New England is steeped in traditions, I mean heck, Thanksgiving originated here right?
Every fall, almost all the guys (and few gals) heads out into the woods. Camo-clad, armed with their weapon of choice and of course cloaked in deer attractants or lures (and I can only imagine what those are made up of). I wanted to know what I was missing out on so I decided to join one of these hunts.
When we first walk out into the woods, the sun is still below the horizon. Most hunters will be in their places when it is still pitch black, as legal (at least in NH) hunting time begins 30 minutes before sunrise.
It's eerily quiet this morning. We freeze at every noise. Sounds are amplified in the early morning cold and what sounds like thrashing around keeps us stone still for a good 30 minutes. Finally, we realize it's only a squirrel scurrying around, probably hiding the acorns he's manage to save up for the winter.
A few hours later, we've heard turkeys, crows, rodents and the wind but have seen nothing. That's okay though because I wasn't sure I wanted to see anything anyway (for the animals' sake).
I can see why this is addicting. Hours of silence, nothing but nature and peace. It reminds me of Muir.
“Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.”