Hill Country Hunter
Well-Known Member
Are you considering whether to use trail tacks this year? I don't know that this story will help you make a decision, but here it is anyway. 
I sometimes use bright-eyes trail tacks to lay a route to my treestand (now rely primarily on GPS). In the mountains and hills where I hunt, it is not uncommon to get out of the direct line of sight between tacks when crossing a gully, making a stream crossing, descending a bluff, or circling a blow-down. In spots where that is likely, I occasionally put two bright-eye tacks next two each other pointing at slightly different angles so I can still get a reflection if I am off-trail. I also space them out as far as I possibly can to save tacks and reduce the number of folks who find and follow my trail.
One morning in November, about 2 hours before sunrise, I have already waded a creek in the dark, climbed 600 feet up a mountainside, and hiked over a mile from the truck following landmarks/terrain features. The climb is so strenuous that I am wearing a T-shirt and thin nylon pants even though the temps are in the low-20s. My bow and arrows, treestand, and warm clothes are on my back, trekking pole in my hand. Now the last quarter-mile to my tree is marked by bright-eyes, starting on the edge of a ravine that I use to ascend and bypass a bluff.
As I come up out of the ravine, I know that I am off a bit from my trail, so I start looking for my double-tacked tree. I finally see it ahead faintly, the two round tacks barely glowing in my red headlamp--but the tree is a bit farther from the ravine edge and further downhill than I expected. I pick my way through the boulders and loose rock, looking for the tacks through the clinging beech leaves, my breath and sweat steaming in the frozen air. They are sometimes hidden by tree trunks, but I continue that direction until I see them again, still heading away from the ravine (my one clear landmark) and downhill into rougher and steeper terrain.
Frustratingly, I don't seem much closer to my trail tacks, and the tacks even seem a little fainter, if that is possible. This doesn't seem right--I laid my trail along a contour, so I should not be going uphill or down. I climbed out of the ravine as soon as the bluff flattened out enough to pull myself onto the mountainside. If I walked back toward the ravine now, I would be "ledged out" and need to climb the mountainside before I could get back into the stream bed that descends to the lower shelf.
In fact, I can't even see the ravine behind me anymore. How is that possible? I must have missed my first set of tree tacks and be looking ahead at my second tree. Or my third. But why did I use double tacks that far along my trail? I pause to look ahead and cool off, the path ahead momentarily hidden by a great red-glowing cloud as I breath hard to catch my breath.
When the steam cloud fades and rises, though, the two tacks are gone.
I turn my head, looking for tree tacks, still breathing hard. When I exhale again, my breath hides the woods again. But as it rises and evaporates, the two tacks are there, my only guidepost, telling me "Walk this way." I swear they seem farther away.
Now as I watch, careful not to breathe hard, the two round red reflections disappear again.
My heart pounds as I stand stock still, careful not even to blink. Did the wind blow a branch in front of the tacks? I don't feel any breeze on the night air. But I am not scared of the dark or the things that live in it. I know as long as you stay calm, you are never really lost--my tree is still right there. I know there is a reasonable, worry-free explanation. I just need to get creative to figure it out. Maybe a raccoon climbed the tree, its body hiding the tacks. Yeah, maybe...
And now the tacks reappear. But there is a problem: although I have not twitched a muscle, the two tree tacks are well off to my left, uphill now and barely in the field of light. I turn my head that direction, realizing they are brighter and closer. But then they wink out again, and then reappear few beats and a few feet later.
While I wait for my heart to restart, there can be no doubt now: my "tree" has led me off trail and downhill until I am ledged out below and behind. Ahead is super steep terrain full of crevices, boulders, and scree. I am barely clothed in freezing weather, I have wandered off of my bushwhacking route, with a long time until sunrise, and my one primitive weapon is tied to the platform on my back. The only passble terrain is uphill. And now my "tree" is circling above me.
I dug out a bright flashlight while the eyes continued to circle, but by the time I shined it out there, I could only make out movement through the brush. The eyes looking back were all I could really see. It wasn't a person, at least. I still don't know for sure that it was not a large dog, coyote, or bear, but it was most likely a deer. Whatever it was circled behind me, dropped into the ravine, and disappeared.
As soon as my "tree" walked out of sight behind me, I hurried straight uphill until I found my real trail tacks and made my way to my tree and up it. And that morning, I did not feel sleepy until well after sunrise.
I sometimes use bright-eyes trail tacks to lay a route to my treestand (now rely primarily on GPS). In the mountains and hills where I hunt, it is not uncommon to get out of the direct line of sight between tacks when crossing a gully, making a stream crossing, descending a bluff, or circling a blow-down. In spots where that is likely, I occasionally put two bright-eye tacks next two each other pointing at slightly different angles so I can still get a reflection if I am off-trail. I also space them out as far as I possibly can to save tacks and reduce the number of folks who find and follow my trail.
One morning in November, about 2 hours before sunrise, I have already waded a creek in the dark, climbed 600 feet up a mountainside, and hiked over a mile from the truck following landmarks/terrain features. The climb is so strenuous that I am wearing a T-shirt and thin nylon pants even though the temps are in the low-20s. My bow and arrows, treestand, and warm clothes are on my back, trekking pole in my hand. Now the last quarter-mile to my tree is marked by bright-eyes, starting on the edge of a ravine that I use to ascend and bypass a bluff.
As I come up out of the ravine, I know that I am off a bit from my trail, so I start looking for my double-tacked tree. I finally see it ahead faintly, the two round tacks barely glowing in my red headlamp--but the tree is a bit farther from the ravine edge and further downhill than I expected. I pick my way through the boulders and loose rock, looking for the tacks through the clinging beech leaves, my breath and sweat steaming in the frozen air. They are sometimes hidden by tree trunks, but I continue that direction until I see them again, still heading away from the ravine (my one clear landmark) and downhill into rougher and steeper terrain.
Frustratingly, I don't seem much closer to my trail tacks, and the tacks even seem a little fainter, if that is possible. This doesn't seem right--I laid my trail along a contour, so I should not be going uphill or down. I climbed out of the ravine as soon as the bluff flattened out enough to pull myself onto the mountainside. If I walked back toward the ravine now, I would be "ledged out" and need to climb the mountainside before I could get back into the stream bed that descends to the lower shelf.
In fact, I can't even see the ravine behind me anymore. How is that possible? I must have missed my first set of tree tacks and be looking ahead at my second tree. Or my third. But why did I use double tacks that far along my trail? I pause to look ahead and cool off, the path ahead momentarily hidden by a great red-glowing cloud as I breath hard to catch my breath.
When the steam cloud fades and rises, though, the two tacks are gone.
I turn my head, looking for tree tacks, still breathing hard. When I exhale again, my breath hides the woods again. But as it rises and evaporates, the two tacks are there, my only guidepost, telling me "Walk this way." I swear they seem farther away.
Now as I watch, careful not to breathe hard, the two round red reflections disappear again.
My heart pounds as I stand stock still, careful not even to blink. Did the wind blow a branch in front of the tacks? I don't feel any breeze on the night air. But I am not scared of the dark or the things that live in it. I know as long as you stay calm, you are never really lost--my tree is still right there. I know there is a reasonable, worry-free explanation. I just need to get creative to figure it out. Maybe a raccoon climbed the tree, its body hiding the tacks. Yeah, maybe...
And now the tacks reappear. But there is a problem: although I have not twitched a muscle, the two tree tacks are well off to my left, uphill now and barely in the field of light. I turn my head that direction, realizing they are brighter and closer. But then they wink out again, and then reappear few beats and a few feet later.
While I wait for my heart to restart, there can be no doubt now: my "tree" has led me off trail and downhill until I am ledged out below and behind. Ahead is super steep terrain full of crevices, boulders, and scree. I am barely clothed in freezing weather, I have wandered off of my bushwhacking route, with a long time until sunrise, and my one primitive weapon is tied to the platform on my back. The only passble terrain is uphill. And now my "tree" is circling above me.
I dug out a bright flashlight while the eyes continued to circle, but by the time I shined it out there, I could only make out movement through the brush. The eyes looking back were all I could really see. It wasn't a person, at least. I still don't know for sure that it was not a large dog, coyote, or bear, but it was most likely a deer. Whatever it was circled behind me, dropped into the ravine, and disappeared.
As soon as my "tree" walked out of sight behind me, I hurried straight uphill until I found my real trail tacks and made my way to my tree and up it. And that morning, I did not feel sleepy until well after sunrise.
,good story & after seeing a few tack trails I don't need a pointer to find my stand /spot by other hunters
