Over the last 6 years, I have come across many hunters while working in the woods. Usually I see them along forest roads and trails, but sometimes I unknowingly walk up on them far from any access paths. And rarely, I stumble over them while they’re hunkered down waiting for game.
Okay, I’ve never actually stumbled over anyone, but I have walked up on some hunters in full camo and not even realized someone was nearby until I see a figure out of the corner of my eye.
When you spend all day trampling over aardvark holes and downed logs talking to yourself the whole time, it can be jarring to suddenly notice you’re being watched.
So, in this article, I want to share some of my most memorable encounters with hunters in the woods. Most have been fairly pedestrian, but some have been absolutely terrifying!
The Frozen Shadow
My most recent run in with a hunter was here in Ouachita a few months ago. I was on my way to my next plot, bounding down a shallow slope through some low brush, mumbling some imaginary argument with myself or maybe humming the lyrics to a Boston song, when out of the corner of my eye I happen to catch a shape that appears out of place.
I stopped and quickly looked over to my left in time to see a camouflaged figure about 40 feet away looking back at me.
We were at least half of a mile away from the nearest vehicle, and he was probably just as surprised to see me that far into the forest as I was to see him.
To break the awkward silence I said, “Hey, how’s it going!”, in a chocked voice.
He mumbled a response and I tried to carry on.
But I looked at my GPS and realized I needed to drop a plot right there where we were standing.
I asked, “Am I gonna be in your way here? I just need to drop a quick plot.”
“No, are you heading that way?” [pointing East].
“Yeah. Which way are you going?”
“I’m going this way,” [pointing North] he said.
“Okay, cool.” And I quickly finished up my plot and moved on.
Misinformed Hunters
In the Washington/Jefferson National Forest of Western Virginia, I was working in an area that was accessible by a long Forest Service road. Most of the road was behind a lone gate, but lucky for me I had a key.
This particular incident was in prime deer season, (a week or so before Thanksgiving) and I had expected to run into hunters.
I approached the gate, got out, unlocked it, drove through, stopped, got out again, relocked the gate behind me, and continued driving further down the forest road. After a few minutes I got to the area I want to start working and parked the truck.
While I’m getting my equipment ready, a group of 3 or 4 guys appeared from the far side of the road, walking back in the direction of the gate.
We greet each other and I mentioned I was doing some contract work for the Forest Service measuring trees.
Then one of the gentleman, who appeared to be in his late 60s or early 70s said, “You know, you guys aren’t supposed to be parking behind the gates during deer season.”
Now, because I am constantly moving between states and forests, it is difficult to keep track of changing regulations between all of them. That being said, I had never heard of such a policy. However, I wasn’t looking to get into a policy debate with a couple of guys carrying rifles who had obvious not bagged anything that morning.
De-escalation was my strategy.
“Oh, I didn’t know that. I’ll have to give a call to my Forest Service contact,” I replied.
“Yeah, you should,” was his answer, with a hint of aggression.
We all chatted a little more and, by the end of the conversation, the guy had calmed and they all went about their way.
Once they left, I called my Forest Service contact to check with him about not being able to park and work behind the gate. He said there was no such policy.
I couldn’t imagine what made this guy think I was not allowed to park behind the gate but I continued to park there for the following days and never ran into them again.
Loose Trigger Finger
The scariest and potentially most dangerous encounter with a hunter occurred in the hills of Northeast Georgia (my home state) in the Chattahoochee National Forest. Once again, it was late autumn on a weekend (always the worst time to be in the woods, hunter or not).
I had just parked, left the truck, and was a few paces from the road in a dense stand of pine when I heard an obscure voice from deeper in the woods yelling in an unfriendly tone.
I was unclear what the voice was saying, but it sounded upset.
“What’s that?”, I questioned aloud to the unseen origin of the voice.
Then more yelling, followed by several rifle shots fired into the air! (Hopefully into the air and not in my direction.)
With that, I didn’t think it wise to find out if I was the source of this person’s frustration and I made quick time putting distance between the two of us.
Once I had left the forest, I contacted the FS to fill them in on what happened. Of course, they said that I should have dialed the sheriff and encouraged me to do so if it happened again.
Luckily, it never happened again, but I still wonder if I had unknowingly stumbled onto the “territory” of a hunter who was maybe having a very bad day. (I put territory in quotes because National Forest land is public, so no hunter can lay claim to any parcel of it for their private use, though some may feel entitled to such privilege.)
These particular experiences, though strange at best and terrifying at worst, do not reflect my overall experience with hunters. Most encounters are hardly noteworthy and many result in interesting conversations. For those many positive encounters I have with hunters, I’ll endure the bizarre ones.