Student of the Woods

By Dustin DesLauriers

"Student of the Woods" follows one young man as he embarks on a journey through life as a hunter. Deep in the woods, life's hardest lessons were learned from firsthand experiences and the natural process of searching for answers. Inevitably, these lessons learned in the field have profound effects that help mold philosophies to the questions many of us ponder throughout our lives.

So, join along and turn the pages through a series of memories outlining the journey of life. Through the experience of one man, understand what it means to have a deep, genuine conversation, what our role in the circle of life is, and what the process of becoming a steward of the land really means.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667858883

Book preview

Chapter 1

The First Hunt

The first hunt is the one that easily makes the biggest impact on any new hunter. It doesn’t even matter what age. For an adult, though, it has to be a far different experience than it is for a kid. A kid has no frame of reference for the concept of death or for taking a life. All they know is what they are taught. That’s why teaching is so important. Especially when passing on life lessons about death, the circle of life, and our place in it.

When you boil it all down, that is exactly what is happening on a hunt. An animal is pursued, found, and harvested. The nature of the pursuit can be different depending on the type or style of hunting; fishing vs. hunting, for example. They are, at the core, the same, but they are viewed differently from a social perspective. Most people have no problem with fishing, commercial or otherwise, as long as it is done ethically. However, when people think of hunting, the image of the hunter and the image of what is being done are different.

For some people, this skews the line of acceptance when it comes to ethics. The question becomes, how can hunting be ethical? You’re shooting and killing an animal. To that question, I would say this; which sounds like a better way to be harvested? Shot with a high-powered rifle, dying almost instantly, feeling, in ideal circumstances, almost no pain; or, biting into some food, swallowing a hook that rips into your throat, and then getting pulled out of the water forcefully while you are bleeding, and gasping for air. At which point, you are then bludgeoned to death. Which would you prefer?

Answer: When it’s put that way, the former, of course. Like everything in life, it is the way you perceive the event that will shape your opinion of it.

Therefore, in my opinion, if you are raised to love and appreciate nature, taught to understand your place in the circle of life, shown how good conservation practices work, and why it’s so important to be an active participant and shown the proper way to take care of nature, then the right way to ethically harvest fish or big game becomes easier and makes sense. The conversation, the understanding, and the perception are completely different.

This is my account of what happened on my first hunt.

As a kid, my dad really enjoyed sharing his passions with my sister and I; however, when I was five, my sister was too young to go hunting. I had heard stories about hunting and was really excited to go on my first hunt.

We got up early that morning. My dad would meticulously put together a lunch for us. He’d make me a hot chocolate and put the finishing touches on our gear. We would then pile everything into the truck. My dad had a 79’ Chevy pickup, square body. I loved that truck. Brown interior, brown body, an ugly truck but a beauty nonetheless. Back then, you didn’t have to have a five-year-old in a car seat or even a booster seat, for that matter. It was a single cab truck, so I sat up front next to my dad.

We lived in Bonney Lake at the time. I can’t really remember exactly where we went hunting, but my guess is that we headed out to the Greenwater area out past Enumclaw to hunt the Green Dot roads. On the way, I would sleep. I mean, my dad likes to get up before the dead rise, and I was only five years old, so naturally, I would be tired. When we got to Enumclaw, Dad would wake me up and we’d get some breakfast from the McDonalds. I loved McDonalds orange juice with a breakfast sandwich . . . yum, yum, yum!

Then we’d head out. Once we got to where Dad wanted to start road hunting, he would only wake me up if he saw or heard something; otherwise, I got to sleep a lot! This time was my first though, and I don’t remember sleeping a whole lot that day. Then again, I don’t really remember a whole lot from when I was five. I remember heading in, driving on all those dirt roads, and feeling a little scared because it was dark.

Dad would be listening to the radio until it was time to road hunt, then the window would come down, and he’d drive slowly through the woods, hugging whatever edge of the road was on the downhill side, so he could see down it. He’d be hanging out the window sniffing the air, and looking around for animals, as if he was a bloodhound looking for a lost person, except the person was a deer, and we wanted to shoot it . . .

He would stop suddenly and pull out the binoculars. Staring off into the woods for minutes, just to figure out that it’s a stump deer, or a stump bear, or a stump elk, we hunted a lot of stumps.

Oh man, amazing, I thought to myself as we drove along. The sun was beginning to come up, barely legal shooting time. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was Dad hit the brakes suddenly and shouted in a whisper, Dustin! Look! He was staring out the windshield, looking straight ahead down the road. I was looking and looking, and then I saw it. A massive 4x4 buck. This buck was huge. I mean, he had some girth in his neck and body. He was definitely an older, mature buck. He seemed to be super close but also super far away.

Dad said, Ok, be quiet, SH!

I’m like, Ok.

He slowly crept out of the truck, grabbing his rifle from the gun rack in the window. He loaded a round in the chamber and slowly closed the door to limit how much sound he would make. He was trying so hard not to spook this beautiful animal. He latched the door gently; the buck was still just standing there. Frozen in place, as if he had become a statue. My dad was still getting set up to take the shot. As he did, I was really excited and wanted to cheer my dad on. I slowly rolled the window down while Dad was getting set-up. He was just about to take the shot . . .

GET HIM, DAD! I shouted

I’ve always been a big supporter of my dad. But in that moment, I don’t think he was super happy with me. The deer took off like a bolt of lightning, and Dad never got a chance to shoot . . . Dad watched as the deer disappeared into the woods. I could tell my dad was conflicted, upset, and yet proud. I mean, he couldn’t be too upset with me; I was just rooting him on. He would then express to me the importance of being quiet ALWAYS while hunting.

That was a sad moment. It was a beautiful buck and the only deer we saw that day. I’m not sure we ate anything that year except tag soup. Later on in life, I would spoil another hunt for my dad on a record whitetail in the Okanogan County area.

cid:[e-mail]

Chapter 2

Spoiled Fruit

I can remember many moments in my life, hunting, and fishing with my dad. Some stick out more so than others. This is one of those stories.

We were up at the family cabin. Back then, there wasn’t a cabin. Just the trailer we would pull up to the property. My dad had this twenty-four-foot Nomad trailer. Boy, do I have a bunch of stories tied to that. Some other time. It was super cold that year. I think I was ten or twelve years old. I’ve never had proper hunting attire. We would always just make do.

Oh, sure, I had long underwear. I had some pants that my mom made to keep me warm. I would use ski gloves for my hands to keep them warm. They worked as long as you were moving. If you sit still, though, your body gets cold no matter what you’re wearing.

We’d get up so early that my dad would have to drink an entire Stanley thermos just to leave the house. We’d get all dressed up; Dad had already made up a plan of where we were heading that day. We took off; it always felt like we were heading off on some great adventure in the dark with a couple of flashlights. As a new hunter, you’re constantly following the person in front of you and trying not to break any branches or step on any twigs. Basically, your whole day is spent trying not to ruin the hunt.

Keeping quiet is one of two jobs, and it’s the most important job at that. The importance of staying quiet just barely edges out the importance of keeping up with the scout. Which brings us to the second job you have, making sure you stop when the scout stops. They move, then you move. Much like actively stalking an animal, except I was literally trying to follow in my father’s footsteps.

As we headed into the woods, we crossed over a fence that separated our property from state land. Our stride and pace changed. We would walk about five to six steps and stop to listen. This method became even more important as the sun would come up. Once we got closer to our destination, Dad would again change the stride to three to four steps and a pause to listen.

Finally, we made it to the spot. We sat, and we waited. Looking slowly from side to side and patiently listening to the woods. As time passes, you begin to hear the forest come to life. Birds start chirping, squirrels start squeaking, and chipmunks become your enemy. They have this alarm sound they make when notifying the forest that someone or something is in the area, and they aren’t happy about it. We sit, and we wait.

When I’m on a long sit, I will usually fall asleep. One time, Dad and I were hunting, and we had decided to sit under two different trees. I was so tired that I fell asleep. My dad would later explain to me that while I was sleeping, a doe walked up to me and sniffed my hat and walked away. I didn’t believe him at first, but he showed me the tracks and scat leading right up to me. You could tell he wasn’t lying. No cell phones back then, so there was no photo evidence. I just had to take his word for it.

This time, however, we were sitting next to each other, shoulder to shoulder. It was so cold! My hands were freezing, and my butt had fallen asleep. My body was beginning to grow restless. I was shifting constantly, trying to stay warm and comfortable. My dad would lean over and say, Dustin stop moving; you need to be quiet. Ok, Dad . . . . A couple of minutes would pass, and I’d start moving again. Finally, I couldn’t stand it. I started to rub my nylon gloves together to keep my hands warm. It was working, but it sure was loud. Woosh, woosh, woosh. My dad leaned over, looked at me, and said, Dustin! Stop. My hands are so cold, Dad! I explained.

At that exact moment, the whitetail of a lifetime came bursting in and stopped on the other side of a log, just 40 yards away. He just stared at us. As I looked up and saw this massive buck, so did my dad. Dad turned his attention toward the buck and saw the massive whitetail staring back at him. Knowing he didn’t have much time to capitalize on the opportunity, he immediately began to move his rifle into position. He could tell that the buck had the drop on us and was nervous. His tail was raising; his ears steadily turned toward us as