I am twenty-five feet off the ground in a slightly swaying tree. It may as well be a hundred feet, since the predawn darkness obscures my view to the ground. This moment of stillness caps an hour in which I feel I have already lived half a day. My alarm clock had ended my dream preview of the deer now somewhere nearby, one of which is likely having its last night. Dream fragments still swirling around me, I grabbed my bow and drove to the edge of the woods, soaking up the last heat from the vehicle before stepping out into the cold. Unseen creatures followed my approach. I briefly became disoriented as I tried to find the way to my hidden ladder. Finally, after the dangerous climb, the snap of my safety vest’s clip signals the end of my intrusion. The disturbing wake of my entry melts away. I am now part of the tree, part of the forest’s quiet calm, part of the natural world.

In the woods, being a predator connects me to our species’ natural history.