- Outdoor columnist Ben Smith says he’s just about over fishing for the time being and hunting season isn’t that far off, but it just won’t hurry up and get here.
The sun finally begins to crack the darkness bringing life to the woods. Birds chirp from their perch as the new day slowly arrives. Squirrels leave their nests but remain in the treetops until the ground is safely lit up. In the distance, an owl hoots for the final time and will remain silent until darkness falls again. The sounds of geese flying high above the trees fills the air as they continue their voyage South. Every so often, a group of wood ducks zip by, their wings making a whistling sound.
I’ve been sitting in my stand for at least an hour before the sun arrived. The still, cold air in the darkness gives way to a gentle breeze that sends chills down my body. Even though the sun will warm things up eventually, this moment is the coldest of the hunt for me. I silently sing “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles in my head, something I’ve done for years to get through that period where darkness meets light. A light frost on the rails of my deer stand shimmer as beams of light cut through the trees. As the sunlight hits my face I can see every breath. The condensed water vapor makes it almost appear that I’m smoking a cigarette in the stand.
Suddenly, the snap of a limb in the distance gets my attention. Too big to be a squirrel, I’m now honed in on the location. Then, I can hear the footsteps. Definitely not a squirrel, but it could be a coyote, a fox, or a wild hog. The steps get closer, and I can hear the crunching of leaves. Whatever it is it’s not in a hurry. It’s a steady pace, but seemingly cautious. I go ahead and raise my rifle in anticipation. Carefully, I prop the gun on the shooting rail and make sure my scope is on the correct setting. Finally, he steps into the clear. The buck carefully surveys the area before taking another step. He’s a perfectly symmetrical twelve point with six on each side. Just at a glance I’m positive he’ll weigh two-hundred thirty pounds and will score at least one hundred sixty inches. He’s the buck of a lifetime and I have him directly in my crosshairs. I quietly click off the safety, take a deep breath and exhale, and squeeze the trigger.
Boom! The rifle blast cracks the chilly morning air. The sound startles me so much that I jump dang near right out of the bed. You read that last sentence correctly. I wake up breathing hard and covered in sweat. I’m confused as I look around the bedroom and stare at the August sun coming through my bedroom window. It takes me a couple of minutes to get my bearings and realize that it was all just a dream. Dadgumit, I think to myself. That’s the second time this summer that has happened.
I haven’t really told my wife about my recurring dreams about killing big bucks because I don’t want her to think I’m losing my mind, but for those of you that read this column you already know I’m a little off balance anyway. I used to dream about much different things. Playing baseball in the big leagues, family members gone, and the occasional dream where you’re falling from the highest place imaginable and wake up just before hitting the ground. But these days I seem to be dreaming about hunting more than ever. And the crummy thing about it is that I always wake up just before getting to the best part. I guess it could be worse. I could dream of missing the deer of a lifetime. That would make for a bad day at work. It would be weird to just show up at the office mad about something that didn’t even really happen. How would you even explain that to colleagues? Hey, sorry I’m gonna be ticked off all day, but I missed a big buck in a dream last night and can’t get over it. They’d for sure send me to be evaluated by someone in the Psychology department on campus.
The good news is that I haven’t had that experience yet. The bad news is that it’s August and I’ve got a few months to keep dreaming about hunting big bucks again. This time of the summer is tough. I’m just about over fishing for the time being and hunting season isn’t that far off, but it just won’t hurry up and get here. At least we have alligator season coming up at the end of the month to hold us over until deer season arrives. Maybe I’ll get in a dove hunt while I wait, as well. But until those seasons get here I’ll just have to keep dreaming of deer season. Who knows, maybe these dreams are foreshadowing a great season to come.
I have one last thing for the week that I need to mention. My good friend, Andrew Abadie, is embarking on a new career in Gainesville, Florida. Andrew has been the sports editor at the Pine Belt News in Hattiesburg for several years and will now be covering the Florida Gators. He gave me my first ever opportunity at having a weekly outdoors column and I’m deeply appreciative and will miss having him around town. The Hattiesburg and Pine Belt area has been fortunate to have had him the last several years, covering everything from youth to college athletics. Thank you, Andrew, and I wish you the best in your new adventure!
Ben Smith
