Depending on where in Louisiana you bowhunt, it’s true that the early bird gets the worm.

I can look back over the last two seasons here on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain and see the truth behind that old idiom.

Two seasons ago, I hung a stand over a pile of rice bran on the edge of an abandoned food plot and jacked up the tree.

With at least an hour of good light remaining, three decent bucks strolled out of the woods and headed straight for the feed.

I had never seen bucks act like this. It was as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

That was until one of them looked directly my way and realized whatever that giant glob was on the tree trunk wasn’t there yesterday.

That buck wasn’t having any of it, so he signaled his bachelor buddies that it was time to put as much space between them and the pile of rice bran as quickly as possible.

It was opening day of bow season.

Last season, my nephew Zach hung a stand overlooking a pile of corn on the edge of a slough at the northern end of one of our rifle lanes. 

Every day for at least a week, he texted me after he got down in the evening to tell me all about the bucks he had seen. 

Of course every story was followed up with an excuse — some of which seemed legitimate. 

It was the first week of bow season.

Like I was two seasons ago, he was amazed at how the bucks were traveling together and at how they didn’t seem to be bothered at all about stepping out into the open before the sun had