D
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“my temple is the swamp… When I would recreate myself, I seek the darkest wood, the thickest and most impenetrable and to the citizen, most dismal, swamp. I enter a swamp as a sacred place, a sanctum sanctorum… I seemed to have reached a new world, so wild a place…far away from human society. What’s the need of visiting far-off mountains and bogs, if a half-hour’s walk will carry me into such wildness and novelty.” - Thoreau
Coming from the west I had experienced the dense thickets of gambel oak and thick stands of lodge pole pines and I thought I was a veteran of hunting hell holes... but holy crap did I get my ass kicked by the MA swamps.
I've hunted a number of different habitats in New England, but I've spent more days struggling through the impervious woods than any other. The draw, I think, has been a wild and strenuous hunt juxtaposed with the urban backdrop. Moments of panic at being lost then hearing the sounds of the freeway and remembering there is a dunkies about a mile away.
I tried my hand at hunting from a stand, that seems to be folks preferred method around here, I've catalogued 40+ in this small section of woods in various states of decay. From old wood tree houses, screw in steps leading to a wood platform, wood ladders and rusted metal seats, lock on's with steps eaten away by the years. Each stand I see makes me wonder what happened to that guy? Are these in some ways memorials to generations of hunters passed. I salute those who can't sit all day in a tree... I want to roam and have been still (loudly shambling) hunting these swamps for the past 2 years trying to connect with a deer.
I've now spent around 10-15 days out, lots of near misses, lots of learning.
Walk slower... nope slower
Wind still matters
Wait for a while, and see what happens... nope a little more.
It's been humbling, I lost a buck in 2020.
I've spooked countless others without getting a shot.
Coming from the west I had experienced the dense thickets of gambel oak and thick stands of lodge pole pines and I thought I was a veteran of hunting hell holes... but holy crap did I get my ass kicked by the MA swamps.
I've hunted a number of different habitats in New England, but I've spent more days struggling through the impervious woods than any other. The draw, I think, has been a wild and strenuous hunt juxtaposed with the urban backdrop. Moments of panic at being lost then hearing the sounds of the freeway and remembering there is a dunkies about a mile away.
I tried my hand at hunting from a stand, that seems to be folks preferred method around here, I've catalogued 40+ in this small section of woods in various states of decay. From old wood tree houses, screw in steps leading to a wood platform, wood ladders and rusted metal seats, lock on's with steps eaten away by the years. Each stand I see makes me wonder what happened to that guy? Are these in some ways memorials to generations of hunters passed. I salute those who can't sit all day in a tree... I want to roam and have been still (loudly shambling) hunting these swamps for the past 2 years trying to connect with a deer.
I've now spent around 10-15 days out, lots of near misses, lots of learning.
Walk slower... nope slower
Wind still matters
Wait for a while, and see what happens... nope a little more.
It's been humbling, I lost a buck in 2020.
I've spooked countless others without getting a shot.
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The vortex of lines above directly in the path of the shot is where I found him.
