Getting out during early small game season in September provides an opportunity to take some protein-packed table fare not found on grocery store shelves. It’s a time to check deer stands and movements in preparation for Michigan’s archery opener October 1st, as well. This week, however, I’ll share a startling scene from one of my recent excursions to the deciduous forest in search of more bushytails for the kettle.
The early morning dew’s moisture covered any noise from my hunting boots, as I entered the big woods in silence. My plan was to hide and watch and was aided by a heavy fog permeating my surroundings; it’s always a welcome addition to an already spooky experience of strolling in the dark. “That” feeling was coming over me again, as I experienced the wild world waking. The realization that it’s good to be alive hit home.
At the edge of the woods, I heard something dropping through the leaves. The sound repeated. Since it was still too early for acorns to be dropping in any large measure, my hunch that a squirrel was involved had to be investigated.
I didn’t bother with my portable chair, because I needed to maneuver into position to locate the origin of the commotion. A stately oak tree provided a welcome rest for my upper body, as I peered through the obstructed view toward the sky.
Patience would be the key, as the sporadic sound continued, and I became one with the tree. My orange cap was in motion – the only giveaway that this apex predator was lurking. I was alone in the moment, or so I thought; little did I know, I would become the hunted.
Smack! I felt something hit the back of my neck. I spun away from the tree, thinking a limb had been the culprit and caught a Cooper’s hawk making a getaway. Apparently, it was prepared to dine on some fast food, which in this instance, was the image of gray hair protruding below my hunting cap. Startled to say the least, I watched the graceful winged wonder dodge through the deciduous canopy away from me. Whew!
As I regained my senses, the hawk reappeared – this time streaking directly toward me. As confused as I, it pulled up in mid-flight and perched on a horizontal limb about 20 yards away. I watched it watch me and fumbled for my camera, which led to its departure a few seconds later.
I wiped my bare hand across the back of my neck in a quick check for blood and found none. For the rest of the morning, replete with activity of squirrels, turkeys, whitetail deer and yet another coyote, my concentration had been negatively influenced by attack from above.
If I’ve learned anything from the experience, it’s that a trip to the barber is in order. Either that or some Mossy Oak hair dye.
