Standing on the lake shore, I took one last, long, careful look around. I purposely took a deep breath. Darkness had fallen.
It had been 13-14 years since I first paddled my canoe to this spot. Now, after countless trips here, my visits have left their mark. The footpath is now well worn as it snakes it's way up the steep ridge.
I like to think many of the critters that call this ridge home, have benefited from my many trips. I've lugged likely thousands of pounds of food up and over this ridge.
A few animals have come off the hill with me over the years during legal hunting seasons. But many,many more have simply put on winter fat that helped them through our long winter months, or have eagerly consumed my offerings during periods of deep snow.
For many of my first years hunting here, I often lamented about my previous hunting grounds compared to this spot. I had sold my beloved hunting camp and this area seemed small and barren of game. At least compared to what I was use to.
While some trips and seasons seemed to come and go with little reward, eventually I started seeing game. I began to form those special relationships with certain locations in each of our four seasons. Certain individual animals and myself became familiar with each other each year, either in person or via trail cameras.
What brought me to these thoughts was as I hopped into the canoe for the paddle home the other evening, it hit me like a ton of bricks....I may have hunted that ridge for the last time.
We will be selling our place near here likely before next hunting season.
On the smooth paddle home under the silvery light of a near full moon, my mind wondered back over the years.
I have often taken pictures of beauty filled paddles home. Calm waters and sunrise and sunsets. But this trip, I thought of the trips I was unable to take a moment for a picture. I vividly remember trips battling high winds and blizzards. More than once I figured I would be walking around the lake to get home.
An angry lake fueled by late November winds makes for a scary trip in the dark of night. I never wish to make a paddle like that again, but with the safety of hindsight and in story telling mode.....I wouldn't wanted to have missed any of those crossings. Where you earn every foot of distance closer to home. It's scary and exhilarating at the same time.
To the deer, bear, owls, eagles, coyotes and the host of other smaller game who have entertained me for countless hours back there....my salute is the vivid picture story you have ingrained in my memory.
I like to think that ridge is no worse for wear from my frequent visits. My stands were all strap on and removable. I left no garbage. Once my foot-paths are reclaimed,my visits will be undetectable. If anything, the shore of the lake where there is easy access via wheeler and roads....I know for a fact it's in better shape....I routinely pick up garbage left by others who take advantage of that shore's easy access to nature by leaving litter of every description.
I'm glad I realized I may never hunt that ridge again before I left. It allowed me to take it all in one last time. Almost like having coffee with an old friend, and you know it will be the last time you get to see them. Somehow it takes on more meaning perhaps.
Those few moments spent in the dark my last trip in, will allow me forever to recapture the sights, smells and uniqueness of this place I've come to love, simply by closing my eyes and remembering those few moments alone in the dark.
Besides, it would be rude to leave a place that has brought me so much , for so long, without saying goodbye....
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