Let the Land Talk (And Let Your Dog Run)

I’ve been spending more time in the woods lately—not hunting, just looking. Learning. Putting in the kind of time that doesn’t pay off right away, but you know it will. Eventually.

No treestand. No tag in my pocket. Just walking. Reading the land. Trying to understand how things actually work out here when the pressure’s off and the woods are just doing their thing.

One thing I’ve started noticing is this: the land’s got a way of guiding you. You don’t always realize it, but it slowly pushes you a certain direction—down a ditch line, up a gentle rise, through a saddle you didn’t even clock on the map. It funnels you without you even knowing. And if it’s doing that to me, you better believe it’s doing the same to a deer.

I don’t go out with a clipboard and a strategy. I just move with it. And when I let Miley run? That’s when the real magic happens.

She’s not tracking anything. She’s not trying to “scout.” She’s just being a dog—running, sniffing, zigzagging through brush and timber like she’s on a mission from God. And more often than not, she drags me straight into spots I never would’ve thought to check.

Old trails I missed. Rub lines that make you stop and just stare. Beds tucked up where you’d swear nothing would lay down. She moves natural, and because of that, I see the woods different. Her instincts pull us into pockets I was blind to.

That’s been the surprise of this whole off-season—realizing how much I don’t see until something (or someone) shows me. I’m not forcing anything out here. I’m letting the land do the talking. I’m just trying to keep up.

And the more I walk it, the more I feel like I’m finally starting to understand the language.