Wes Coffey

You could see about 80 yards in three directions from the stand, and the wind almost always came out of the northwest, which meant anything moving through the bottom wouldn't smell you.

He drew me a map on a napkin at the bar, told me where to park, how to get to the stand, and where the boundaries were.

He said he'd be hunting the west side of the property, about two miles away.

No cell service anywhere on the land.

If I needed something, I'd have to walk to him.

I didn't think twice about it.

I'd hunted alone my entire life.

I got to the parking spot, a wide spot on a logging road, at about 2.30 in the afternoon on November 11th.

Opening day of gun season was the 20th, but I wanted to get in early and sit the stand a few times during bow season to learn the area.

I had my Matthews on my back, a grunt tube around my neck, and a headlamp in my jacket pocket.

I figured I'd sit until dark, walk out, and decide if I wanted to come back opening weekend.

The walk-in was about 45 minutes.

I followed a faint two-track for the first half-mile, then cut into the timber along a ridge that Travis had described.

The woods were thick, but not impassable.

Red oak, sugar maple...

Some big white pines scattered through.

The ground was covered in wet leaves.

No snow yet.

The air was cold, somewhere in the high twenties, and everything smelled like rot and frozen dirt.

I found the stand right where Travis said it would be.