My dad is a hunter. As long as I can remember, the end of summer always included long walks in “the woods” on “the mountain” with my dad to decide where he was going to put his tree stand for hunting season.
As a kid, I understood a good location for the tree stand was step one in the process to getting the ultimate pay off: venison bologna in my lunch box— I skipped over the killing part. To those of you wrinkling your noses, I am shaking my head sadly back at you because you have no idea what you’re missing. To those of you who are now salivating at the thought of venison bologna, I proclaim you my people.
As a teenager though, I began to wonder, what did my dad do all day in the tree stand when he didn’t even see a deer, let alone shoot a deer? He didn’t bring a book or any other forms of entertainment, unless you counted toilet paper. If he didn’t shoot anything that day, was he still a hunter or just a guy sitting in a tree with a full bladder and a loaded gun?
As an adult, this summer, I finally got my answer. My parents bought 15 acres or so in Sullivan County for my dad to hunt on and build a cabin. They affectionately call it “The land”. We’re good at naming things in my family. My dad proposed that we go
and sit in an old existing tree stand on the property to see if we could spot any deer and I could get some wildlife shots. Afterwards, we could get breakfast.
Now just to recap, my dad asked me to sit in a tree with my him for hours on end without talking. My answer, sign me up! Now fast forward, we’re on the land and hiking
back through the woods to the tree stand. My dad, is ahead of me leading the way, pushing through brush and undergrowth and mud while I try vainly to keep up with him. It’s hard though, because while he is bent on finding the tree stand, I am consumed with fears of ticks, spiders, snakes, and poison ivy.
At last we push through into a small clearing, and I get my first look at the tree stand. Hoisted some 20 feet in the tree, the small wooden stand with two sides almost seems to flow, a rowboat in a sea of green. The platform is accessible only by a questionable wooden ladder with rusty nails protruding which we proceed to climb, hand over hand, foot over foot.
By the time we reach the platform, I’m not thinking so much of the wildlife I’m going to see, but at least four different ways I could die out here: Lyme’s Disease, snake bites, Tetanus, and a blood clot from a compound fracture in my leg resulting from the collapse of an old wooden tree stand. I am also thinking about work, my bladder, and when the aforementioned breakfast would be coming.
There isn’t room to turn around or stretch even; it is a life-raft for one. Hunkering down on the edge of the platform, I swing my legs out over the edge of the ladder, camera bag resting between my legs, dad standing behind me looking out in the opposite direction and proceed to wait, and wait, and wait.
I’m not overly concerned about not seeing a deer or wildlife right away. I have a healthy expectation of wildlife to behave like wildlife: elusive and crafty. Honestly, I know I’ll be lucky to spot a porcupine. We are adrift, and there is nothing to see but leaves and some blue sky. I begin to count all of the different shades of green and the new shades exposed when the leaves turn.
There is nothing to hear but the wind cresting and flooding though the trees making the wood creak and shift around us. Far away and then closer, we can hear the trill and calls of birds and the echoes of their songs building.
There is nowhere to be and time becomes measured in the movement of shadows and the intervals in between bug bites. And suddenly, I know what my dad loved about hunting and it wasn’t the adrenalin of the kill. I mean I’m sure that’s part of it, but I think the biggest pull of all is the sweet bliss that is nothing.
So what’s the point of sitting in a tree stand with no personal wildlife show on the half hour? With a full bladder and no public restrooms? With bugs and a genuine concern about falling to your death? Absolutely nothing— and hopefully this fall, bologna.
