The Hunt

[ozark trout fisher]

Every year it's the same, and I'm unspeakably happy to be here again, heading down Highway 19 between Salem and Eminence. We've just crossed the Current River, running deep, green, and strong. There will still be nearly another hour until we turn off on the little gravel road, and into the mountainous tract of mixed pine and oak forests where we hunt each year. I've been hunting with my father since I was very young, about ten years old, and it has always been here, in this Conservation Area. My memories of that first hunt have faded; it was so many years ago, nearly a decade now. But I do remember the pure excitement of the hunt, getting up at 4 AM, hiking out to the food plot where the stand was set up. And I remember how that excitement was amplified to such a great extent, when that afternoon I took my first deer, a small doe that weighed less than 50 pounds field dressed.

My excitement level has faded considerably since then, in regards to the hunt itself. These days, I really could not care less whether I get a deer, whether I even see one. I am out there to absorb the stillness of the remote Ozark woods, the cold air of the morning and the warmth of the afternoon, to watch the sun rise and the sun set in an incredible beautiful place. Our deer camp have always been a rather simple, and blessedly uncomfortable affair. The next morning, We slide out of tents, heat up some oatmeal, and head out into the dark. Lately we haven't been hunting out of stands, but still hunting, so we'll hike into the little creek drainage that we like to frequent, find two good trees to set up under, and wait for the sun to show itself the east. Usually I will show myself not to be a true hunter at this point. While I should be sitting alertly, listening for movement, my head tends to go down, lever action across my knees. The only thing I am watching is the back of my eye lids.

I'll wake up at the first gray light, about when legal shooting hours began. It's cold right now, about freezing. But I know that it will get warmer throughout the day, quite possibly into the 70s by mid-afternoon. It's like mountain whether, with the freezing cold nights and the pleasantly warm days. It is prime time right now, and if I see a deer today it's likely to be within the next couple of hours. So I do manage to stay alert, for a little while. But nothing moves, except the myriad squirrels that frequent this oak forest. So I pass the time watching them, their frantic, jerky movements, two large gray squirrels chasing each other up a tree. Then I find myself watching the little spring-fed creek at the bottom of the hollow, watching for movement in it, thinking to myself that I might have to try fishing it some time. I can't focus on listening hard, paying close attention so I'll be ready if a deer comes. I never could. I accepted pretty early on that isn't why I'm out here, not even the tenth part of it. Lately I've begun to seriously consider the possibility of not even bringing my rifle at all, but for some undefinable reason that wouldn't seem quite right.

By now the sun is high, and the air is warming rapidly. I think of taking off my Carhartt coat, but not yet. It's still pretty cold. By now I've almost completely forgotten why I'm out here. I'm just spending a relaxing day sitting under a tall, stately oak tree, watching a little stream flow by. Life couldn't be better. There is something about hunting, about the absolute quiet and stillness of it that keeps me coming back. There is nothing quite so relaxing as a day spent hunting out in these woods; even fly fishing doesn't come close. About noon, we decide to head back to the trunk, to eat some jerky and trail mix and ponder where we might want to hunt in the afternoon. Taking a quick break from the hunt, we hike out to the top of one tall ridge where there is an amazing view of the highest mountain in this part of the Ozarks. The mountainside is dominated by pine forest, with a few oak trees still carrying their brown leaves. There's a small rocky bald near the top, shimmering in the bright sun. I camped a the summit of this mountain the summer before, and I remember that night there was a meteor shower, falling stars all across the sky. Maybe the reason why I love this place so much now is in fact because of these memories. This place was where where I first experienced the Ozarks, first saw the tall pines, the little spring-fed creeks, heard the coyotes howling at night. It was where I learned exactly how bright the stars shine when you are far away from even the smallest town, with no light pollution. It was this place that introduced me to the region of broken hills and forest that would become the place I turn to, whenever I need to be somewhere that is relatively unspoiled, still touched with wildness.

I'm sitting under a tree again, this time on the edge of a field, deep in a valley. I can see the hills rising up on all sides of me. The temperature has dropped again, and I've put the Carhartt back on. The light is fading now, the day is almost over. Within the hour we'll be back to camp, talking about how happy we are to be here, heating up the cans of chili. But for now, I get to watch the sun set, another beautiful and perfect day coming to a close in this place. I'm not much of a hunter, and I probably never will be, but still I understand that I wouldn't trade this for anything.