It was another cold moonless morning. I can't believe how dark it is! One of these days I'm going to have to make a trail out to my deer stand. I walk the hedge row between Wilson's field and Makkila's forty. Halfway cross the field is patch of woods that appears like a wooded tunnel in the low light. Like most mornings the woods are quiet. As I move along the tunnel the forest explodes to my right! There is the sound of a large animal moving quickly toward me, not away, like one would expect. Brrruump brrruump brrruump ppbbsshh! The large animal stops right next to me and blows a lung full of steam into my face. Mr. Wilson's horse was out in the pasture, he must have heard me and decided to come for an early morning visit. I gave him a couple of scratches on the neck cleaned out my shorts and continued toward my stand. It is the opening morning of deer hunting. As I make my way to the far end of the field, I sense movement to my left. The woods are thick, and I cannot make out the form that is mirroring my movements. As I move forward, I come to an opening in the forest. Not twenty yards away is very surprised timber wolf, and then like a ghost it was gone. No wonder Mr. Wilson's horse was acting so skittish. This was turning out to be quite an eventful morning, and I wasn't even halfway to my stand yet! I clean out my shorts again and continue on my trek. The breeze was light, and snow was falling like the feathers off a down pillow, as I made my way along a ridge that crossed the forty between Wilson's field and the old logging road. The old logging road takes me the rest of the way to my stand. The air is so cold that the scent of the balsams that usually pervades this area is trapped like a cocoon within its needles. My stand is a tripod of poplar trees that sits on the top of rocky knoll. I settle into my stand as the light slowly forms in the east. The breeze is from the northwest, directly into my face. Perfect. The sun is beginning to cut its way through the darkness, when I notice another hunter making his way across a ridge in front of me. He is the first and only hunter, not part of our hunting party, that I have seen venture so far back in the woods. He was a couple hundred yards away, and did not see or notice me. He moving away from me and out of view when I looked to my left and caught a glimpse of a rack a hundred or so yards away looking back toward the intruder that had spooked him from his bed. I moved to my left to set up for the shot. I carelessly kick my foot into my backpack that was sitting between my feet. My heart sank, my perfect morning was slipping away as fast as my backpack was falling toward the earth below. I quickly brought my rifle to my shoulder, put the cross hairs on its chest, and pulled the trigger, just as the backpack hit the ground. The twelve point buck never heard that backpack hit the ground that day. The perfect ending to a perfect opening morning.