching the leaves and earth for motion, looking for anything disturbing the picturesque stillness of the woods.  The partly cloudy evening was giving way to dusk.  The sun was slowly leaving its shift and the darkness began to blanket my eyes.  I had to wonder why the deer had eluded me on such a perfect night.  I was free from thoughts and I intensely absorbed nature’s thrills.  I was doing what I loved to do and that’s all that mattered.  Just then the deafening silence was broken by the familiar “Chunkkk, Chunkkk, Chunkkk” of a deer leaving the warm season grass field behind me.  My heart began pounding out of my chest as I slowly turned my aching body to peek around the tree.  The setting sun mixed with the rising moon to illuminate the buck’s rack as he headed down a mowed trail that passes ten yards in front of me.  A shot of adrenaline pushed me into cruise control and instinct took over.  Like the dreams I had many nights before this one, I slowly raised my bow and watched the buck head in my direction.  Time stood still for me then and I picked my shooting lane just on the other side of a sapling.  I eased my PSE over the hump to my cheek and I could hear my Dad repeating in my head, “Just pick a spot, take a deep breath, and let the arrow fly.”  The buck stopped just past the sapling and the string rolled off my fingertips.  In the blur of the night he bucked and went crashing through the dense woods as if shot out of a cannon, then silence.

I remembered to breathe and I replayed the movie that I had just watched in my head over and over.  My heart was pounding and my bow became heavy in my shaking hand.  I slowly regained my composure and I put it back on the hanger so I could kneel down in the tree stand to wait the thirty minutes to race to my Father.  Time moved in slow motion while I pondered the fate of my arrow’s flight.  I started to pack up after what seemed like an eternity, when,  in the darkness, I saw the familiar orange glow of my Father’s cigarette slowly heading my way down the trail.  I felt my way out of the tree and ran blindly through the woods to him, tripping over every stick and stump.

His silhouette cracked a smile as I yelled, “Where ya been, don’t you want to help me find my deer?”

He was bursting with pride and replied, “Let’s go get the flashlights”  This moment of simple speech between a proud father and son meant the world to me.

With flashlights in hand we returned to the point of impact.  We found the first sign of blood, a victory over my fears.  My Dad explained it to be lung blood, a second victory.  I remembered to breathe again, a sigh of relief this time.  My aluminum Easton arrow was missing; my forty pounds must not have been enough to push it through the shoulder.  My Father’s shadow guided me through the forest.  The blood trail zigzagged in panic through the woods and I stayed close behind him.  We emerged at the riverbank and immediately spotted my mangled arrow glistening on the sandy bottom.  The quiet river seemed surreal in our flashlights.  Without hesitation my Dad pushed forward, first one leg, then the other.  I followed and let out a screech when the frozen water reached my waist.  I retrieved my twisted arrow from the midnight water and continued up the bank on the other side.  We followed the glowing trail over two large hills and valleys.  Bad became worse when we lost the blood trail after the buck entered a very tall warm season grass field.  In fifteen minutes we moved ten yards and I was becoming very discouraged.  I began flashing the field in desperation and suddenly I spotted a while belly, victory!

“Dad I got him,” I shouted as he came running over and saw him for the first time.

“Oh baby what a feeling!” I mumbled, connecting with my Father.  We embraced, a rare burst of emotion between us.  Affection was never part of our relationship, but here, things were simple.

He regained his composer, “Let’s get started, we have a lot of work ahead of us.”

The rest of the night was a blur of darkness and pride.  I remembered to breathe again.  That night I became simple and for the first time I could understand my Father.  Our world was now simple and no longer complicated.  I was humbled and our relationship grew from that point on.  Even though I lost him in 2007 to a heart attack, I still look for that familiar orange glow to come guide me from the woods at night, knowing he is there with me.

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  I wrote this with my wife in mind, trying to define the draw to sit in a tree day after day, wether or not I am seeing deer.

Whenever I walk around in big crowds of people at the store it seems like their always either in a big hurry or operating in slow motion, not sure where they are or what their doing. I always feel uncomfortable and out of place, as if I don’t fit in. I walk around with a sense of enlightenment, like I am holding this special secret that everyone else doesn’t know or experience. That is, until I pass another guy wearing a camo hat with the same smile in the corner of his mouth. It’s

like a secret society where everything is more simple and things make sense. Where a strong running 4×4 and a loyal dog are the extent of my status symbols.

My outdoor lifestyle has afforded me a special perspective of life, a secret lens through which to view it. I always hoped that heaven was like a morning hunt in late October.  I drive into the field so heavy, weighted down with bloodshot eyes and my worries on my back. When I hop out of the truck the crisp air stings my nose and snatches away my breath. I always warm up after I suit up and I catch my breath when the dome light kicks off and I start the journey. I feel the transformation take hold as I start down the trail. The weight on my back starts to shake loose and my eyes start to get clearer. I visualize making such a large disturbance in the silent night air while huge weights of responsibility slip down my back and crash onto the frost bitten trail. I have to slow down and look back at the wake of my destruction, a trail of bills to pay, past due work reports, a washer and dryer, a lawn mower, a 401k report, dirty dishes, and all the other baggage I was carrying. I feel lighter now and I move slower to begin slipping unnoticed into the woods. Once I settle into my tree twenty feet in the air I have become small. I am a part of something much much greater than I will ever be. It is humbling to be so small and insignificant, it is simple, it is quiet.

The moments before sunrise are the most beautiful and they always cleanse my soul. It is so still and quiet that the thoughts in my mind are deafening. The chill in the air seems to cover me like a blanket, calming my thoughts. At that hour I can see clearly and quietly what makes sense in the world. I can breathe in all the good and exhale all the bad from life. I take in deep, slow, clean breathes and watch the black smog leave my lips when I let it all out. It never fails that I jump out of my skin when the first bird pierces the silence of those mornings. Soon after they all explode in contagious noise urging the sun to pull the covers away.

In the blink of an eye it’s time to head home. I try not to pick anything back up on the way to the truck but it is inevitable that some of it makes it to my shoulders again. I return home a little lighter, a little clearer, and with a smile in the corner of my mouth that won’t go away…

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