The surprisingly delightful sound of the alarm clock awakes you to a morning full of eager darkness.
You throw on your trusty camo and grab a quick bite before heading out. You toss your stand in the truck and gently lay your bow across the back of your seat as if laying a baby to bed.
With your three-bladed companion by your side, you are ready to begin another season chasing the white-tails.
After the short drive, you climb out of the truck and load up your gear. The dead weight of your Ol’ Man is a welcome trade for the cumbersome load of a book bag.
As you trample through the tall grass, dew coats your skin and reminds you of the price you have to pay to get to that perfect spot. The morning chill circulates throughout your body and gives you the sense of excitement you haven’t felt in almost eight months.
The darkness plays games with your mind, but you eventually find a towering oak. While wrapping and locking the stand on the tree, you think of which direction the deer will be coming from.
Then, up you go.
With the sun coming up on the horizon, you get lost in the sounds that are around you: the Barred Owl that hoots a few trees away, the crows that “hawwkk” and drive you into a state of madness and the squirrels that make you think that big boy is on his way.
There you are, 20 feet up the tree, waiting for a white-tailed animal to come close enough for you to fling an arrow. And there is no other
place that you would rather be.
People call you crazy for getting up at 4 a.m., but you prefer “dedicated.” In fact, if you put as much time into school as you did hunting, then you wouldn’t have to be taking those GPA boosters at East Mississippi Community College. But school doesn’t come close to giving you the freedom of the outdoors.
You peek at your watch: 8:15.
The numbness starts to set in around the cheeks, but you’re not going anywhere.
You scan the area for signs of movement, but nothing catches your eye.
You sit. You wait.
Random memories scamper into your mind from every direction. Conscious thought drifts until a sudden “snap” of a branch brings you back to reality.
There sits your old pal, Mr. Squirrel, laughing at you because you thought he was going to be somewhat larger.
9:30 rolls around and your stomach decides its time to head to the Waffle House for some breakfast.
You didn’t see the one today, but you felt alive for the first time in you don’t know how long.
You climb down, pack up and head back.
Game Over.
Until tomorrow.
Jake Fagan is a senior communication major. He can be reached at [email protected].