TAKING IN THE SCENERY

Some views remind us of others, which indicates how fortunate we’ve been.

The view from a stand never really changes, unless you consider its progression through the season; green and lush opening week, golden and ablaze as fall progresses, and dull and barren when winter secures its hold.

But now and then, when your eyes tire of straining for the flick of a tail or silhouette of a deer, a familiar scene from a stand might transport your mind to places and stands miles away — reminders of previous hunts in what seem like exotic destinations. Maybe that’s just a symptom of long hours spent looking into the woods, or perhaps it’s a mental trick that helps pass time. But whatever the reason, seemingly everyday sights can sometimes spark a flood of images.

Often, a green field or food plot starts the daydream, usually taking me back to the first time I hunted in the South — Alabama in January, to be specific. Every deer hunter has set up near a food source, of course, but that marked the first time I sat in a shooting house over a classic Southern green field. Although clear and crisp, the first morning seemed a stark contrast to the Arctic-like conditions to which I was accustomed. And when the sun warmed the landscape and the scent of pines drifted across the breeze, I knew I was worlds away from home ground.

Timber also does the trick. Some folks think all woods look the same, but any hunter knows that’s not true. A slight change in geography or soil type means different trees and understory plants, many of which might seem a bit unfamiliar. Some days, while gazing into the mixed-hardwood ridges at our cabin property, I think back to woods perhaps 250 miles distant, in Wisconsin’s north woods. Sure, those woods held familiar red oaks, birch and quaking aspen (or popple, as locals call them), but the latter two were far more abundant in the North than at my current hunting grounds. When you add jack pine, red pine and remnant white pines, those big woods took on an unfamiliar hue. Those northern woods just seemed far wilder and more foreboding than the timbered ridges and small woodlots farther south.

When the snow flies, my thoughts again drift north, but farther yet. One December, I joined some friends in Upper Peninsula Michigan, between lakes Superior and Michigan, to pursue early-winter whitetails in the frozen, snow-covered deep woods. Every sit was like peering into a snow globe, with winter birds and forest critters, including fishers and pine martens, providing entertainment. That was good, because the deer didn’t show. In fact, other than bumping a doe and fawn near a bait pile while heading in for lunch one day, we saw very few whitetails.

Thankfully, the winter scenery made up for it.

Of course, not every view from every stand prompts déjà vu. Some are just familiar scenes; a study in focus or a moment in time. After a while, they become so committed to memory that you can close your eyes and see every detail: each leaning tree, wrinkle in terrain and the spot where the sun will set.

They’re all good views. Hunters get to witness some of the best scenes remaining on the planet — more than perhaps any other group of enthusiasts. Whether distant and strange or old and familiar, those scenes provide a unique insight into the natural world; one you can’t receive from a day at the park or a jeep safari tour. They bind us to those places and the experiences we enjoy there. And if we’re lucky, like when drifting off while thinking of views from our past, they’ll stay with us long after deer season is finished and perhaps even when our days afield are done.