River Bottom Transitions - January 21st

 A nearly mile-long hike just to reach the boundary of my target timber tract was the gatekeeper to adventure number two. The sky was clear, promising a great day to explore new, potentially untouched ground. The air was crisp and silent, and the sun felt warm as I hiked. Temperatures were forecast to be in the mid- to upper 40s. My aim was a high-stem-count river bottom that stood out as a timber regeneration project with limited “easy” access—a perfect hideaway that I hoped held the area's most elusive whitetails. The overall strategy was to determine whether the area had potential and to seek access to hunt from the river.  

I crossed the creek and immediately found a short tassel of rope hanging from a tree, over what appeared to be a mock scrape. In years past, that bit of braided nylon hanging over fresh earth would have deflated my spirit, signaling competition. But this time, it just fueled my fire; they were close, but not deep enough. Before long, I came across a couple of small rubs, continuing on my path to the heavier cover. 

Signs of deer activity were evident, but nothing screamed “hunt here!” The boundary between public and private land would be pushed by those who didn’t care to follow the rules and sought easy access; this typical violation confirmed I needed to get even farther away from the easy spots. I moved rather quickly, marking a few interesting areas and, more importantly, taking notes of other hunters.

After trudging through some thick and tangled briars, I stopped to take in the river view, and the world opened up. The water was low, and the trees were barren. A thin layer of ice formed on the water's surface. Even in the colorless month of January, the river and its high, steep, frozen banks were impressive. I imagined what it would look like following a few heavy spring rains and what it would be like to paddle my way up for an early October hunt. 

As I stood silently, taking in the sights and sounds of the river bottom, I caught movement in the river’s glasslike current. An otter ducked into a small opening in the ice before reappearing in a larger one. As he attempted to emerge from the cold water of the river, he broke through the thin layer of ice repeatedly until reaching a spot solid enough to hold his weight. The sound of its webbed feet on the ice sounded like someone walking on glass with shoes made of suction cups. I chuckled as the tiny fur bearer slinked his way across the ice and vanished into the brush along the riverbank; his presence was yet another good sign that this isolated bottom was rich with life.

Emerging from the bank, I found timber that I would consider unremarkable. The look was very monotonous and lacked any topography to speak of. I wondered if I had hiked all this way for nought. Just when I had all but given up hope for the spot, a subtle change in the habitat type screamed for my attention. Featureless hardwoods gave way to a grassy clearing scattered with small, red oaks. My heart rate quickened with excitement. Knowing that whitetails liked edge transitions, I moved closer to investigate. It didn’t take long for my interest to be piqued. A major well-worn trail following a subtle change in habitat was dotted with scrapes and rubs from the previous fall. A mirror image paralleled it with some of the same sign, though the western edge appeared to have heavier use. 

After walking its length back toward the river, I stopped to find a couple of stand locations for mid to late October. With the predominant wind directions in mind, I selected three trees within 20 yards of the activity as potential ambush sites. Even with a 9-month wait ahead of me, the anticipation is at an all-time high. 

Satisfied with what I had found, I began the long trek back to the truck. My new location added at least a quarter-mile to my hike along the service road. Luckily, it was flat and easy walking the whole way. My stroll gave me plenty of time to contemplate access and the ideal time of year to throw a sit or two at my newfound area, in hopes of catching a public-land buck off guard.