A Tennessee November

Currently as I sit to write, I am coming off of a spectacular week of deer hunting in my home state of Tennessee. Several days have now passed since my last morning sit in the woods and I have had some time to reflect back on what makes a Tennessee November so special. I hope this deep dive into my last week has something beneficial for you hidden inside…

The opening weekend for the muzzleloader season in Tennessee is my favorite time to be in the woods. In my opinion this is the best chance a hunter has to harvest a deer before the long winter of open gun season weighs heavy on the herd. Traditionally, muzzleloader season spans the first two weeks of November in Tennessee, which is early enough in the season to see minimal effects of hunting pressure, while still late enough to align with the first waves of bucks coming into the rut. It is during this time that my vacation balance at work takes its largest hit. 

Rarely, if ever, have I missed the opening weekend of muzzleloader season. It is an annual priority, top of mind, a highly valued slot on the calendar. This year it was no different, though I had to miss the opening morning hunt due to a speaking engagement for work that had been scheduled previously, so an evening hunt would have to do. I hurried to the woods through the fog and rain, still dressed from my morning speech. 

I pulled into my usual parking spot at the access to our property, finished a drive-through cheese burger, and stepped out into the rain to trade my work clothes for some camo and blaze orange. It was now approaching 1:00 pm and everything including the leaves to the brim of my hat was dripping from the steady rains, which were still falling. My plan was to slip into the woods, a hundred yards or so, and set up my ground blind on the edge of a thicket known to produce high deer densities. 

With my back loaded down with pack and blind I eased into the woods and slowly approached the thicket where I planned to spend the rest of the day. The wet floor of the forest paired with the ambient noise of wind and rain falling through the treetops concealed each gentle footstep. I was fairly confident I could cover this short distance between truck and thicket undetected and be in prime location to get a shot at a deer later in the day. 

However, all confidence in my plan was abandoned when suddenly two deer flushed from beneath my feet like quail and bounded through the woods with a snort and puff of air through their nostrils. The first deer I laid eyes on was a big bodied, tall antlered deer, one which I would have gladly liked to shoot. The other was a sleek mature doe, who was likely coming into estrus. 

Both deer were now running downhill and waving me goodbye with the white of their backsides. I suspected the deer were no more than fifteen yards from my feet when they finally detected my presence. The dampness of the woods had surely allowed me to get much closer than I otherwise would have to the bedded couple. 

Already frustrated and disappointed with how the hunt had started, I stuck to my original plan and finished my short walk into the woods and set up my blind. Once inside, I took a moment to unpack my bag, placing needed items within arms reach. I double checked that a fresh primer was seated properly in the breach of my rifle, took a deep breath and tried to settle in.

It was now 1:20 pm and I decided to do a little rattling to see if I could entice any other bucks in the area that might be on the feet. After a few short antler clacks, I looked over my left shoulder and saw the rump of a deer slipping through the trees. It made a big circle around me before I could tell it was a buck. It was not quite as big as the one I jumped on my way in, but it was an impressive young deer with a wide set rack. He came in somewhat cautious and curious about the perceived fight he heard moments earlier. Though he was not quite as big as the first deer I saw, I was happy to place the crosshairs behind his shoulder. Better a deer in hand than in the bush. I clicked the hammer back, rested the rifle against the window of my blind and waited for a clear shot. He turned broadside and I squeezed the trigger with much anticipation. 

The smoke lingered in the wet air and once it finally cleared I was unsure of what had happened to the deer. I neither saw him fall nor run off, he simply vanished. It was now 1:30 pm and I had already jumped one buck and shot at another all in the span of thirty short minutes. Hardly enough time had passed for my nerves to calm and I found myself praying to find a dead deer in the thicket ahead. 

A few moments later, I exited my blind and crept towards the deer’s last known location. There was no blood on the ground or any other sign that he had been there at all. I kept walking. Soon a subtle glance to my right revealed a white belly pointing back at me. Relief washed over me as I approached my deer. I spent the next few minutes in that surreal state only a hunter knows, while a nice young nine point lay at my feet. Soon after, I began tending to the work of dragging, field dressing, and hauling my deer into town. 

(My first deer harvested during the 2024 deer season. Killed on Saturday afternoon 9/9/24)

Later that evening when all the work had ceased and I had more time to process the day’s hunt I was reminded of how unpredictable a Tennessee November can be. Warm rainy days, false starts, and jumping deer are no match for the capricious nature of rutting whitetails. Though I was satisfied with how the hunt had ended, I knew there was still a bigger deer on his feet in those same woods. I only hoped that I had but slightly made him uncomfortable, without completely scaring him off. My week of hunting had just begun, so I was determined to stick it out and wait to see what the coming days would bring. 

Sunday’s hunt brought more rain and a longer sit. I hunted dark to dark and throughout the day had close encounters with six small bucks, several does, and multiple flocks of wild turkeys. The long sit of Sunday’s hunt made up for the brevity of the previous afternoon. I had more time to enjoy the day. At one point I stretched out on the dirt floor of my blind and allowed myself some time to reflect and pray. I laid on my back and listened to the rain run down the sides of my ground blind. I was reminded of the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem before his crucifixion. The crowds followed him from the Mount of Olives and shouted his praise and worshiped him as he entered the city. This caused quite the commotion and others fussed that Jesus should tell this crowd to be quiet and quit this nonsensical shouting, but Jesus responded this way in Luke 19:40, “He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.”

If the stones themselves cry out and worship then I suppose the trees and all else in creation do as well. I laid in the floor of my blind and meditated on this thought further. I believe I observed this truth all throughout Sunday’s hunt. From the dropping of acorns, to the rustling of leaves, yelping of turkeys, grunting of bucks, hooting of owls, barking of squirrels, and incessant pecking of woodpeckers I witnessed what it means for creation to cry out in worship. I experienced each species of flora and fauna living, just as they were created to do. In doing so, they made a pleasing sound of praise to the heavens. What a joy it is to join creation’s choir and worship the Lord of Hosts.

I realized further that I am no passive observer in this wondrous melody. Some think of hunting as a mindless and time wasting endeavor, but each breath exhaled, crunching stick underfoot, and silent glance through the trees has the opportunity to be worshipful. From the click of my hammer to the boom of its falling, each moment spent in joyful fellowship with my Father is an act of praise. There is glory to be explored and glory to be given in joining all of creation’s choir. My mid-day meditation ended with this thought, “I will join the stones, trees, bucks, birds, and bees to sing praise to the one who created it all. To Him be glory forever!”

I ended Sunday’s hunt without ever laying eyes on the big buck from Saturday afternoon, though I did get a text from the landowner saying they saw him standing by my truck at the access point. Among all the desirable traits of a whitetail deer their sense of irony is most worthy of admiration. So later on, with a quiet mind and rested soul I made the drive home and prepped for the next morning’s hunt. 

Monday brought much joy and excitement because dad would be joining me in the woods. It is a strange sensation to go from only hunting if he were to take me to hunting alone and wishing he were there, but it makes for glad days afield when our schedules finally align. As a kid, I used to find such happiness riding shotgun with him on the way to the woods. I’d make him tell old deer stories again and again. These never ceased to hype me up for a morning’s hunt. I know the ending to every one, but they have yet to lose their magic. Not too much has changed now, except that he rides shotgun and tells the stories in my other ear. 

We arrived at the woods together just as the sun was rising. I dropped him off at a new stand we had hung earlier this summer and I headed over to my ground blind where I had spent the past two days. Shortly after we both got settled, I received a text which read, “Just had a shooter run past me.” It was the buck we had seen on two other occasions now. It snuck up behind him in the early morning light and ran underneath his stand. He spent a few minutes corralling a doe in the thick brush, not presenting any shot opportunity. Soon another text came through, “He is headed up towards you.”

I waited and watched from the direction that dad was hunting but never saw the big buck. I did see another buck stoutly walk across the hillside below me. He was pretty with a dark colored symmetrical rack. Panting with tail up he staggered by me, made a small scrape, and kept cruising up the hollow.  

We didn’t see much other activity throughout the morning aside from a few small spikes and our usual flock of hen turkeys, but we ended the hunt knowing that the bigger buck was still hanging close to the area. We had now seen him three days in a row. Though I was off work for the entire week, it had been my original plan to return home to East Tennessee for a few days to hunt and then return back to Middle Tennessee the following weekend to resume chasing that big buck. However, seeing that deer three days in a row and all within a 300 yard bubble made me hesitant to leave. I called my wife to ask if I could stay for one more day to hunt this deer, though she knew this call was more of a courtesy heads up than a true permission request. With her acceptance of my “request”, I set my mind to return Tuesday morning.

I decided to change up my hunting location the next day and opted to sit where dad had the close encounter with the big deer the previous morning. I arrived at the woods just as the black sky was turning blue and orange. I slipped down below the old family graveyard and climbed into the stand. Tuesday morning started much slower than the previous few days, which was surprising because the weather had cooled off and the rain had ceased. I was sure the deer would be moving early in the day. 

(Sunrise walking into my stand, near the old family cemetery.)

At 7:00 am I had yet to see the first deer. It was a clear morning and there was a gentle breeze blowing through the woods, which encouraged me to pull my hood over my head to keep the chill off. Shortly before 8:00 am I noticed a doe feeding her way towards my stand. Not long after she caught my wind, slowly turned around, and walked off in the direction she came. About an hour later, I stood up to stretch my legs and back and immediately saw a nice buck walking up the hill below me. He wasn’t the big deer we had seen the past three days, but he was worth a closer inspection. If I had not already filled half of my seasonal allotment of bucks then I would have been more tempted to pull the trigger. I had him if I wanted him, but decided it was best to wait for the other deer. Not too much later, another young eight point came cruising through. He was running circles with nose to the ground, looking for a doe. At one point he came close by my stand and I could hear him sniffing the ground with great earnestness. He too got a pass and continued on through the woods searching for a mate. 

(My view from the stand below the old family cemetery)

At about 9:45 am I saw legs walking through the brush towards the top of the hill above me. A few steps later and I could see antlers, wide and tall. This had to be the big deer we had seen the days before. He was walking at a steady pace about 75 yards away through the thick woods. I know I had to act quick if I were to get a chance at this deer. I leveled my rifle, found him in the scope and followed him through the brush and waited for a gap. Even though the shot would be under a hundred yards, it looked like a far shot through the trees. I wondered if I could squeeze a .50 caliber bullet through the tangle of branches to find his shoulder. He stepped into a clearing and I uttered a voice cracking “mehhh” to stop him. He did and I squeezed the trigger, admittedly somewhat hard, not gentle like all hunters are taught to do. Smoke puffed out from the muzzle and I raised my head to see what happened. To my amazement, the deer buckled and fell where he stood. He rolled for a few seconds on the ground before expiring, but came to a rest quickly. 

I called dad from the tree to tell him the good news. I waited a few minutes, packed my gear, and walked to the top of the hill. What awaited me there was a beautiful buck with a split G2 on his left side. He had a nice wide and tall rack, which I am confident was the same one I saw fleeing through the trees just a few days prior. You won’t find this deer in any record books. Some hunters, perhaps, would have considered giving him a pass, but this is one of the bigger deer I have taken and is surely the biggest I have taken on this old family property. 

(My second deer harvest during the 2024 season. This is the big buck I saw four days in a row)

My four day pursuit of this deer had come to an end, to the dismay of the neighboring hunters no doubt. After taking plenty of pictures and making phone calls to friends and family I decided to get him shoulder mounted, so I dropped him off at the taxidermist later that same day. He should be on my wall come April or May. 

I hope from this story you have gleaned just how special a Tennessee November can be. If not for the fact of rutting deer and shooting big bucks then maybe for the fact that these days allow for time to reflect, to join creation’s choir in singing praise to the Lord above. These days give me such coveted time with my family. I get to live and write new stories during these days. 

I am grateful for so much, but ultimately I owe many thanks to my family who bears with me during this season. Though I feel most alive during this time of year, I know that my brief and sometimes extended absences cause others to pick up my slack. I am so thankful for family farms and gracious invitations to hunt some of Tennessee’s finest deer woods. I am filled with songs of praise when I remember my Lord who says, “So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.” (1 Corinthians 10:31). 

Lord, I hunt, so I pray even there that you would receive glory. Thank you for time in creation. To join its choir and sing silent songs to you. Thank you that all of life has potential to be worshipful. Thank you for the rut and that we can partake in it. Thank you for giving me and my family food to eat throughout this next year. Thank you for the stories and the memories. As we remember them all, may you be at the center of each one. Thank you most for Christ Jesus and the life we have in his name. And thank you for time spent with him during a Tennessee November. 

Amen.