Muskoka Outdoors Network

The snow quietly fell on the evergreens that lined the short trail I was walking to reach camera #2. Familiar smells of pine, spruce and balsam helped my mind forget the cold and remember that some hunting memories are made on the walk to your tree stand. It's a scene you won't find in a grocery store aisle.

So, I paused to take a quiet, deep, icy breath before I made my final approach to my ground blind.  Despite my best efforts to camouflage, reduce my scent profile and predict the wind direction there was nothing I could do about the crunching snow that plagued my every step.  All I could do was make a slow two or three step stalk along my newly cut trail.

I had only placed game camera #2 on the north corner of my 2-acre property a few days ago.    A deer trail exists here that extends in to the surrounding 900 acres of forest encircling my home. It became a back-up plan to the recently completed rifle season for deer on the family acreage in another location. Cameras there shot some footage of some large bucks, but none were seen during legal shooting hours.

Our redeployed game cam captured an 11-point (with a slight lobster claw) buck walking along the deer trail in my back yard for 2 straight days - just before legal shooting time ended. Which created the reason to create a small ground blind and the inspiration for my noisy stalk.

Finally, I reached a large pine tree that would shield the parts of my body that the freshly-cut evergreen wall in front of me would not. After doubly checking the broad head on my arrow, I knocked it into my compound bow's drawstring and began 'the wait'.

The cold wind began to work on the layers that protected my body's core, but I smiled knowing I was downwind of game cam #2. Confident with my set-up, I grunted twice on my buck call and began to scan the forest in front of me.  Within 20 minutes, I started to hear the subtle steps of a deer. The hard snow was the only thing that helped me pick her up early. By the time I saw the doe, she was 35 yards north west of me.  Immediately, I wished I was 20 feet up in the air. I could tell she sensed that something was not quite right. Her pace slowed and every step was accompanied by numerous ear twitches and looks in my direction. Fortunately, the pine tree beside me was large enough for me to hide behind except for my knocked arrow and a portion of my bow.

This was not a play from The Drury playbook.

She allowed to me to watch her for 20 minutes as she closed within 20 yards or me. I could hear her breathing in the cold air that was now starting to creep beyond the shell of my hunting coat and black fleece. For 5 minutes I watched helplessly as she profiled a full broad side shot at 20 yards.

I did not have a 2010 doe tag.

Suddenly - her head snapped back behind her.
What happened next is not clear. I think I moved too quickly from behind my pine tree cloak to see what caught her attention behind her. At that moment, she stomped her front foot and ran back in the direction she came. My cover was blown.

Somewhere, just behind her and just out of reach of game camera #2 (and a shivering bow wielder), a large buck snorted, wheezed and ran straight north into a shower of brown pine and spruce needles with a pinch balsam.  He was never seen on camera #2 until 7 days later - under the cover of a silvery moon.

The kind of moon that comes out after bow season ends.

It was supposed to be a 'routine sortie' into the area we call (at Rip N’ Tear Hunt Camp) the “Grand Canyon”. Named because of two deep creek beds that intersect and create interesting valleys that are flanked on both sides with high forest walls.

Dad and I were bird hunting and scouting for the upcoming fall deer hunt. Upon reaching the landmark area of the Grand Canyon, we took a minute to enjoy the view. It is one of those spots on our acreage, where all of the life’s issues could be solved or forgotten if given enough time. Today, the possibility of sighting a grouse shortened the moment and spurred us to keep moving.

For some reason, I thought it would be a great idea if we split up and met back at Moose Lodge. It made sense. Two hunters walking in different areas would increase their respective chances of seeing a grouse. Dad confirmed the general direction I should travel via HIS compass and some hand motions. My compass was tucked into my shirt under my vest.

At least it should have been there.

I knew in theory which direction to travel. I had walked this particular section of bush before. My mind knew where I was supposed to end-up and it convinced me that I would not need my compass, so I did not check to see if it was still in my shirt.

Stepping off the canyon and down the slope I began my solo trek in search of a grouse. After approximately 15 minutes of walking, the feeling of unfamiliarity began to sink in. Nothing looked as it should. It was getting swampy and wet. Gads and swamp grass prevailed. I reached into my vest for my compass. A slight panic washed over me when I realized I had actually left it back at camp.

I stopped.

I panned around my location hoping something would strike me as familiar. Nothing did. I walked another 50 meters and stepped over a rotting log. Strangely, I looked down at my feet after straddling the log and noticed a large pile of fresh bear scat.

Slightly unnerving…

I walked another few steps and noticed another pile. Then, another pile. If forests had rooms like a house I knew where I was. It was eerie. Suddenly, I heard the rustle and snap of twigs behind me. I turned my head but I saw nothing. I continued to walk in what I was hoping to be a westerly heading (based on my postion to the late day sun). The rustling of leaves and twig snapping continued. I picked up my pace slightly and stopped to listen. That’s when I saw it.

A slight hump (or rise) in this low, swampy land. On that hump was a tangle of bush and stone that resembled a den. My mind put the bear piles, the snapping of twigs and this hump into two words: Bear den. I fingered the safety on my shotgun and listened for the noise behind me. At this point, I finally remembered I had my radio with me.  Turning the volume up I whispered,

“Alpha…Alpha are you there? You should see what I just about stepped in and what I am staring at! You there?”

The radio cackled back,

“Aaa….yes. Where are you?”

I answered back, “I have no idea. I left my compass at camp. You should see these bear piles. I think I found a den and…I think something is following me….”

Dad quickly replied, “There is nothing following you and YOU are not looking at a bear den. Now hurry up and get back here. Head west and you’ll find something you will recognize.”

I veered away from the den in question and walked for several minutes. I still had no idea where I was. I was about to call dad on the radio again to see if he would fire a shot into a log to help me get out of this mess. Fortunately, I emerged from some deep forest cover onto an old logging road that I recognized. This was encouraging but what happened next was surreal. I walked down this road for a few minutes and approached a large, fallen beech tree. While walking towards the toppled trunk of the tree, that blocked my path, I heard…

“Grrrrrrrrrrr……..Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr……”

The leafy section of the tree shook. I pulled my gun to my shoulder. My heart felt like it was going to explode. I looked into the leafy top but I could not see anything but green leaves, beech nuts and a wad of black fur.

“Grrrrrrrr…..”

This was not a raccoon or a squirrel with vendetta. It was a ‘large and in charge’ kind of growl. I clicked my safety off and slowly backed away from the Beech tree. When I was out of sight of the tree I used my radio again.

“Ahh…Dad I found my way out but a bear in an old beech tree growled at me.”

I think his response was,

Yeah right!” or “Sure…there was.”

Either way, I was not sure how I was going to explain this one.My retreat took me to another road that quickly led me back to Moose Lodge. There, with coffee in his hand, Dad came out to greet me. I sat down and I began to think how I would explain how I got lost and the location of the bear den.

I left the growling beech tree out of it.

When I tried to empty my shotgun’s magazine, I had discovered that I had not loaded shells into it. It was not until I opened the cabin door that I noticed my shotgun shells were sitting on the table beside my compass.

I never mentioned that blunder to dad either.

*(The bear den turned out to be a pile of forest debris. The Beech tree became firewood. The bear has not been seen since.)

Compass photo is public domain from wikipedia

The 'proof of life' displayed on the game cam photos was as real as the racks these huge bucks were hauling around. These big buck photos were taken from a field adjacent to our hunting acreage west of Huntsville.  We knew they were out there. These photos (see end of post) confirmed we 'missed' them.

It should also be noted that the dates, of these photos, were within 2 days after the close of our 2010 Muskoka deer hunt season.  This startling reality is what makes this collection of buck photos so bitter sweet.

On one hand, I am excited they live for round 2 of the 2011 deer hunt. On the other hand, it is frustrating knowing these deer 'danced' all around us in 2010.  A couple of them showed up on our trail cam photos after legal shooting time, while the others were just 'flips' of white tails or barley detectable rustles in faded, fall leaves.

I tip my cap to the bucks in this monster reunion. You won the first round.  If you spot movement atop a tall oak - you'll miss the opening bell for round 2 in 2011...

The coyotes came within feet of dad and I.  It was too dark to see them – but we could hear them walking!

It all started late into a week of deer camp. While walking from different directions, dad and I were returning from our evening watches on a cool, crisp November evening. The walk back to the cabin was dead quiet until a few hundred yards from the cabin. That was when our ‘new to the neighborhood’ coyotes started filling the still air with their eerie howls. The hair on the back neck tingled as I picked up the pace to catch a glimpse of the the cabin’s porch light.

This was always welcome sight on the lonely walks back from an evening deer stand.

During my brisk walk to the cabin, I theorized that the howling brush wolves were somewhere near Spier’s swamp. Fortunately, that location was opposite to the direction I was heading in. I released the grip on my rifle slightly in response this prediction about the coyotes location.

After several minutes, I made it back to the cabin and sat under the inviting glow of the porch’s dim light and listened more closely to the wild orchestra now playing before me. Within minutes of my arrival, Dad returned to camp and after we unloaded our guns and put them in the cabin (legal shooting time was over) we returned back outside to the porch.

That’s when dad whispered, “Why don’t you give them a howl?”

Hesitantly, I put my hands to my mouth and tried to mimic what I was hearing. The rustic music paused for a few moments. Then, silence.

Then…

(Mom’s chili kicked in! Just kidding.)

Then, surprisingly, one of the coyotes responded. After a few more minutes, the concert began again. Only this time much closer.

Dad said in a low voice, “Again.”

I let out another brutally imitated solo and abruptly the music ended again.

Time passed.

Like the first time, it started up again even closer. Much closer.

Dad didn’t have to ask me a third time. I ripped out a howl and waited with baited breath for the results. This time we could hear the coyotes breaking and snapping branches within several feet of myself, dad and the old cabin porch. It was too dark to see anything but their they were – walking amongst the black tangled mess of the forest’s undergrowth.

Unfortunately, as soon as we noticed they were there – watching us. They silently crept away back into the night. The night time sounds of the forest returned with the wolves’ backstage exit. Dad and I retreated to the cabin in silence.

We both knew it would be an uneasy walk to the outhouse.

*coyote photo from wikipedia

It only took the silent sound of a falling glass and, suddenly, I found myself remembering a large rut in the forest floor – not to far from an old, rotten stump on Spier’s line. This was one of the first times dad had taken me deer hunting.

To this day, I am surprised it was not my last time.

I had promised that I would be quiet for the entire time we were on the deer stand.  To keep my profile down, Dad pointed out the large depression in the trail and gestured that it would be my temporary hiding place for the next couple of hours. I did admirably well for about 3 minutes.

What was a kid to do?  After all, dad had let me carry his old single shot pellet gun.  Included with my new ‘piece’ was a tin full of funnel shaped pellets.  It was not long before I tried to silently break open the barrel of my pellet gun and load it with a small silvery ordinance.  Then, between dad’s ever panning eyes and glances, I picked a spot on the freshly cut stump and launched a small projectile at it.

“Thunk!”.

That was the sound of compressed air pushing the pellet out of the chamber towards my rooted target.  Big stump down.  The unique sound momentarily grabbed dad’s attention and I held my new firearm as if I had no idea what was going on.  Dad rolled his eyes and continue to scan the surrounding forest for the unlikely visit of a deer.

Somewhere between dropping the metal tin of pellets (after my tenth shot) and my frequent position changes on crunchy leaves, Dad reacted.  He sternly grumbled something like,

“If you are ever going to be a good hunter you are going to have to learn to stay still and BE QUIET!”

He stormed off the watch in frustration and indicated we were going to go back to camp for coffee.  As the rest of the crew returned back from their watches and looked at dad and I already in the cabin, Grandpa asked why were back early.

Dad looked at me in mild frustration and sighed. I don’t exactly remember his words, but he said something humorous about his new hunting partner that liked to stump hunt.

Grandpa chuckled and somehow the glimmer in his eyes communicated to the rookie hunter that he had seen somebody else do this before.  We all laughed at dad's comment.  I could tell he was disappointed, but at the same time I could sense he was glad I was there.  He understood that the whole learning process of his restless student was something he was looking forward to.  Something his father must have once said about him.  Stumps and all.

A new sound of shattering glass pulled me away from reflecting on my memory.

Lara (our 11 month old daughter), had managed to knock her first glass off the table and on to the waiting hardwood floor.  It happened somewhere between flinging peas and spraying cracker bits. It had been a long day and I was slightly irritable as I scanned the large mass of glass shards now covering the floor.  I looked in her eyes and she could tell I was disappointed. She was waiting for my response.

I laughed. She laughed. We all laughed.

A smiling stump hunter held out a torch from behind some cover in the shadows of my mind and faded from memory.

How do you name the deer stands in your favorite hunting area? I delved into some official records of the Rip N’ Tear Hunt Club Manual to find out.

The aging and dusty manual is rarely referred to in our club except for matters of the utmost importance to keep the peace in the camp. Specifically, Section 2 – Determining Seniority In The Camp, seems to be quoted frequently. That is the part that says (in summary) that the young guns have to do dishes while the veteran members enjoy the camp stove and a hot cup of coffee.

Moving on to Section 5 of our camp’s paper relic is a portion entitled, Naming a Deer Watch. Once you get through the ‘pre’ and ‘post’ ambles, you can read,

A deer stand (or deer watch) can be named after one, or more, of the following instances:

-a humorous or unusual event that occurred at the forest location

-a unique geographical characteristic

-a member of the hunt club so long as an adjective or descriptive term follows the member’s name (ie. Bill’s Sleeping Hollow)

In order for the name to stick, all members must be made aware of the recommendation (and agree unanimously) at the next deer planning session before the next hunt or immediately preceding the day’s Bunk Watch.

Now, that you are caught up on some of the formalities of our deer stand naming conventions, what follows is a list of our deer watches indicating how the rules applied.

The Knob – the highest point in small hardwood section of forest that is beside a swamp on Dad’s lot. The previous property owner’s favorite watch. It is also home to a very comfortable Oak tree that can cause a hunter to sleep against during a sunny day.

Howie’s Choke – Where, Howie, came face to face with a monster buck at 10 yards (still debated) and missed. This watch is in the middle of 3 long evergreen trees that fell during a windstorm.

Dead Deer Flats – Named after an event where a deer tag was ‘filled’ by Wrangler who fired very few shots to accomplish this. It was so surprising that all of the other Rip N’ Tear members felt that Wrangler brought in a dead deer ahead of time and faked the shooting. Hence, the name. Geographically, this spot watches a flat stretch of an old logging road.

The Pulpit – a tree stump that looks like a pulpit and overlooks a large pond and hardwood section of bush on grandpa’s lot. Also, the location where I observed a bull moose jumping from shore into the water (and repeating the process) for 30 minutes during deer season.

The Back Watch - A spot on a ridge that overlooks and old logging road and hardwood section of forest. It is not far from the Pulpit and it got it’s name because of a tendency of deer to circle back around the hunter (walking through this section of forest). A deer pulling this maneuver would usually escape by the Back Watch.

Sweetie’s Hollow – Named after my brother-in-law who got sick while watching in this small hump along a trail that crosses a wet section of bush. We figured he got sick because he missed his sweetie (aka. wife).

There are more names and watches, but I would be interested in hearing the names of your deerstands and the story behind them. Please comment them below.

On grandpa’s property, about 100 yards from the entrance to the Lair of the Swamp King, there is a unique deer watch that we call, ‘The Pulpit’. It is a small hummock of tall evergreens (hemlock and balsam I think) that is only about 25 yards from a beaver pond. Prominently situated in the middle of this evergreen hummock is an old stump formation that looks like a pulpit. Hence, it’s name.

None of the other guys have ever met the preacher.

I did. Once.

A couple of years ago, it was my turn to visit the the secluded chapel for our late afternoon deer watches. It was late into the afternoon before I could make out the shape of the pulpit. I was trying to get their quietly so that I would not scare away any of the ‘congregation’. This meant I had to move slowly along the forest floor.

The afternoon quiet would have been perfect for an old school forest revival, but I noticed, as I approached closer to ‘The Pulpit’, that the choir and congregation were nowhere to be found. Perhaps, the services started after sundown.

Within minutes of setting up and leaning up against ‘The Pulpit’, I heard some splashing along the far side of the pond. Then, I heard a deep, gleeful grunting procession echo across the pond. I crept down to the pond’s edge and was surprised to see a large bull moose standing, knee-deep, in the water. He was looking towards the pulpit.

Thinking he would run back into the forest, I froze and waited. The moose continued to grunt his joyous sounding sermon for another couple of minutes. Then, he jumped out of the water onto the shore and shook vigorously. The moose, then, leaped back into the water and continued his dissertation from the glassy pond. He repeated this process several times and somewhere during the sermon I made myself comfortable on one of the forest’s earthy pews.

After about a half-hour, the preacher across the pond became silent and made his way back into a darkening forest. I was left to ponder about the message I had just heard.

I had a feeling I would never hear or see anything like that again. I waited and reflected beside the pond until the sun began to set. When I returned back to camp I told the guys what I had seen.

I left out the part about the earthy pew.

Over the next 5 weeks (depending on your Wildlife Management Unit) southern Ontario turkey hunters will be searching forests and fields for an opportunity to harvest a unique looking (and sounding) game bird, the turkey.  The season runs from April 25 to May 31, 2011.

Recently, a turkey hunt has been opened in some Muskoka Wildlife Management Units (WMU's). For those in the Huntsville area, turkey hunters (who have passed a provincial turkey hunting certification course) can hunt turkeys in areas south of Highway 60 and east of Highway 11. Check the Ontario Turkey Hunting Regulations to BE SURE.

If Muskoka landowners notice that hunters may be using their land without permission or feel that hunters are not hunting in a safe manner call the Ontario MNR immediately at 1-877-847-7667. Feel free to send me an email if you have a question or want an opinion on what you see.

I spent today's turkey opener with a friend on a nearby farm. We were able to call in a big Tom but, eventually, he lost interest in our set-up before he became visible to us. I think we got too excited.

Can I recommend some turkey hunting related web links you might find interesting to kick off the season? Check these out:

-Ontario's 2011 - 2012 Hunting Guidelines

-Outdoor Canada Magazine has a great article on setting up for your turkey hunt

-The Ontario Federation of Anglers and Hunters has posted a media release for the 2011 turkey season

-An old blog post of my first turkey hunt in Virginia

-The hunters from the Foremost Hunting website have some fantastic turkey hunting information

-The Northwest Outback Blog has some great reads on turkey hunting

-The guys from First Light Gear have a great article on bow hunting turkeys (and more)

Be sure to send me photos of your turkey hunting success and I will post them on Muskoka Outdoors.

Hunt safe and respect land owners.

I don't know if it was because I had recently viewed Outdoor Life's - Coyote Showdown or some intestinal grief form mom's chilli that impacted my perception of reality on the hunt I am about to share. It's not exactly my glorious moment as a hunter but an outdoor memory I will always remember...

The eerie howls of a tracking coyote or wolf started just after I scared the forest-cloaked deer off it’s hidden bed. It was slightly unnerving and part of me wondered if the second hunter would have better luck than me.

It seemed pointless to stay where I was (with all the howling in the area). So, I slowly walked off the watch we call the ‘Grand Canyon’ and began to plan where I might hunt until dark. I picked up the pace of my slow retreat (and planning session) when the four legged hunter’s shrill voice began to change direction.

It sounded like it was getting closer. There was a quickening silence across the frosty beech leaves I was walking on as I stopped to listen.

I remember muttering under my breath, “No way. There is no way that wolf is coming my way.” The freezing air made my whispered words come to life as they were whisked away in wintry condensation. Instinctively, my finger reached for the safety on my rifle as I waited for another howling volley from the beast.

It came sure enough and it sounded closer. Much closer and more excited.

I shrugged it off as coincidence and continued my hurried walk towards a tree stand at the ‘Evergreen’ watch. The homemade tree-stand, that dad made for this upcoming hunting season, was still a ridge and swampy ‘gut’ away. It did NOT feel close enough as I trudged through the frozen forest – with a potential bogey on my ‘six’.

The animal’s next howl was close and loud. It was on top of the ridge I had just left and I hoped it would continue along the top of the ridge (dad if you are reading this – the mad howler was on the hydro line heading toward Aspdin) away from me. This would put me at the bottom of a capital “T” with the howling hunter in a travel line the same as the top of a capital “T”.

I stopped to catch my breath and hoped to confirm that the ‘following’ hunter would continue his tracking across the top of the ridge away from me. The sound of crunching leaves and another hair raising howl confirmed that my follower was coming off the ridge on MY trail and heading towards me!

I had become the hunted, and to be honest, fear began to trickle into my mind and my rising heart rate. I must have read ‘Peter and The Wolf‘ too many times as a kid. Quickly, I picked my way across the muddy low spot (known as the root gut) and hit the logging trail leading to the fortress on Mt. Evergreen Watch.

Now, I know what you veteran hunters and bushmen (and Dad) are thinking. You are thinking, “Bill…you were armed with a .308 rifle. Whatever is zeroing in on your trail is about to open up a can of lead ‘whoop’ butt from the barrel of your firearm. Suck it up!”

You would be right – but I wanted to pick ‘the ground’ this epic ‘hunter vs. hunter’ battle was going to happen on. My under pressure shooting has not always yielded great results.

When I hit the logging trail, I bolted for the tree stand some 75 yards away. Under the circumstances, I quickly debated whether or not I should unload my gun before I scampered up the tree-stand’s ladder. I had visions that a snarling, sharp-toothed, frothing-at-the-mouth creature could lunge at me at anytime. You will be proud to know that I decided to empty my magazine before I began my ascent up to the welcoming fortress.

Once at the top, I reloaded my gun and braced my arm against the the trunk of the tree and picked a spot on the trail through my scope. I could hear the sound of four legs splashing and struggling through the mud and water of the low spot I had just crossed.

I took a deep breath and waited.

A howl echoed across the snowy ridge I was fortified on and I knew the tracker was close.

I clicked off the safety on my gun and began to visualize the shot to a wolf’s front shoulder…

What happened next made me relieved and somewhat sheepish. A small beagle materialized on the trail. His wild sounding howl was nothing like the hound noises I was used to. I sat down with my back against the tree and laughed wondering how I was going to explain this one.

The little hound came to the tree stand and began to paw at the wooden ladder. Looking down, I saw a beagle shaking and soaked to the core. I climbed out of the tree stand and clipped him in to a free strap I had on my back pack.

We walked back to camp together both slightly more happier to have a partner to walk with in the fading light.

Dad listened to my ‘official’ story as we waited for the dog’s owner to pick it up. I left out the brisk run from the ‘root gut’ to the tree stand because I thought the little beagle (sleeping at my feet) was the big bad wolf.

I guess I’m no Peter.

West of Spiers’ pond is a ridge of beech trees. They are right in the middle of one of our deer runs. The plan was for me to walk with ‘Bella’ (ye old trusty hound) north around the pond and along a sloping hardwood ridge. The goal was to push deer off the ridge and along the pond to strategic points on the north and west sections of the pond.

After a half hour wait in solitude (except for an anxious hunting dog), I started the trek north. Bella, ranged on all sides of me as I walked. Things were looking good.

That was until I reached a stand of Beech trees. Then, things got interesting.

As I pushed through some evergreens and walked into an opening of beech trees I got that someone’s watching me feeling. The dog felt it too because she stopped suddenly and began growling. I pulled my gun up a little closer to my shoulder (though not in a firing position) and waited. That’s when I heard some ‘crashing’ through some evergreens ahead of us. The dog stopped growling and began sniffing the ground again. I eased up on my gun and began to look curiously at the beech trees in front of me.

It was obvious that a bear had just been up it as there were fresh claw marks going up to the top of the tree. I had seen those before in other trees in our hunting area. What I had not seen before were all the leaves around the base of the trees that had been pushed away into a ring that surrounded it. Picture a large donut on the ground with this beech tree coming out of the hole in the center. There were other beech trees in the area with the same circular leaf piles. Bear tracks were clearly visible in the leaf-free dirt.

Nervously, I began to walk again as I did not want to let the guys down who were waiting across the pond. About 25 yards later, I came across another grouping of beech trees with the same leafy formations. To my right, a splash of black grabbed my attention as I snapped my gun up to my shoulder. My heartbeat gave away my position.

It was nothing. Just bear shadows.

I didn’t have a tag for those.

This time the dog walked over tight behind me and stood there panting. It was like she had enough of this.

So, I pulled my hunter’s prerogative card and cut west and low to the pond. I got no arguments from Bella. She was already ranging between the swamp grass and the pond’s evergreens.

Over dinner, I explained to the guys what I had seen – leaving out the part about my slight course change. After supper, I stepped outside to visit the outhouse and Bella followed. She had to do her thing. Upon returning to the cabin deck, I reached down to scratch an itch on my ankle and I pulled off a beech nut from my sock.

I threw it out into the darkness. Seconds later, I heard some branches breaking. Bella and I looked at each other and walked back into the flickering stove light, and warmth, waiting just behind the cabin door.

The glow of the woodstove kept the bear shadows outside.