My Best Day

It is quite an intimidating thought that the best minds of history achieve their biggest accomplishments early in life. As a young man, that seems to add urgency to my days. I feel the need to hurry along to achieve, to do, to build, or to write what might someday be considered my best work. There’s diamonds in the rough all around me. Some are already polished and shining. I feel that I must hurry.

However, when I slow down to consider this urgency I am encouraged to know that no such rushing is required of me. No shining is being demanded. It gives me more peace to know that I’m no diamond at all, rather a little green acorn growing in the back of some hollow waiting for my turn to fall to the ground to be eaten by the deer and turkeys.

My best is yet before because Christ goes ahead of me. He soothes my soul with lessons that he knows this little acorn will understand. He turns my mind to the woods and begins his lesson, here’s what I have learned…

Every hunter, at some point, will experience a day in the woods that he will consider his finest. If you have hunted long enough, I am sure that you can retell the events of your best day in the woods with the most acute details in their orderly place. Each hunting season is filled with memorable highs and painful lows, but there are certain days sprinkled throughout where all things align in spectacular fashion. These are the days that we count among the best, the ones where the weather seems to be in your debt, the deer and turkeys act as if no man has ever laid eyes on them, and your thinking stays un-muddled long enough to focus on nothing else, but that which is before you. 

This past deer season I experienced one of these days. It was perhaps my best day of hunting. All movement of creation seemed to ease towards me that morning. It was November 4, opening day of the muzzleloader season here in Tennessee. My opinion is that this is the hunter's best chance to kill a good buck before the pressures of being hunted weigh heavy on the deer. There is little place I would rather be on the first weekend of November than in my little tree stand near Jones Creek. This particular stand is nestled in a bowl of a small drainage that leads down to the larger creek bottom. We call this spot the “hole” because the drainage forms a small little hollow surrounded by sloping hills full of thickets, but right in the middle it has open hardwoods. It’s not far from our other stands, but you feel secluded and hidden away from the rest of the property when you hunt down there. It is my go-to stand early in the hunting season. It is one of those places where the deer just seem to appear from all sides, you hardly ever hear them before you see them. Glance to the left and see nothing, to the right and it's the same, back to left and now you have three deer within thirty yards. 

The morning of November 4 was no different than the scenario described above. From the time I sat down until the time I climbed down from the tree, my eyes rarely took a break from watching deer, turkeys, or some other form of wildlife. The woods were awake early and stayed active throughout the day. Right at first light I had several does slip down the hill behind me. These fed around on freshly dropped acorns for a few minutes, before a young spike buck came trotting in to disturb their peace. The does went scampering off and after thrashing a sapling with the two nubs of his forehead the young buck did the same. Not long after, I saw a commotion to my left. A larger buck chasing more does down and around the upper portion of the “hole”. Still out of range for my muzzleloader, but close enough to warrant shouldering it, I watched the deer bound through the open woods and back into the thickets. While watching these I heard steady walking to my right. A quick peek over the shoulder revealed three young bucks walking towards the base of my tree, the youngest already at ten yards. While I waited and hoped for another glance at the bigger deer to my left, I tried to avoid any movement that would spook the young bucks now directly below me. Have you ever had too many deer around you? It is a strange conundrum for a deer hunter to wish that deer would go away. 

Periodic looks back to my right revealed that the young bucks did not intend to leave anytime soon, but it appeared their much larger friend showed no interest in sticking around. Eventually, those young bucks followed their noses elsewhere and I again readied myself for whatever the morning might bring. Throughout the early parts of the day I took turns watching other young bucks cruise through the woods looking for does. Each of them nearing ever closer to my tree it seemed. Later I observed a flock of Tom turkeys feed down the ridge in front of me, about twenty in number. Three of the largest birds walked within five yards of my ladder and paid no mind to the orange vest at the top of it, a luck not worth counting on come spring time. 

At this point in the morning I already recognized that this was a special day. So many close encounters with the residents of these woods in such a short amount of time is something worth pausing to acknowledge. However, the deer gave little time for reflection and demanded my attention once more. At about noon I heard the sound that jolts every deer hunter to life and floods their body with adrenaline. Loud crashing came blasting through the thickets and with it the intense grunting and bleating of deer. Deer are not overly vocal, so hearing such volume come from an otherwise quiet beast is quite the experience. First came the doe, she dashed down the ridge opposite of me and behind her a small fork horn followed. I smiled as I watched him chase her down the hill, not planning to shoot a deer of that size I settled in for the show, but before I could even take a mindful breath the big buck from earlier that morning joined the chase. It took no more than a few seconds for them to reach the bottom of the hill and turn to climb it once more. As quick as I saw them they were gone again, resuming the chase out of sight. 

I sat for a minute and again told myself that this was one of those days that I would never forget. I remembered all the stories from the old timers telling their version of similar events and knew this story would be one I’d tell for a long time, regardless of its ending. Thirty quiet, but expectant minutes went by with me still holding my rifle. It felt irresponsible to even set it down on a day like today. The speed at which the morning was progressing made it necessary to stay at the ready. Soon that electrifying sound would return and with it intensified volume. This time the doe was being pursued by three different bucks, two small fork horns, and a big mature 9 point. Each buck grunted like I never heard before. Exasperated and desperate are the only words I can use to describe it. Full speed they chased that poor doe. Down the hill again, but this time she didn’t double back. She continued her path towards the bottom of the “hole” and came up the other side towards me. 

I watched most of this through the lens of my scope and tried to calm my nerves as the deer flew up my side of the drainage. I found the big one and followed him through the trees. One hundred yards became fifty, which then turned to thirty. He never slowed and when he took one rounding step past a leaning maple, I squeezed the trigger with much doubt and more adrenaline. I am not an advocate of taking running shots on deer, but the ability to reason is much easier when three grunting bucks aren’t running you down. 

The two young bucks and the doe never took a slower step and ran back up the ridge, the bigger buck ran down to the bottom of the “hole” and stopped, hunched over, but still standing. I knew I had to take another shot. I had little time, but managed to push another round down the barrel. I found the buck again in my sights, a little further away this time and at a poor angle. If he took a step in any direction I’d lose my shooting window and probably lose him forever. He stood with his back to me, so I held my sights between his shoulder blades and shot again. The smoke cleared and I watched him walk up the hill and stop. For a few minutes he stood there and I tried to reckon with the fact that I had done this fine day of hunting a massive disservice. Anxiously, I watched the buck stand there, waiting to see his fate and mine. Soon, wobbling legs gave way and he rolled down the hill to the bottom of the “hole”. Relief, joy, and a sense of overwhelm overtook me. After a while, I walked down and laid hands on one of the bigger deer I have been fortunate enough to take, definitely the biggest on this farm.  

Everything about that hunt pointed to it being one of legends, for myself anyways. I knew that this was, perhaps, my best day of hunting. Will this always be my best day or will I be privileged enough to see another of equal or surpassing glory? 

Now that I have had a few months to look back and consider what made this day so special,  I realize that the answer is not so cut and dry. Was it my best day because of my ability or endurance? There was much I could have done better, as in any hunt, and as far as endurance goes, it is pretty easy to sit in a tree for a few hours, especially when you see as much as I did. I did not do much other than show up and experience all God placed before me that day. He is the one who made it all happen. He’s the one who tells the deer when to rut. He’s the one who gives them voice to grunt and legs to chase. He’s the one who gives them life and He is the one who casts them into my hand. 

 When I face facts I have to realize that my best day of hunting had little to do with me... 

My best days are not governed by my performance, rather they are formed by purpose. If I live to magnify myself then I might very well see my best day and never surpass it, but if I live to magnify Christ I must believe that I have yet to see my best. 

He is my purpose. He is the one who works all things for my good and his glory. I am just called to be faithful, to be present, to be aware of the work he is doing and to make much of it. 

I have learned that it is better to be an acorn in the hands of Christ than a polished diamond admired by men. I feel no rush to become anything more than what he has already planned for me. Time may or may not be before me, but Christ, I know you always will be. 

In Christ, my best days of hunting, my best days of writing, my best days of life are always before me.