Every November, I hunt deer in a swamp in northern Wisconsin. If you’d like to get technical (and I’ll assume you do), I hunt right next to a swamp in northern Wisconsin. And the combination of swamp and woods makes for some pretty compelling visuals. You know all those Gander Mountain and/or Cabela’s catalog covers where the hunter kneels down and peers wisely over his shoulder at a flock of ducks or geese or something soaring over the tree line? I’ve actually done that! Perhaps a little too often.

You see, I might actually be a somewhat successful hunter if I wasn’t so damn distracted by all the nature. I’m not hunting ducks, I’m hunting deer. And they don’t fly. But I can’t help it. Once you get outside in the woods and just sit there (or for some of you more active individuals, walk around) you notice some pretty crazy stuff. 

In late fall, right before winter, the aforementioned swamp looks ancient, as if it’s in the late stages of a long decay. Because it is. It’s easy to imagine giant stone heads from thousand-year-old statues lying around within the swamp Lord of the Rings style. Little branches are constantly falling to the ground, trickling through the trees. The light is golden, and it’s easy to let your mind wander. Mine certainly does.

First of all, let me say that, for those of us with active imaginations, walking through a swamp on the way to your deer stand at 4:30ish in the morning is an experience somewhere between spooky and crap-your-pants terrifying. I just can’t shut off my mind.

So when the old swamp trees moan in the wind, instead of thinking, “Hey, those are just dead tree branches creaking,” I think, “Hey that’s probably a fire-eyed swamp witch ready to spring from the treetops like a screaming black magic spider monkey to land on my back and scratch my face off with the giant bird talons she has instead of hands because, 200 years ago, as a young and innocent girl, she made a deal with Beelzebub that eventually went way south.”

And then I realize that I should probably be listening for deer.

    Last year, I got out to my stand, and there were mice. I was hunting in a little plywood blind my dad had built and hauled out there a few years back. I had only just found the thing (after wandering around in the dark for a while) and had sat down to wait for the sun to rise when the scratching started. It was pitch black, and I didn’t know if the mice wanted to get in or out. The only thing I was certain of was that they wanted to climb into my pant legs and bite whatever they might find up there with their tiny, little, needle-sharp, disease-infested teeth. I actually got back out of the stand (as quietly as I could) and waited until I could see what was going on. But, as you might have guessed, once the first grey light peeked through the trees, I couldn’t find a thing. So either, a) I scared away the mice when I got up, or b) that damn swamp witch was screwing with my head.

After the sun’s up, I’ve got a whole new set of distractions. At first, it’s exciting –it’s within those first grey sunrays of the morning when deer turn away from their nighttime cornfield buffets and start their search for a place to lie down and sleep. If I’m lucky, I’ll happen to be sitting near the path a deer will take as it looks for a soft patch of ground. The air is electric with possibility and hope swells in my chest as I sit motionless, just one more piece of landscape.

That excitement lasts for about 10 minutes until I get distracted by a chipmunk running across a dead log and I start wondering about who the hell came up with the premise for Chip ‘n Dale’s Rescue Rangers. Seriously, a chipmunk detective agency that handles crimes “too small” for the police to handle? I mean, think about it, these little rodents live in a tree and they’ve got a giant TV screen allowing them instant video communication around the globe, and they’ve still got chairs made out of acorns? Come on.

And then I realize I’ve been staring off into space for a good 20 minutes.

But after doing this for quite a few years – letting the scenery take me to weird  places and then snapping back to reality – I’ve made peace with it. No, I’m not one of Wisconsin’s best hunters, but I like to think that I’m one of its happiest. I just like being outside. I like being in that swamp. And I like thinking about whatever.

If only it were possible to do that during the other 51 weeks of the year. Oh well.