For years, I’ve watched otherwise well-adjusted pals prepare for upcoming deer seasons with a single-mindedness and glee that seemed a bit odd to a guy who’d yet to be bitten by the blaze-orange bug.

And for years, I took mental notes on the topic. It didn’t take long for me to believe that deer hunting might not be for me.

Don’t get me wrong. I loved the concept of deer hunting. And man, did I love the concept of spending the winter working my way through a freezer-full of venison steaks.

But as it turned out, venison (at least the on-the-hoof version) is sneaky, smart, and knows how to foil people like me. At least, that’s what my gleeful buddies told me.

Deer (or so they told me) are wily. I’m not.

Deer are smart (No comment).

And deer, it seems, do something that makes them virtually unhuntable for someone like me.

They move around at night. They hunker down during the day.

And by the crack of 10 or so (my preferred rise-and-shine time back when I worked nights), even the most un-wily deer would surely be well into its mid-day hunker.

But each year, as November approached and my friends got into their deer-hunting mode, I sat around, watched them closely, and wondered.

What would possess otherwise well-adjusted guys to sit around for hours and compare notes on the location of piles of deer dung?

Why do these same guys spend 10 bucks for a dress shirt they’ll wear to their brother’s wedding, but dole out a hundred bucks for a scent-proof suit that will keep deer from figuring out where they’re hiding?

And (oddly enough) how do I get invited to join this club?

As it turns out, The Boss took care of the invitation for me when my job changed a couple months ago.

I quickly decided that an outdoors columnist who isn’t willing to get out there and find himself a few piles of deer dung is probably going to have a tough career in the field.

So now, thanks to the shared knowledge and hospitality of many of you, I’m hunting.

I know. My mom doesn’t believe it, either.

But it’s true. And now I’m beginning to understand exactly why so many of my friends were always so excited as deer season approached.

When else can you decide not to bathe or shave and have plenty of other guys tell you that your decision proves how committed you are to your new vocation?

Never! That’s when.

And, I’m happy to report, hunting has changed my life in a number of other ways. Most importantly, perhaps, is this: I no longer view 8 a.m. as “the middle of the night.”

In fact, I’ve begun waking up at 4 a.m. and staring longingly out the window … wondering what the deer are doing … and making plans to get back out there.

The change, I figure, happened a couple of weeks ago, when a few friendly hunters invited me into their deer camp.

Early the first morning, the alarm woke us. We ate like hogs. Then we headed into the woods, looking for a few wily whitetails.

It didn’t take long for me to figure out that I had a few things to learn.

Like this: How do you hunt, anyway?

Deer, I think I mentioned, are wily. Or so people say. And me? Well, on that first day, I was a bit more … obvious.

Picture a 225-pound bull tromping around in a potentially deer-filled china closet, and you’ll get the general idea.

I wasn’t, you might say, 100 percent stealthy.

But I’m learning. First, I stopped tromping (after realizing that only a deaf deer with a sinus infection and a broken hoof wouldn’t be able to avoid my advance). Then, I began standing still once in a while (that’s another one that’ll amaze my mom).

And finally, I began to see things … hear things … realize things … that I’d never considered before.

I felt comfortable. Relaxed. And the previously confounding actions of my friends made sense.

Eventually, something even more amazing happened.

I saw a deer.

For those of you who think that seeing deer is a foregone conclusion in the sport, let me remind you of two things.

Deer are wily. I am not. Yet.

Maybe the wind was right. Maybe I was a bit more stealthy than I’d been before. Maybe the deaf deer with the sinus infection happened to be hunkered down in the right place.

All I know is, I saw him. Her. It.

OK. All I really saw was the brief flash of a white tail as he … she … it … bounded for cover.

I didn’t raise my gun. I didn’t wonder what I could have done differently. I didn’t do anything.

I just stood there with a stupid grin on my face.

This hunting thing is beginning to make a lot of sense after all.

John Holyoke can be reached at jholyoke@bangordailynews.net or by calling 990-8214 or 1-800-310-8600.