If you’ve been following this blog for a while you probably know that my Michigan roots run deep. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE Montana and Montana is where I shall stay but there are many things I love about Michigan and as you know, every once in a while I just cant help but self indulge on this blog and share.

In addition to the friends and family who keep us coming back, some of the things I love about Michigan in no particular order are Lions; Tigers; Red Wings; Two Hearted Ale; Oberon; Montague; Traverse City; Mackinac Island; the Pere Marquette, Upper Manistee, White, Muskegon and Au Sable Rivers; Lakes Michigan,  Huron and Superior; Norwood; White Lake; Bells; Founders; Legs Inn; Ludington State Park; The Mitten Bar; St Ignace; Leland; Art’s Tavern; Old Channel Inn; Old Channel Trail; Wildcats and Tahquamenon Falls just to name a few.

One of the things I really miss which hits home every November 15th is Michigan’s firearm deer season. Last year I talked about why which if you’re interested in you can check out here,  and I also decided that I was going to return to the Michigan woods in 2017 which is exactly what I did last week.

The reaction I got from most everyone here at home when I announced I was going to Michigan to deer hunt was the same, a look of bewilderment generally accompanied by some  comment regarding the unprecedented hunting opportunities afforded us here in Montana. I get it. Believe me. I’m well aware of the opportunities here and it’s not lost on me that leaving Montana to hunt deer in Michigan would be something akin to leaving the Missouri River to trout fish most ANYWHERE ELSE! There’s simply no comparison but sometimes we’re looking for something more than the best. Sometimes it’s the fabric of a place along with those with whom you share it that makes it great.

So off to Michigan I went to reconnect with lifelong friends and to spend a few days in the deer woods.  Opening day was Wednesday so we spent Tuesday scouting the woods and making sure all was in order for Wednesday’s pre-dawn ritual. It had been six years since I was last in these woods so I wanted to take some time to reacquaint myself with the surroundings. A major wind storm had taken down many trees some time last year, blocking many of our old trails so we spent the good part of the day brushing out new routes to our blinds but aside from that not much had changed. What did strike me was the sweet smell of decaying  leaves and soil which I can’t say I missed or even thought about but which I haven’t experienced since moving to Montana.

We hunt on the shores of Lake Michigan in an enchanted mix of sand dunes and cedar swamps and hardwood stands. The smell of the swamp and the carpet of oak and maple and beech leaves underfoot coupled with a few peeks of the  late fall sun and a stiff breeze off of the lake made for a magical return. An abundance of huge scrapes and shredded saplings and scarred trees made it clear that there was no shortage of bucks in the area and made for a restless night of anticipation.

We awoke to a steady rain on Wednesday and spent the better part of the day fighting off the chill in our blinds before retreating to the comforts of camp. The nights of reminiscing about the past, of bourbon and beer in our glasses and wild game on our plates and the daylight hours in the blind watching and waiting blurred into one. And just like that it was over. I found myself  tearing down my doghouse blind and once again fighting off the familiar melancholy that starts to creep in on that last day of deer camp. This is when the ghosts of the past are most active and I exit the woods sad that the trip has come to an end but  on a deeper level saddened by the fact that I have to leave this portal to the past. These woods that hold the memories of times long past and of those who have departed stand in stoic silence, indifferent to our presence or absence.  Life continues, lives end, change is constant and the woods remain.

As happens more often than not when hunting public land in Michigan we came away empty handed, at least as far as game goes. We saw plenty of does and a few nice bucks but were not able to seal the deal. My heart was heavy as we drove out of the woods on that last day but the sadness was temporary. By that evening my thoughts had turned towards home. I was ready to see my family and to be back in Montana but the trip turned out to be everything I had expected and more.

It’s often said that you can’t go home again and in some respects I agree. We can  go to the physical place we once called home but we can never return to the essence  and the actuality of what that place was when we lived there…that place still lives only in our minds. These deer woods on the shores of Lake Michigan still feel like home to me if for no other reason than the majority of  my time spent in these woods has been spent one on one, just the woods and me. Midwest hunting is essentially sitting for hours on end with nothing but your thoughts, waiting for the deer to appear. The actuality of these woods has not changed and it will always be the same. The people and the events occurring outside of those hours in the blind continue to change but when it’s just the woods and me I feel the presence of home in my thoughts magnified by familiar  surroundings.

I wonder if perhaps I will turn my back on this place when the rest are gone, I suppose that I may. But for now I am happy to have this place that binds together the present and past. This place that allows me to return.