Life in a Treestand

Originally written Fall 2008
At 4:30 in the morning my inclination is to ignore the alarm and roll over and go back to sleep; and I have on a few occasions. Usually I am with my two sons in a tent somewhere in the state of Missouri and it is cold outside and it is ever so hard to roll out and get the water started for our normal routine of instant oatmeal, juice, coffee for me, and hot chocolate for them. Once I am up and going it all starts to make sense to me as my excitement level always begins to build for what may be in store for me that day.


I rouse them from their slumber and we begin to proceed in the normal fashion. We eat, make one last check of our gear, and then get in the truck to drive to where we will strike out for our pre-scouted stand locales. That time in the truck is precious because from the time we got out of our sleeping bags we have usually managed to become quite chilly. The heater in the truck raises our body temperatures and it feels oh so good.

We arrive somewhere on a dirt road after squinting at every opening thinking it’s the one we are looking for, or if we were smart, using our GPS to guide us to our starting point. From there, it’s loading fanny packs, tree stands, and rifles for a hike through dark woods for a quarter mile and usually much more. We try so hard to be quiet, no matter how far we are from our stand sites. There are hushed voices, sometimes with a few curse words interspersed, softly shut truck doors, and attempts to keep dangling objects from clanking against the deer stand on your back.

Stumbling through the dark and trying to balance the notion that a headlamp will scare every deer in the county against the reality of bumping into trees and doubting your innate directional ability or the accuracy of your GPS, is a balancing act every stand hunter is familiar with. Occasionally you find that tree you scouted and maybe even decorated with some orange surveyor’s tape. Sometimes you end up in a tree you didn’t really plan on residing in.

A few minutes is spent attaching cables, safety harnesses, and a pull up rope with your gear attached to the ground-end. Up you go, as quietly as you can possibly be, as high as you feel is necessary and is possible. You try your best to get the seat of your stand at an angle where you won’t be pitched forward at a 45 degree angle. You get all safety mechanisms dealt with, and then you pull up your rifle and whatever else is at the end of the line. You get set in your seat and quietly load the magazine and chamber and check your safety. Then it’s time to sit back and wait for “legal” light. For me legal light isn’t always enough to feel like I could take an ethical shot, even with the extra light gathered through the optics of a 2x7 Redfield scope.

This is one of the times where in cold weather I feel the bite most acutely. My heightened senses are in combat with the pain of cold fingers and toes. Occasionally I have remembered to pack my thermos with coffee and a few sips are a luxury with few rivals. Gradually, the squirrels begin to chatter and rustle in the nearby trees and on the ground below. Squirrels are what get me through the times when the deer are scarce. Each movement retunes my senses as my first inclination is that the rustling in the leaves that I hear might in fact be an approaching deer.

Light gradually begins to take hold and I am able to take stock of my surroundings, even in a place I have hunted before. I try to study every feature, taking in how it should look so that the smallest change, which might be the tail or antler of a deer might be noticed. It is always amazing to me how things I see in this early light change as full light makes its presence known. This hypersensitive state is balanced against the numbing fatigue I feel; often we have arrived at our camping site the night before at 8:00 or later, and by the time we were in bed asleep it was pushing midnight.

Still, the thrill of the hunt overwhelms the fatigue of the body and the hope of success keeps me finely attuned to my surroundings. As the morning wears on, sometimes a deer is seen and passed on, or perhaps seen but not in a position for a sure shot. Sometimes the hunt ends early with success, but that is a different story. It’s the days I remain in the stand for the duration that I believe bring me the greatest benefits.

As midmorning arrives and a hunter realizes the “prime time” has passed, is when the thinking on life begins. There’s no better place, save church perhaps, where the mind is in a better environment for putting things in the right perspective. As I sit high in a tree, usually in the Fall with colors at their climax, it is hard for me to contemplate that there is much wrong in the world. My thoughts wander from what is going on in the tops of the trees where my sons reside, sometimes they are in view but usually not, to where the details of my daily life fit into the context of where I am now. I wonder sometimes why I don’t just go climb a tree at any time of the year just to get this feeling back – but I know it would be different.

What usually snaps me out of this fog is the combination of bodily urges brought about from the coffee I hopefully remembered and the fact that the sun is warming me to the point where I must shed some layers. Once these matters are accomplished (usually one water bottle must be consumed in preparation), a bit of trail mix and teriyaki jerky courtesy Wal-mart brings me back to sitting down and starting my mental gyrations once more. I often get a bit antsy as mid-morning progresses to mid-day progresses to mid-afternoon. Around 3:00 my mind begins to re-focus on the hunting aspect of my time in a tree.

When there is a bite to the wind, as afternoon begins to wane, my lower body temperature seems to again heighten my senses. The squirrels and other small mammals as well as flying creatures seem to increase their activities and this raises my senses to an even greater degree. I begin to question my stand placement at this time if I have not observed much in the way of deer activity. I wonder if I should have come down and re-placed my stand somewhere else, but I remember those times where it has been the end of the day that has brought success. I stick it out and keep hoping, watching, and listening to the fullest extent my senses will allow.

The last half hour of legal hunting hours is always the same. I start looking at the time every five minutes. It is a mixture of thoughts balanced between hoping those last moments will bring success and thoughts of a hot fire back at camp and our typical fare of chili over fritos – a true delicacy. It is kind of like when you tell yourself you will take ten more casts on a fishing trip; it rarely ends in success but you always think this time will be different. Just like the morning, I always think at the end that I couldn’t possibly make a shot in this light – I have a hard enough time at any time of the day.

The day ends and it’s time to climb down. Stiff limbs make the process of descent an arduous journey – especially extricating my feet from the straps on the base of the stand. I pack up my stand and other gear and head to the bases of the trees where my sons have spent their day, or to a pre-ordained meeting place. By this time, when we are gathering at a meeting point it is the bobbing of a headlamp or flashlight that signals each arrival at our rendezvous point. From there we swap tales of our day as we make our way back to the truck and ultimately to camp. We might nibble some snacks on the way back, but our minds are on a warm fire, a hot dinner, and sitting afterwards for a time watching stars and perhaps listening to coyotes begin their nightly songs.