Sumter outdoors columnist Dan Geddings: I'm not old

The gate was open on the clubhouse road. I turned in and started up the hill, then noticed a jeep turn in behind me. It was my friend John. I needed to talk to him, but I went on up to a shady spot on the road, wide enough to pull off to one side. John pulled over beside me.

John had a pole saw, a chain saw and some other tools in the back of his jeep. "Looks like you're going to do some work," I remarked. "Yes," he said, "I need to trim the path leading to my stand and find a good place to put up another stand."

"Well, I can help with that. There's a good spot for a stand on the bluff of the swamp, just down from the bridge." He answered, "Yes, I was thinking of that area."

He told me that his extra stand was lying on the ground near his existing stand, but he didn't think he could load it in his jeep, unless he dismantled it. "We can load the stand in my truck and move it to the bluff if you'd like, and I'll need you to help me move one of my stands later on." He quickly agreed and said, "Let's do it."

"Go ahead, I'll follow you," I told him. We took the Humpdy Bumpdy Road down the back of the hill to John's stand site. The opening was grown up in heavy grass. When I got out of the truck, I grabbed a can of bug spray from the back and sprayed down my boots and pant legs. I was hopeful it would deter a few of the red bugs and ticks. John had on shorts but slipped on a pair of knee-high rubber boots and sprayed his boots and legs.

We managed to get the stand loaded in the back of my truck, but it hung out somewhat precariously, just above the ground. I told him, "You better follow me in case it drags the ground or falls out." Slowly, we headed through the property to the far end of the bluff.

There is a hardwood ridge that extends several hundred feet from the top of the bluff out into the swamp, and there is a high knoll at the end. It is a beautiful place. Open woods cover the slope of the bluff and the ridge. The surrounding swamp is a gloomy morass with a thick green understory of bay trees, gall berry bushes and a tangle of vines. Just the type of thicket that an old buck likes.

John took his machete and started clipping some of the overhanging limbs from an old road bed that leads down toward the swamp. I took a roll of orange flagging and went ahead looking for the ridge. The forest this time of year is an ocean of emerald greens. The orange flagging shows up very well in that environment. I found the base of the ridge and called John over. He was impressed.

We walked out to the end of the ridge and looked back. We could now see a low saddle about midway. I told John it would probably be a good deer crossing. We walked back and found several trails crossing the ridge in the saddle. I told John it would probably be best to back the stand up toward the bluff so the length of the ridge and the crossings in the saddle could be covered from the stand. We started looking for a good tree for the stand and found a tall, straight oak that was just right. John cut a few saplings in the way, then we headed to the truck.

It was about midafternoon, hot and muggy. A two-man ladder stand is extra wide at the top, and we had a heck of a time dragging it down through the woods to the stand site. The two of us tried to lean it up, but it was very top heavy and fell over to one side. I told John, "Let's stop before somebody gets hurt. We'll need some help."

We left the stand there and headed back up the hill to the truck. I was washed down in sweat from head to toe. John wanted to cut a big log that was across the top of the ridge, but I had done enough and was ready to go. Thankfully my wife, Ginger, called and asked me to bring something for supper, so I had a good excuse to leave. I hated to leave John there, but he seemed to be focused on his saw that didn't want to start. I figured it was a good time to go.

When I got home, I took a shower, put on some dry clothes, and we ate supper. I started telling Ginger about our difficulty with the stand, and she surprised me with, "Doesn't John know you're old?" John is half my age, but I was a little surprised and told her, "No, I'm the one that don't know that I'm old."

Reach Dan Geddings at cdgeddings@gmail.com.