Up a tree with God, Part 1

Delton was the first man in my church to invite me to go hunting with him. I was eager to get back into the woods of my childhood. Delton showed me how to use his old-style tree stand. He had me practice on a small pine. The soft bark made it easy to climb up like an inchworm. When you got 10 feet high, you turned around on the seat with your back against the tree, a tricky maneuver.

After coaching me a bit, he said, “That’ll do. I’ll pick you up at 4:30 in the morning. Wear waterproof boots.” I thought to myself, “Why will I need waterproof boots? I’ll be up in a tree.”

That evening, I gathered my gear and laid it beside the back door. A can of Vienna sausage, coffee thermos, flashlight, SkinSo-Soft to repel bugs, a length of ¼” rope, and bullets for Delton’s rifle he’d loaned me. I also had my old 12-gauge shotgun.

Saturday morning came early. Why do all hunting trips start at 4:30 a.m.? I don’t usually stay up that late.

We drove out of town going deep into the dark woods. Delton stopped on the edge of an old logging tram. I stepped down from the truck into a foot of cold, black water. Now I saw why I needed boots. I shined my light across fallen logs and worried about water moccasins and alligators. I knew gator eyes glowed red. If they were six inches apart, the gator was about six feet long. We slogged along the trail where Delton had spotted signs of deer the day before. Finally, we hit dry ground.

“That’s your tree,” he said, pointing to a hardwood with a straight trunk. “The deer will come up from that direction,” he indicated. “I’ll be a tenth of a mile that way.” He turned and headed off silently in the pale moonlight.

I dumped my gear, trying to be quiet. I recalled something I’d read—more hunters are killed by falls from tree stands than by guns. I put the stand beside the tree, hoisted my bag over one shoulder, and slung the rifle strap across the other shoulder. Bending over, I reached for my tree stand. The rifle strap slipped off my shoulder. Its barrel speared straight down into the soft dirt.

I pulled the rifle out of the ground and looked in the barrel. It was plugged with mud. Knowing the danger, I got out my knife and sharpened a branch to make a cleaning tool. As I used it, the branch broke off. My rifle now had a stick poking out the end of the barrel. This was embarrassing.

I thought to myself, “I’ll go get Delton’s truck keys and retrieve my shotgun.” I left my gear and cautiously walked through the woods, heading off in the direction I had seen Delton depart.

He heard me trudging through the forest, sounding like an elephant. I heard his voice high over me.

“What do you need?” I looked up. “Don’t ask me why but I need your keys.” Silently, he dropped them into my cupped hands. “Go that way.” He pointed. “You’ll come to a tram. Go right, then right again, and you’ll see the truck.”

I went the way he pointed. I soon came to a logging road guarded by a narrow ditch filled with dark water. I saw a log across it so I figured I could safely walk across. But the log was mossy, damp. I slipped and filled one boot with water. Disgusted, I sat down and poured it out. The eastern sky was showing some pink. Dawn couldn’t be far away.

I hiked on toward the truck and got my shotgun. I started back on our original trail. Miraculously, I found my tree, not realizing I was soon to have an encounter with God. (Part Two is next week.)

— Ron Wood is a writer and minister. Contact him at wood.stone.ron@gmail. com or visit www.touchedbygrace.org. The opinions expressed are those of the author.