BACK-40 NOTEBOOK

■ Brian Lovett~Whitetail News Editor

SUMMER’S FOOTSTEPS

Sometimes, the least memorable tracks during a season-long journey turn out to be the most important.

The clover looks different yet familiar in the light fog of a summer morning.

Tall and lush — it needs to be mowed, actually — it betrays my footsteps in a trail of disturbed dew as I skirt the top edge of the plot and head toward the logging trail. I’ll walk or drive this path many times during the next few months, sometimes en route to perform necessary maintenance tasks or, later, seeking to enjoy the benefits of that labor. And although it’s early in the tale, the story of this season will be written with every footstep.

We never recognize that in hindsight, of course. I think it’s human nature to sum up hunts or seasons with a bottom line, such as recalling the year the big 8 ran up and down the creek bottom, or the warm autumn that rut-crazed buck slipped right behind the ladder stand. It’s similar to watching football highlights, which show a handful of plays that determined the outcome of the game. Sure, maybe those events were the most memorable of the day and summarized the contest, but they only comprised a fraction of the 135-plus plays during the game, and each of those plays — no matter how insignificant — contributed to the ultimate result.

So at times such as these, with turkey season in the rearview mirror and bow season months away, I avoid looking past summer and try to focus on the small, unheralded paragraphs and chapters that will help constitute the full story. That isn’t often exciting. After all, fixing an ATV tire or sweating buckets while running a chainsaw during a hot day aren’t glamorous tasks. Yet without them, there will be no rides to the ridge top to place cameras, cut lanes, hang stands or plant small plots of annuals. And without those, the chances of experiencing highlight-reel-worthy moments — such as a mature buck pausing 20 steps from a set — decrease greatly.

While focusing on these small chapters, memories from the stories of previous years flash past. Lessons learned, I guess. That open oak flat seemed like the perfect place for a hang-on stand, for example, but it never really panned out. Closer inspection revealed a far better site near a hot scrape about 50 yards down the ridge, closer to a major bedding area. Likewise, setting that ground blind near an active late-season creek-bottom travel route appeared to be a no-brainer … until it became obvious that the wind was never quite right, and it was almost impossible to slip into the blind without busting deer. Those gaffes seem so blatant now, while reviewing the story after its conclusion, but I still committed them. No doubt, I’ll experience similar missteps this year, too. That’s part of the up-and-down, trial-and-error nature of any season. I won’t be afraid to try fresh approaches or consider new ideas, yet hopefully, I’ll avoid making the same stupid mistakes.

Halfway up the logging road, I pause to catch a breath and view the valley below. The clover plot is barely visible through the thick summer growth; a stark contrast to the gleaming green it presented in mid-April or that it will again display in November. And the road itself differs greatly from the trail I walked so often during spring. Weeds and brush sprout from every angle, and fresh deadfalls block the path. ATV tracks, which glimmered like a lighted runway during late fall and winter, are barely visible through the lush vegetation of a new season.

Bottom line? I’m facing a lot of work — tiny yet critical portions of chapters that must be written. But that’s the deal I made, and I don’t regret any of it.

With that thought, my climb resumes, up the bluff, west toward the old log landing and ultimately over the ridge to the property line. And when whatever tasks I have are complete, I’ll slip down the path, past the sandstone outcroppings, north toward the old cattle fence and then into the fresh open air of the clover plot. My tracks from the morning will have disappeared in the sun’s heat, but that’s OK. Today and many weeks from now, I’ll remember their seemingly insignificant role in the larger tale of the day and season. And although other highlight-worthy moments might dominate that story, I won’t forget the impact of faded footsteps during a hot June day.