As a hunter since my single-digit years, that could also mark me as a killer … but that is only partially true. The true part is I have killed birds over enormously talented bird dogs for many decades and will continue to do so — but always reluctantly. We are fellow creatures, after all. That is the true juxtaposition of my life.

From early childhood, one of my true joys was a walk in the woods after a snowfall. It was always quieter and the creatures of the forest were active in both survival and foraging modes, leaving copious signs of existence with their tracks.

For me, that was a true hunt. The first track found began a trail of mystery that begged to be solved. Where was this creature going? And how would our mutual journey end if I chose to follow?

Ernest Thompson Seton, in his treatise Animal Tracks and Hunter Signs (1958), wrote: “The trail records with perfect truthfulness everything that it [the creature] did, or tried to do, at a time when it was unembarrassed by the nearness of its worst enemy. The trail is an autobiographical chapter of the creature’s life, written unwittingly indeed, and in perfect sincerity.”

Walking the sloughs and edges of cover in the Dakotas after a snowfall reveals much about the behavior of the pheasant in the clues left behind in his tracks. There are the rapid and widely spaced tracks that indicate he began running when he first sensed our presence in his world. Then, if you follow and look closely, some tracks are deeper, closer together, side by side, and more perfectly formed, indicating a full stop and pause to listen and assess if the threat is still present. And finally, as you close in, there are tracks with the front claws dug deeper, indicating a gathering of the muscles in preparation for launch and flight.

If the snow is dry and powdery, some of this might be very subtle, but there will be an elevated ridge of snow behind the tracks, pushed there by the sudden burst of displaced air from escaping wings. In following these tracks, the creature begins to materialize and take shape before you actually see him.

I was fascinated with this as a child and remain so today. By close analysis of the tracks, you get a sense of the creature and its every movement and thought. Resting tracks with the right side deeper than the left indicates a head swing to the left — listening with a cocked head and thus placing more weight on the right track.

All of these observations are far easier on fresh snow-covered ground. Over the decades, it has been much more challenging to accurately read similar signs on dry ground, although there are those who can. Wet ground is easier, but in the transitory nature of dust, it’s all but impossible unless there’s a still day with no wind or you happen on a freshly made track.

As I have matured, the mere act of killing anything is best approached with equal measures of respect and reluctance. Learning over the years to read tracks that reveal the creature’s nature, fears, and survival instincts has only brought me closer to understanding how connected we truly are.

I am still very much a hunter, and the Gordon setters that accompany me afield have given me an even deeper understanding of wildlife movement and habits as they skillfully decipher the scent cone carried by even the slightest breath of wind.

They seem to enjoy the snow as much as I do. The birds hold tighter in snow, and with the typical rise in barometric pressure after a snowstorm, scenting conditions can improve. Once the dogs point, freezing in position as the scent of the bird overwhelmingly tells them they are close — but not too close so as to force the bird to flight — it is I who am the intruder. As I carefully walk past the dogs frozen in place, the tracks in the snow ahead of them tell the final part of the mystery we have been unraveling.

My friend Gene Hill used to say that compared to some writers, his used books don’t bring very much. Owning every book he ever wrote, I disagree with that sentiment, but now at least understand it. If I dare call myself a writer, then I should have excellent command of the English language. Yet I cannot summon a word or words to fully communicate what I feel when in the woods after a snowfall.

Merriam-Webster defines Nature as “humankind’s original or natural condition.” Perhaps that is close, but it doesn’t fully describe the connectedness of all living things present from the dawn of time. It doesn’t describe the sense of being complete and whole when immersed in the wilderness or forest.

A fresh snowfall completely erases signs of life and movement for a moment in time. When the storm is over and the creatures reemerge to continue their daily business of survival, walking in the woods and fields following their tracks gives me a brief but complete confidence of being at one with all living things as I glimpse into their world. My world.

There is fresh snow falling here as I finish writing this missive at the first glimmer of daylight. I can’t wait to get out there.

It is enchanting.