Into the Dark
The Field Review: TFR-106
THE LEDE
A Weekly Column On Living Well
I remember my first deer hunt like it was yesterday.
The date was September 25, 2021. I was 24 years old.
At the time, I didn’t personally know anyone who hunted. I had no mentors, no property, and no one to ask for permission. With that in mind, I picked the most deer-friendly piece of public land I knew, a state park about an hour north of home.
This particular area held many of my favorite childhood outdoor memories. I spent many weekends camping and hiking here with my family, and spent even more time here throughout my time with the Boy Scouts.
And while I was familiar with the general area, I had never actually set foot in the pull-off I pinned on OnX a few days before.
On opening morning, I pointed my truck north and made what I thought was good time. That confidence was diminished when I found another pickup parked where I intended to walk in. Discouraging, sure, but at least it confirmed that I hadn’t picked a place with no deer.
I drove farther up the dirt lane and found another pull-off. This one was empty. The reflective yellow WILDLIFE AREA sign flashed as my headlights passed over it.
I killed my lights, put on my headlamp, and opened the door.
Silence.
The park that held so many good memories felt different now in the pitch black darkness. It felt different alone.
I gathered my gear, carefully closed my rear driver-side door, and turned back toward dark abyss of the woods. I remembered reading that you’re better off walking to your stand without a headlamp. That sounded logical when I read it at home, but now standing here alone in the middle of the night with no clear idea of where I was headed, I decided that the deer could live with a little light.
I took one step, then another, and left the road.
I followed a trail until it became nothing more than a matted pad of pine needles winding between the trees. Every few minutes, I pulled out my phone to make sure I wasn’t walking in circles.
In the darkness, my imagination was running wild. I could feel eyes watching my every move just beyond the edge of my light.
Increased sweat on my back and elevated breathing told me that it was time to stop. I picked a tree at complete random, dropped my pack and strapped on the first climbing stick.
As a I hung the second, something rustled ahead of me. Then another came to my left, and a third behind me. I told myself it was just a bunch of squirrels. Definitely not coyotes.
But even as a first time hunter, I knew they were coyotes. (Confirmed after finding their tracks on the walk out).
As they continued to make noise, I continued to climb. Twenty-five feet later, I reached the safety of elevation.
To no one’s surprise, I did not take a deer that day. Around mid-morning, a doe tore through the brush ahead of me at a full run. A few seconds later, I heard a bowstring snap, followed by more commotion.
I stayed around long enough to confirm that I had no shooting lanes and to hear the other hunter I didn’t even know was there climb down from his tree. On the walk back to the truck, I came across him beginning to drag out the doe.
“Congratulations”, I said. He thanked me, and I kept walking.
The woods started to feel familiar again.
I had no idea what I was getting into when I shut that truck door and headed into the unknown. The darkness held plenty of variables that I could not account for. Hidden dangers, risk, success, and ultimately, experience.
These were all reasons to go.
Fear makes the unknown feel full. Experience gives names to the things you can’t see from the road.
The only way to learn is to go far enough to find out. The risk of entering the darkness never disappears. You can choose the wrong path. You can make mistakes. You can come home without what you went looking for.
Most people will never leave the safety of the truck. They will wait for sunrise to come and reveal the way. By that time, the coyotes will be in their dens… but the deer will be long-gone, too.
The dark will always hold things you can’t account for. To not enter is to not live.
Live Well. Tell No One.
THE MARGIN
A Few Things That Grabbed My Attention This Week
Big Ten football continues to win the off-season
I am a Buckeye for life, but Indiana head football coach Curt Cignetti just had the quote of the off-season at Big Ten media days last week.
“We don’t run a hype machine up here in the Midwest. We believe everything is earned, not given. When we fall short, we say we fell short. We don’t cry a river, whine and complain. That’s why we’re the best.”
After three state seasons with a Big Ten National Champion (including one from my Buckeyes)… the Midwest conference continues to beat those boys from the SEC on and off the field.
If this doesn’t get you excited for football season, I’m not sure what will.
Remi Warren hunts a wolf with a bow
I recently watched Part I of Remi Warren x First Lite’s Northwest Territory caribou hunt film. Starting out with a bow that got lost in travel, about halfway through the first installment, Remi takes down a black wolf that wanders a little too close.
Talk about a 180 degree turn of events. Enjoyed Part I of this adventure filled with wolves, grizzlies, and some of the biggest caribou I’ve ever seen on camera. Looking forward to catching Part II on YouTube next.
STANDARDS
Concepts & Vibes For Your Consideration
The Field Review is a weekly newsletter exploring the art of living well.
Every Sunday at 10AM EST, I share ideas, insights, and conversations that help break through the noise, offering a real look at how we can all keep moving forward.
Venture Onward,
Jack
Would love to hear more from you, the reader. What’s on your mind, where you’re headed, what you want to see next from me, the writer. Drop a comment below.
There’s a scene in “Goodbye to a River” where John Graves puts in a Girl Scout camp near the end of his trip. He looks like a vagabond, having been living out of his canoe for weeks, and means to leave — but his dog jumps out and runs towards the girls — who think the pup is adorable.
The adults send one of the dads down to make sure he’s “safe” and Graves strikes up a conversation with him. “Seems pretty nice, what you’re doing.” “It is if you like this sort of thing.” “I think I would. The most exercise I get is mowing the lawn.”
A storm begins to roll in and the girls and their families pack up to get back home. Graves, on the other hand, starts setting up camp.
I carried a wealth of ignorance on my first hunts. But so glad I got out of the truck.