Leaving the homestead, we headed east up a steep incline, making our way to a rather large beaver pond. The going was slow, but enjoyable. I rarely take time to stop and marvel the small wonders of the forest as my wife does. Being a photographer she frequently pauses to investigate mushrooms, slugs, and any manner of interesting woodland objects.

The outing turned out to be a successful scouting endeavor when I came upon a scattering of acorns on the forest floor, amongst an intersection of two game trails. Gazing up at the leaves of the medium sized oak I could see through my Bushnell binos that many more of the scrumptious fruits would be dropping in the coming weeks and months.

Cresting the mountain peak and descending into the valley concealing our destination, we came upon an area that was littered with piles of moose scat. I have ventured into this area many times and seen much sign, but have not yet encountered the elusive creature itself.

Upon reaching the pond, a loud SLAP of the resident beavers tail upon the smooth surface alerted any others to our presence. As my wife found a comfortable spot and setup her photo gear, I sat admiring my favorite place on this earth, and the person I most want to enjoy it with.

As we sat watching half a dozen waxwings swoop between the dead trees rising from the middle of the pond, the beaver eventually returned to the surface and swam near us on the shore, allowing Dawn to snap some pics. The fat creature moved slickly through the water, coming close and then whirling, swimming out of view, and returning for further investigation of the humans entering its domain

It was nearing dinnertime, not just for us and the kids, but also for the skeeters. As we rose to leave, the undeniable “yip-yip” of a coyote pup came from beyond a row of softwoods on the parallel side of the pond. We remained a while in hopes of catching a glimpse, but no such luck.

To end our hike we headed home on an old skid road, passing a fallen oak with a wooden stand still nailed to its trunk. Further on we spooked a couple whitetails not far from home.

After dinner and putting two girls in bed , I relaxed a moment with the wife before taking a shower with my scent prevention soap of choice.

Exiting the cleansing process and continuing the scent -free ritual with deodorant ,tooth brushing, and so on. I hear the very familiar hoot of my father conversing with the wife. I was sure my ol’ man was going to want to tag along. But upon inviting him, he informed me he’d just taken a shot of a medication he has recently been put on, which hinders him from enjoying much of anything but is suppose to help heal him. Too bad….Last year before he’d been diagnosed, I reminisce him sporadically deciding to go out on a moonlit January evening. Extending me an invitation, I excepted and had my first success at calling a coyote to the gun.

The location I chose to call from is a small field at the farm minutes down the road from my home. This field his situated on the back of the property, hidden on top of large knoll. At the farm I exit my vehicle and make my way quietly up the tractor path staying close to corn stalks lining either side and glassing the surrounding field edges. A little ways up the path I come upon a spot where a turkey has dusted itself creating a divot in which a few iridescent feathers remain.

Approaching a fence that requires crossing and having crossed it many times I know well that in order to do it silently I must take the camera and tripod off my back, set them and my .243 on the other side and belly crawl under the lowest rail. Convinced that I’ve made it through without spooking my query I load up and continue on. I take not more than a few steps and scare four hen turkeys off their roost causing ruckus enough to alert even the most inattentive critter to my presence.

Persevering, I make my way the next ¼ mile to the field through the cover of a babbling mountain stream. At the field edge I examine the wind direction before setting up next to a large pine and some bushes that blend nicely with my leafy Mossy Oak Break-up outfit. By now there isn’t adequate light to capture video so I chose to leave the Canon in its bag.

Sitting silently and motionless, the only creature I am aware of are the tree frogs to my south side that have been constantly chirping since before I arrived. Even as I send squealing shrieks of misery through my mouth call, they sing their serenade without pausing.

Then comes the crunching, and the frogs cease. Something is coming up behind me, CRUNCH! CRACK! CRUNCH! It is light in the field but under the canopy of branches the forest floor and whatever is approaching is invisible. I ready my rifle and the bear mace I always bring with me when calling. Giving a slight squeak of my lips the intent is to bring the varmint closer as to identify it. Eventually, whatever it was slinks away, the frogs restart the chorus and I am left wondering.