On the Road to the Big Woods

The soft morning sunlight was starting to awaken the vibrant colors of the ever changing autumn leaves. My truck window was open just a crack so I could feel the cool fall air brush against my skin. With every sip of coffee the steam could be seen rising from the small opening on top of my Yeti. A recently harvested corn field along the side of a back country road was full of life. I slowed down to watch a couple of does and their young munch on some corn. Off in the corner of the field a couple of dozen wild turkeys waddled around picking at the remaining corn, bugs and grubs. Over the tree line a skein of Canada geese flew in almost a perfect V pattern. Yes, change was in the air. With a smile on my face I picked up the pace and moved on. The drive to hunting camp is only about 35 minutes long but feeling the excitement of a young boy heading to camp with his grandfather the trip can feel a whole lot longer. Turning on to the next road I allowed myself to reminisce. I thought about the eagerness that used to fill my soul as a young child waiting for my grandfather to come pick me up to take me to camp. Laying in my bunk in the completely lightless camp not being able to sleep knowing that the next morning we would head out into the big woods on the hunt for a buck. Pop letting me sip on some early morning coffee while the rest of the old timers rolled out of the sack. The sound of our footsteps gingerly crunching on the hard frosted ground. The butterflies that swirled around in my stomach when he would tell me to sit still on some old stump while he would walk off for twenty minutes to see what was over the next ridge. Heading back to camp for lunch and a quick nap before it was time to head out for evening watch.

Watching the sun slowly set over White Hill and the moon rise as we exited the woods. Walking into camp and feeling the woodstove heat on my cold hands and feet after a brisk evening watch. Finally, a bounty of food for our dinner before I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore and headed back to my bunk for a long night's sleep. Yes, the memories are timeless and, at times, bring a tear to my eye. At the next intersection I took a right then a quick left and put my foot down on the accelerator again. Cruising along I thought about warm fall afternoons when I was finally old enough to carry a .22 in the woods. Pop would guide me along as we strolled through the pines looking for ruffed grouse before we would set up at our evening watch location. Cold snow driven walks through dense thickets watching for snowshoe hares. I could still smell the light aroma of gunpowder rolling off the barrel of my gun after harvesting my first one. The smile on my grandfather's face and the sense of pride I had knowing I had made him proud.

Finally I turned on the road to camp and over the next five miles I could envision myself as a young boy in a pair of knee high rubber boots casting my fishing line into the river outback of camp. I could see myself all clumsy and awkward with water flowing over the tops of my boots while trying to unsnag my little gold phoebe fishing lure from the tree behind. While I watched my Pop land yet another brook trout from the fast moving water. I had to giggle to myself as this scene played out more than once while fishing with him. Finally, I made it to the locked gate that takes me back into the woods. I drive up into the woods and park my truck. I grab my chainsaw and head over to my hunting spot to clear out some shooting lanes for the upcoming season.

As I hike down the path I think back to my late teenage years when the emotional wounds of my grandfather being gone were raw. But I was lucky enough to have an uncle that slid in to show me the way. We both knew it was never going to be the same but he found a way to make the new normal as exciting and fun as it once was. I thought about the day my uncle and I spread my grandfather's ashes all over these hallowed grounds. We stopped at each one of my grandfather's special places and shared stories while his remains drifted throughout the trees. I could envision him taking me to new spots to hunt and explaining to me why certain places were better depending on the weather. He would make sure that I always had a ride to camp and my meal prices were covered so I didn’t have to spend my part time work money on it. He would purchase me new gear and made sure I alway had a rifle to carry in the woods. Finally I made it to my ridge in the middle of the woods. I look over the down below and watch the falling leaves dance in the warm days breeze. I fire up the chainsaw and cautiously select small trees to trim back. Up the hill to look over my area and back down I go picking away at the new growth. After an hour of trimming I was happy with the end results. Still enough trees for cover yet enough removed for clear shooting areas. I put my saw down and took a seat on the ground.

Memories of my own kids came flooding in. Seasons of walking over these hills and through these valleys brought a smile to my face. Nerf guns and BB guns slung over their little shoulders. Stopping to pick up deer poo and turkey feathers. Both of them asking questions like “where are the deer?” and “What if we see a 100 point buck?” rattled around in my brain. Both of them, old enough to carry shotguns and .22s in the woods.

Having to make small fires to warm up their little toes. And of course their tired little heads nodding off on the way home from a full weekend of fresh air in the woods. Back at my truck I took a moment and looked around. I’ve been looking at the same trees and trails for many years now. All I could think about was how lucky I was. Lucky enough to grow up with family and friends that cherished the land and water that surround this great little piece of heaven. Lucky enough to have a grandfather and uncle that were willing to share their passion for hunting and fishing with me. And now I’m lucky enough to share these passions with my own boys.

October is a very special month for many people in the North Country. Pretty much all of our hunting seasons are open and the cool fall air gives off an energy that hunters can’t ignore.

We feel the need to go afield and spend time appreciating what this region has to offer us. Whether you have a hunting camp or just a special piece of land you love to hunt, the calling to get there can not be ignored. It is nice to harvest an animal no matter what your quarry may be but at the end of the day it isn’t about the kill, it is all about the memoires. The time spent with family and friends is the most special part of this magical time of year.

I wish you all good luck this hunting season. Please be safe, wear your blazing orange and truly appreciate every moment you have with your family and friends because someday this season will only be a memory.

Aaron Hardy

Northern NY Adventures

“Make Life an Adventure”