Though it's only 15 feet off the ground, there is a small plywood platform nailed into an old pine in Allegany County that seems to be as close as I can get to heaven on this earth.
My tree stand is miles from anything, there are no honking horns, police sirens or phone calls. It's something "normal" life prohibits.
Solitude.
Though I've never harvested a deer perched in this hidden location on the back line of my parent's woods in rural Western New York, there is a special significance to the spot. It's the place I go to think, it's the place I go to relax, and most importantly, it's a place that's mine and no one else's.
Only a select few have ever made the trek to my favorite place, its only family and my best friends. If they want to use it, they give proper reverence, "I'm heading to 'Justin's Stand'."
Directions to this place would sound something like this, "head out the back, go around the pond, walk the path through 'Chipmunk Knolls', take a left at the dead stump, cross the creek, climb out of the gully in the open area, and when you start to smell the pine trees go straight until it gets thick, then look up."
On a morning with fresh snow there is not a more beautiful walk that I know of. And sipping a cup of coffee, sitting on a camp stool in my stand, I watch it amazement as the sun's early rays make the woods come alive.
There is never a lack of animals in the area. They go about their daily lives as if I wasn't even there. As far as they are concerned I'm just another part of the forest.
Opening day of the season is a whole experience, which usually starts at around 5 a.m. My dad will have the coffee brewing, and the gear laid out before I stumble down the stairs, not having been excited to be up this early since the year before.
Though I'm perfectly content just being in the woods, there is one thing that can make the whole experience.
It's something that the good ol' boys know as "Buck Fever," and all the solitude in the world can't prepare one for the effects.
For obvious reasons even the most experienced hunters suffer the sudden nerve deadening feeling when in the presence of an antlered specimen.
The "chit-chit-chit-chit" sound is one of the first indications of a possible incoming deer, the initial instinct is to freeze, and then adjust to the sounds direction for a possible shot. However, it's a well known fact that most of the time it's simply two squirrels chasing one another through the brush.
Another incident that spawns Buck Fever, possibly the most detrimental type of Buck Fever, is the sudden appearance of a deer. How an animal over a hundred pounds can just appear is a mystery that no one understands. A strong heart pounding is inevitable when you turn your head and suddenly a large buck stands looking at you from 30 feet away. Convinced the deer can hear your heart thudding in your chest, you hold your breath and hope he looks away.
That's Buck Fever.
The constant search for Buck Fever is one of the reasons I head to the woods every year midway through November. And aside from the solitude, the real reason exists in a special spot in my heart. Hunting has been a part of my family my entire life, my grandfathers, my uncles, and my father have all passed down the tradition. I even use an old Browning shotgun that was my grandpas before he passed away. Though it's far from the newest model, having his shotgun reminds me of a special tie within my family. Each time I go into the woods I take a part of that with me.
When deer season opens on Saturday morning I'll be sitting quietly, thankful for the solitude, 15 feet closer to heaven with just my thoughts, my coffee and Grandpa Haag's gun.
