Old Hunting Grounds Convert To Houses

It’s a sad experience to drive by the hunting grounds of my youth and see only houses. It’s a place that taught me so much about deer hunting, learning the lessons the hard way. I am an outdoorsman from birth, but my dad has never had much interest in hunting or fishing, so I had to learn it mostly myself. I must say though, my dad did his best to support me in my outdoor passions, and I sincerely thank him for that.

The special land of my childhood belonged to one of my best friends. His dad, like mine, was never interested in hunting or fishing. So together, the two Andrews figured out the world of hunting and fishing mostly by trial and error.

Man, when I think back on that buck-haven of a property, I drool at the thought of what kind of deer I could have gotten if I knew then what I know now. Despite all of our egregious mistakes in the deer woods, my friend and I were still able to kill some good bucks, several with arrows.

I remember well the decision that my friend and I made in 8th grade to try bowhunting. On my first bowhunt, he and I set up on an old, overgrown grass road paralleling abandoned railroad tracks in a makeshift ground blind of sticks and pine limbs. We had no clue what we were doing, but thankfully for us, the property had A LOT of deer. Oblivious to the wind direction, we were whispering to pass the time when we heard footsteps on the railroad gravel. We froze… didn’t even think about clipping our releases to the bow strings. Out stepped a little 4-point. But for middle-school, first-time bowhunters, we were not planning to pass on a deer like that.

With our scent blowing right into his face, the deer looked directly at us as we scrambled around in a comical attempt to draw back. My friend got to full draw first, but the buck casually flicked his tail up and bounded out of sight, leaving us without a shot.

We were still breathing heavily and shaking uncontrollably when we heard a deer blow directly behind us. As unsteathily as possible, we wheeled around to see a spike facing us 20 yards away on the old road we were on. We had failed to see that there was a massively worn deer trail on that road, and we were set up right in it. The deer blew another time and took off.

Then, the woods around us erupted in a symphony of deer blows. There must have been 10 deer joining in the game of alarming every animal in the county of our presence. About an hour later (of not seeing any more deer) and shortly before dark, we heard something coming toward us down the old road. This time, we both drew back. (We had at least learned that much by now!) At last, we saw the deer, a young buck, maybe a 6-point, that came walking right for us, head down. All we could do was wait until he got about 20 yards from us. He nailed us with his eyes and nose. How could he not? We were upwind right in the middle of his trail.

Since the buck was facing us, we didn’t have an ethical shot. Off the deer bounded as we shakily let our bow strings back down. We shivered from excitement until pitch dark and cheerfully walked to my friend’s mom’s car (who had returned to pick us up by the paved road). Though we had blown several opportunities that hunt, we were not disappointed… we had caught the bowhunting fever. We would never be the same again.

Many bucks from that property that I saw but never harvested run through my dreams. I think I can come up with a valuable lesson from each. The irony is that I can now appreciate the ones that got away more than the ones I got. With age comes wisdom, and with wisdom comes the clarity of hindsight. I know I learned more from the deer I didn’t throw in a truck, and those elusive ones kept me wanting to go back.

But now I can only go back there in my mind. Sometimes when I visit my hometown, I take a sentimental drive down the road that used to lead to those treasured hunting grounds of my youth. The last time I was there, I pulled off the side of the road. The railroad tracks are gone now. There are neighborhoods on both sides of the road. Where my friend’s mom used to drop us off, I saw a man walk out of his house and drag the trash can to the street.

A few houses up, I could see a dog running laps in the fenced back yard. That was about the site of our first bowhunt on the old, grassy road. The longer I stared, the more the memories danced in front of me. My sadness waned and a smile came to my face. Nothing in this world is meant to last. The point is to enjoy the good moments while we can and appreciate that they happened. The neat part is that the memories can travel with us wherever we go. No neighborhood can take that away.