A Sport of Stillness - Deer Hunting

Adam, Tracy and Scott Higginbotham - Opening Day Deer Hunting 2023

Sitting as still as a human being can, I peered into the depths of the woods in front of me as the sun rose. When you can’t speak, only listen and see, details pop into life bolder and livelier. We got to our perfectly scouted camp spot in the darkness of early morning with only the brightness of the moon and a few flashlights.

As sunbeams started to pierce the dark forest, I noticed things you wouldn’t typically notice unless you were in the woodland at 6 a.m. I was mesmerized by a tree sapling covered with moss changing differing hues of green as the sun hit it, by two droplets of dew hovering for dear life on a branch never falling or evaporating, and by the wind changing directions every twenty minutes rustling cinnamon-colored leaves on a small bush. I wondered, “Why does the wind change direction so often?”

Annually, I join my husband and sons on the opening day of deer hunting season, mostly to be with them since I’m not interested in shooting an animal, and to experience this mostly male ritual since being a female typically excludes you from learning to hunt. If I’m a feminist then I want to experience some of my life from a male perspective.

Tracy and Adam Higginbotham

As a four-point buck, so silent you didn’t hear him, walked into sight of our hunting blind, my son slowly lifted his gun for a shot, but before the blink of an eye, the super-keen-eared deer hopped up and over fallen trees through the forest until all we saw was his white tail rejoicing in winning the day. We were so close, and yet so far away, from hitting this superior creature aware of every single aspect of his surroundings.

As my son grumbled having not taken a shot, I sat for a moment thinking how hard it must have been for the pilgrims and Indians to forge for food. With so much ground to cover, with animals knowing their terrain better than humans, it is amazing there was food for the first Thanksgiving Day meal. I imagine I would have starved to death as an early pioneer woman if I had to rely solely on my hunting skills.

As the chilly day started coming to an end as the sun started to settle itself, my husband shot a doe. I got to experience the things that happen after a deer is shot - none of which I want to describe in my blog because it might be too sensitive for readers. But I was pleased I made it through another year of experiencing this ancient sport in the stillness of the woods surrounded by the abundance of nature, my son, and the lessons it taught me - that women can hunt too if they want.

Bow Hunting Atop the Trees

I didn’t climb trees when I was young mainly because the trees around my 1770’s house were very tall Maple trees, slender with only high branches, nothing reachable for a tiny girl like me. But I did fall in love with trees as I looked at them from my bedroom window, under an alcove, in my room. As a child of divorce, I felt safe somehow under them, as if they were watching out for me in their gentle, yet sturdy, way.

So as I climbed a tree at the age of 57 to bow hunt with my husband for the first time, I knew I would like it. The tall ladder leaned up nice and secure to its trunk. It was not intimidating to climb since it wasn’t as shaky as the flying trapeze ladder I ascended in February. Also I trusted my husband’s engineering style and was simply fearless about heights. I was excited to get to the top of the ladder,where a two-person seat, awaited us to perch and peer down on unsuspecting deer.

After practicing archery for three months, I was pretty confident in shooting a bow and arrow and knowing where to aim the arrow to kill the deer without injuring it. “The Kill Zone” was diagrammed on a black and white bag at the Gun and Archery Club we belonged to, with a spot for the heart, so I knew where I needed to aim if a stag or doe came within our sights.

Rising at dawn, my husband and I were up in the tree stand, quieter than mice, by 7 a.m. on a frosty 30-degree morning. We sat in darkness until the sun slowly appeared over our left shoulders awakening birds who took flight in groups heading south for the winter. It was also beautiful watching the differing shadows in the woods as the sun moved higher from the horizon, warming the atmosphere and our cold cheeks too. At last we could see what we would shoot, but hearing was as essential as seeing, to make sure you were shooting the right animal.

Three hours passed by quickly as we heard deer footsteps in the distance, tucked behind pine trees, not giving us a safe shot. But as I waited, I noticed things you’d never notice before walking in the woods – a fallen leaf pierced by a tiny stick of a tree limb floating almost in space, the varying degrees of green moss attached to most trees, the white birch paper-like- skin of other trees, and the whooshing of tall feather-like plants in the bog next to us. It was truly a delightful and sensory experience I never had before.

When we climbed down from our perch, high above the ground, knowing we’d have to succeed killing a deer on another day, I was grateful for the experience of sitting atop the trees, like I was one with nature, next to my husband who told me he loved me a bit more because I went with him on his favorite thing to do. I call that definitely a better day than bringing home a beautiful prized deer.