Which is Better for Hunting: Morning or Afternoon

I was about even on score (AM vs PM) until a few years ago. Now it’s getting sort of lopsided towards mornings. The difference is that now that I’m hunting an area with a good deer population, I’m more likely to score on opening morning, and then that’s it. I’m done until at least the next day.

Mornings are practially better in my book. If you get your deer early, you have plenty of daylight to track it, clean it, and get it to the processor. Evenings are always more hectic. Cleaning has to be done by artifical light. The butcher wants to get home, etc.

Afternoon hunts seem to have more emotional appeal for me. I like setting out in the afternoon and taking my time getting into my stand. I don’t have to worry about putzing around in the dark. It is, overall, a calmer and more gentlemanly affair. If I’m going to get skunked, I’d rather get skunked in the afternoon.

Of course, when you score right at sundown, life goes into high gear. When it’s sundown on Sunday night, and you know you have a 2-hour drive ahead of you, and you have to be at the mill at 8 the next morning . . . you pick your shooting opportunities much more carefully.

I think my absolute favorite day is the day after an opening day kill. The heat is off. I usually get up just as early, crawl into my gear and go and sit out in back of camp and watch the world. I’m in a high spot and I can see clear into the next county. If keep my gun loaded, just in case a big one comes out, but what I’m really interested in is the doings of the rest of the hunting humanity. I love watching the trucks on the highway, the 4 wheelers winding their way through the woods, and the flickering headlights of hunters crawling into their stands.

My youngest son is now joining me on those trips. He’s not quite ready for the rigors of the treestand, but he’s game to go sit with Dad and watch the sun come up on Opening Day +1.

Last season, my #2 son and I tagged a nice doe on opening morning, and I got to sit and watch the sunset come and go while sipping scotch and watching the ridges. It was well after dark. The roast was done, and we had been called to supper when the last rifle shot rang out from the hollow.

“I bet there was a heck of a story behind that one.” I said to my son. Then there was another shot. We stayed a while to see what would happen next. The world had fallen silent again, and would not give up its secrets.

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