Sumter outdoors columnist Dan Geddings: Finishing at the Reserve

Up ahead, a brighter white light was pushing through the dull gray clouds. Patches of brilliant blue appeared in the sky, and a shaft of sunlight streamed onto the ground. Then, as suddenly as it materialized, the sun and blue sky disappeared, and the dark clouds closed.

I was in my truck headed into Clarendon County to the Reserve. I had not been there since our family man drive several weeks ago. Finishing my aviary and the Christmas holiday had kept me busy.

Now, the clouds seemed to hang just above the tree tops, and a misty rain was falling. I was hopeful that more patches of blue sky and sun would return, as the forecast was for gradual clearing.

From the highway, I turned onto the dirt road and could see that the water level in our front pond was higher because of the recent rains. I pulled into the driveway and headed toward the back pond and the woods. I stopped at the entrance to Clayton's path. I had two bags of cob corn in the back of my truck.

It was my intention to put a bag of corn on Clayton's stand and perhaps take a bucket of corn to my stand that is farther down the woodline near the edge of the field. With my bad knee, I had not been able to carry 50-pound bags of corn very far into the woods. But Clayton's stand is less than 100 yards into the timber. My stand is more than 300 yards farther down the woods.

I rolled the bag of corn onto my shoulder and shifted it slightly, then stepped into Clayton's well-worn path. He has clipped the brush away and raked the leaves to the side to make his approach to the stand as silent as possible. The rain had stopped, but the woods were glistening and still dripping. The wide path helped to keep me from brushing the bushes and getting wet.

The ground at the corn pile was bare except for a scattering of wet leaves. I set the bag of corn down and turned to look at his game camera. He had told me that the batteries were low, and I wondered if it would get my picture. I opened the bag of corn and spread it out in a wide line. I rolled up the empty bag and headed back to the truck.

At the truck, I had a decision to make. Should I dump some cob corn in a 5-gallon bucket, or could I carry a whole bag on my shoulder down the field edge to my stand? The bucket of corn would not be so heavy, but it wouldn't last very long if the deer got on it. The condition of my knee has greatly improved, so I decided to give it a try. I could stop and rest my knee if needed.

I've carried hundreds of bags of heavy corn into the woods over the years, and I've been lucky that my physical condition has been good, but this knee thing has been troublesome. The extra weight can cause some lingering pain. Anyway, I shouldered the bag and headed down the path. I had to shift the bag a few times to get it right, but my knee felt good.

Along the edge of the field, I watched the ground for tracks and was surprised to see a set of large prints pressed deep into the soft earth. The tracks were fresh and had been made after the rain. This deer had probably walked out while I was at Clayton's stand. He had likely crossed the field and headed into the piney woods beyond the highway.

Carrying the bag of corn was no problem at all. Perhaps the task was easier after seeing that fresh deer sign near our stands. My stand was just ahead. I turned into the woods and walked past the stand. The ground at my corn pile was also bare. I glanced at my camera as I walked past. I had not checked the pictures lately and wondered about what would be there. I could check later.

I dumped the corn out in a short line and looked up to make sure it was aligned with the stand. It looked good, and I headed back out of the wet woods.

We don't hunt this land very much. It is our Reserve, but Clayton and I will finish the season here.

Reach Dan Geddings at cdgeddings@gmail.com.