Florida is a different beast…
Being a Pennsylvania hunter, I was prepared for the hunt… or so I thought. I packed my bag with a few of my essential items.
- Range Finder (with an internal magnet, perfect for hands free or to attach to your stand!)
- Chapstick (necessity)
- Lots of water, it gets hot in FL!
- Battery Pack
- Head Lamp and flashlights for the trek out!
The rest of the goods were in Wes’ pack! Thankfully he carries the bulk of the goods (earning husband brownie points!) and because it was my first hunt, we only had one lightweight firearm with us- he was just there for support!
On the drive out, he assured me that he has NEVER seen a snake in the several years he has hunted the property. I know Pennsylvania snakes, and am comfortable maneuvering the woods knowing they are around. However, Florida snakes give me the heebie-jeebies.
Following Wes’ lead, I loaded up with my pack and we started the walk in. No less than three minutes into the walk my trail guide took a giant leap backwards. “WHAT?? WHAT IS IT??” I proclaimed. No response. “WES!!!! WHAT IS IT???” My husband, was up front deciding if he should inform me of the snake directly ahead staring at us in the water, or if he should run past and know I would follow suit- not knowing exactly what it was I was running from. “You need to be calm and follow me, there is a snake in the water.” Putting on my brave face that I was not anticipating needing this early into the trip, I zoomed past the puddle so fast the snake wouldn’t have been able to see me let alone take a bite. Ahhh, smooth sailing from here on out, but first… I had to find a walking stick (snake stick??) just in case.
Onward and Upward
Once we finally made it step by cautious step to our stand, Wes informed me of another catch he casually forgot to mention. Once of the rungs on the tree stand ladder was missing, so a mid climb hoist was necessary to make it to the top. Once I finally clambered to the top and settled into my seat, Wes joined me and then decided 20 feet in the air was the perfect place for musical chairs. We switched seats so I would have a better shot path if needed. This maneuver did not work out in his favor, as shortly after our swap the sun started shining directly on him and maintained its sweltering gaze for the next several hours. (Something I would have enjoyed, but he graciously accepted for the sake of my hunt.)
While in the tree stand, I usually allot the first 15 minutes to questions. What better time to bombard your husband with 45 questions than when he is trapped in a tree with you?
“When do they normally come out?”
“How many usually appear at one time?”
“How big is their brain? I will definitely take it out with a headshot, right?”
“How much corn does that feeder drop?”
“How are we going to get it back to the vacation house? In the rental car??”
“Are you thirsty? I’m thirsty. *shuffling in the bag* Are you sure you’re not thirsty?”
While most of these were answered with a series of grunts and shhh’s, he does do a great job of explaining to me exactly what I need to be doing when the time comes. I take pride in my shot, and want to make sure I understand the anatomy of what I am hunting to ensure the hunt goes according to plan. I secretly think he enjoys my chatter. It comes with excitement. With knowing that this activity that we choose to do together gets us pumped up and we genuinely enjoy doing it together. I am so lucky to have a partner that takes as much pride as I do in the process, and that he is so patient with me as I follow along and learn.
We practiced the safety (Is it just me or does your brain shut down as soon as an animal appears?? I need to practice to make it feel more like muscle memory) and I noticed that it operates opposite of most of what I shoot. Noted…
Come on out piggy piggy piggy…
After what felt like hours (it was maybe 20 minutes) there was a loud rustle in the woods to our left. What I could see that way was a swamp, plenty of palm trees, and some pines. For all I knew it could be a gator crashing through to come and find me for a quick snack. CRASH. Whatever it was, it was BIG. I looked at Wes with what I can only imagine was a look of terror and excitement, and he got a big grin and pointed over my shoulder. I whipped around to face the beast and was met with a squirrel scurrying around the base of a palm. “The palm leaves make everything sound big. When a pig comes in you aren’t going to hear it coming. They have learned how to sneak in right under your nose.” This was a helpful tidbit when the rustling ensued for the rest of the evening. Several squirrel, a woodpecker, some cardinal, a raccoon and a few deer made an appearance as the sun started to set. The feeder had gone off, nothing had arrived. I was starting to feel discouraged.
With no warning, out popped three baby hogs. They almost startled me as much as Wes did when he gave me a swift jab to the ribs to get my attention. He didn’t need to alert me, I saw their little snouts finding the corn faster than you could say ‘Ham Hock’. “They send the little ones out first. If they come back alive the rest will follow.” He told me before I even got a chance to ask another question, he must have read my thoughts ‘Where are the big ones??’ Shortly after, the babies scurried back to the brush line, and bursting forward like a hog out of hell came a whole gang. Two larger ones were part of the group and they immediately started snorting and squealing, searching the ground for whatever corn the squirrels had left behind.
I raised my gun to get a better view with the scope. “Are they big?? I can’t tell. I don’t know how big they are supposed to look in real life. They are beside babies… Are they big enough??” I was back again with the questions. “I think spots is a shooter… I don’t know… They are kind of small?” answered my husband. We proceeded to watch them for a couple more minutes and all of a sudden, as quickly as they appeared they squealed and jetted back into the woods. I looked at Wes, “Well… now what?” “They will come back, just watch. They get scared and run but they aren’t far. Just hiding in the brush.” He was right. A few moments later they reappeared and started feeding again.
At this point they were starting to get more confident and branch off from each other. They moved a little closer to us, but the shooters hid behind a tree. I went back and forth with Wes several times trying to decide if they were big enough. He told me that the one I had my sites on was maybe 50 pounds. We had eaten one that size last year and it wasn’t that meaty… Was it worth it? Before I could decide they disappeared again. This time they didn’t come back… I kept my scope on the tree-line hoping for a glimpse of movement. Right as I was about to give up and call it quits, out they burst again. Directly to my right. The bar of the tree stand was too low and by this point my arm was getting tired of holding up the gun so I whipped my leg up over Wes onto the stands bar and propped it up in some strange hunting/yoga move. It worked, I had ol’ spots dead center on my scope.
“This is your first hunt. If you want to take the shot, take the shot.” It was in that moment that I contemplated what I had gone through to get to this moment. The hike in, the hoisting up the stand, the SNAKE. “I’m going to take the shot.” I told him. I flipped off the safety, lined up, took a deep breath in, and let it out. Slowly, I pressed down on the trigger. Nothing happened… I looked at my husband. “What?” he whispered to me. “I… I don’t know. I pulled as hard as I can and nothing happened??” The pigs are awfully close at this point and while they don’t have the greatest eyesight, they do have excellent hearing. I am worried that I am about to lose my chance. He flipped the safety on and off again, “Try again.” Wash rinse repeat, I let my breath out and pulled the trigger. Nothing… I flipped the safety on in frustration and the click was enough to startle the hogs and off they went… this time not to return. I didn’t understand. I had
PRACTICED. As we sat there trying to figure out what I was doing wrong, I remembered the second click. The extra little bit you need to push the safety to click it off the entire way. I didn’t do it. I lost my chance.
While I felt silly and discouraged, I immediately felt calm. “I wasn’t supposed to shoot it. Spots was too small. I was making the wrong call.” It didn’t go off for a reason. And it taught me a lesson that I know all too well but was letting my pride get in the way of. We are ethical hunters above all else. We do not take the shot for pride, for praise or for trophies. We take the shot to feed our family and honor the woods. While walking out of the woods with a pack full of meat to fill the freezer always feels a little more exciting when you can share the excitement of a once in a lifetime animal, that is not what comes first. I am glad I got to experience how the hogs work. Watching them make careful and calculated movements together and taking through a series of grunts and squeals was so interesting and I learned so much.
Walking out empty handed
Coming home from a hunt with nothing to show for it is always humbling. You learn to enjoy the time you spent in the woods, connecting with nature, feeling the sun on your face (a lot of sun in Wes’ case) and moving your body. After I scurried down from what I will only describe as the sketchiest stand I have ever climbed, it was time to hike back out. I had gotten used to being safe in the air and was quickly reminded by my sweet hubby that I was now back on the forest floor with the snakes. “I will go first, follow me and stop if I stop.” At this point, it was pitch black out which makes any hike out of the woods more intimidating, let alone when you are imagining snakes hanging from every branch.
We set off on the trail, step by step. Shining our lights on the ground, on the trees, to the left to the right (one of us being slightly more paranoid than the other) and slowly made our way out of the clearing and into the jungle ahead. As we approached a puddle I reminded Wes of our previous encounter. He was not worried and marched ahead. Right as I was about to levitate past the puddle myself, I noticed movement under his left foot, and he not only stopped but launched himself back toward me with lightning speed so fast that I swear my heart stopped beating. “WESLEY WHAT” I screeched. But he didn’t need to answer, the forest did that for me as I heard the rattle sound.
Two headlamps, two flashlights and four eyes found the sound faster than the blink of an eye. He was now curled up at the base of a palm tree directly beside the puddle daring us to come closer. I felt my breath leave my lungs and clutched my protectors arm so hard I am sure he still has a mark. “Please get me out of here” I whispered. Writing this now, I can still feel the absolute terror I felt in that moment. The middle of the woods in unknown territory, only lights to guide our way, snakes waiting to strike (although in his defense Wes did ruin his nap by stepping on him)… It was too much.
Trying to avoid having a panic attack, I reminded myself that I am brave and strong and bright. If I follow my husband he will lead me home. We circled around the puddle deep into the woods, and were met with a dead end. Back to the puddle. Trying the right side this time… we were trapped again. Back to the puddle. “We have to just get past this part and then we will be ok, trust me. Follow me and we will be ok.” And onward he sprints on the opposite side of where Mr. Slithers disappeared. “WAIT FOR ME, GOOD LORD WAIT FOR ME!!!” I shrieked and high tailed it past the puddle. We continued our trek out checking every stick that looked snake like, and even some that didn’t. I am sure I asked “How close are we to the car?” more times than a 6 year old wondering how close they are to their destination on a road trip. And each time my sweet husband lied to me and said, “Its just up around this bend.” (I eventually caught on to his maneuver after the 4th bend and no car.)
After what seemed like 7 years time, my flashlight caught the red sheen of a tail light. I had to remind myself that snakes still exist to keep myself from sprinting to the car and slamming the door behind me. Once we made it to the car, Wes dug the keys out and I clambered in, pack still on, headlamp still shining and took the deepest breath of my life. We made it out. I SURVIVED THE FLORIDA WILDERNESS. After a 30 minute ride home in complete silence, I turned to my husband. “This was an experience and I am very grateful you took me out, but I am never doing that again. I am a Pennsylvania hunter to my core.” He chuckled… “We will see what happens next year.”
