They Used to Hang Poachers
It was the first long solo morning walk I've taken in a while (the pity) and cool enough I had the urge to warm up by climging up the contours of our western ridge above Nameless Creek. And the verb climb is accurately chosen, for one cannot walk where I went. Holding onto saplings for a pull up each step toward the top is the means of travel. It is slow going--moving, resting, taking in more and more treetops in view as you gain altitude. It's a great cardiac workout, I thought. I entertained myself with the notion of creating by hand a switchback trail from creek to ridgetop. Both building and then walking that traverse of seldom-visited hillside would be a great form of outdoor workout-meditation for the cooler months.
I was carrying my jacket by the time I reached the top. I sat on a stump long enough to let my heart rate come down, and then a few minutes more beyond that, and it came to mind how often I used to tell our kids that "if you sit very still for ten minutes or longer--and alone--wildlife will come out of hiding, and you will see and hear things you'd miss if you're in a hurry. Be still."
And I followed my own advice. But as my awareness of the details of that particular resting place grew more clear and familiar (and there were several notable wildlife sightings in this stillness), what suddenly caught my attention not 20 yards away startled me.
I was well within the confines of our property. The adjacent piece was surveyed a few years back and the orange tapes still hang conspicuously from saplings. But there, in a 12 inch cherry that leans slightly out over the shallow wooded swale below it to the west, a canvas and metal deer tree stand, 15 feet up in the tree. I felt violated. And angry.
We've already suffered the dog getting sick from eating deer guts this year from deer killed somewhere on our land. He brought home a hind leg that had clearly been severed with a knife. We walk this land often. The dog ranges along the ridge at times. We have others who come here--with permission beforehand--to hunt. I'd hate for them to be injured. I'm not so carrying about what happens to this person who so blatantly has trespassed here, and I want him gone.
Three straps secured foothold steps to the tree in the first 6-7 feet of the trunk. I unstrapped them, with my first impulse being to throw them high in the tree above the stand, or carry them home and toss them in the dumpster.
But in the end, I took the three straps and fashioned a N, an O and an exclamation mark on the leaves about twenty feet from the tree where this person would find them and know he had been discovered. If he doesn't get the message, next time on the hill, I'll carry an axe, cut down the stand, and leave it for him in a wad of twisted metal.
This is not okay. We have a bad history here on Goose Creek with the disregard of hunters so that the word is not one that conjures up anything but dread--of far more trash on the road; of trucks parked illegally on private property in the dark, of fences cut, deer shot from the road, bloated carcasses dumped in the creek.
I doubt such a person is a blog reader, or even knows how to turn on a computer to get this message: Do not hunt on our land. Your disregard puts my family and others here at risk. You cannnot simply come and take what you want, especially with weapons involved. Find another place to hunt. And ask permission before you go. Pick up your trash. Respect the property and lives of others. Thanks.