Oh, deer.

I arrived before 6 a.m., the morning sky still dark. I pulled on my de-scented camo, got out my crossbow, and cranked it into the ready position. Then I armed it with an arrow, though there was no chance the morning would lighten up enough for me to shoot before getting to my ladder stand.

The walk is about 200 yards along a path cut in the tall grass. My turning point is a small tree with two trunks.

As soon as my headlamp, with its red light lit, caught the tree, I turned left into the woods and immediately got caught up in black raspberry briars. I stumbled a bit and a tree limb caught my bow, but I soldiered on and found the stand.

Twelve feet up, I attached the safety strap and sat down to wait.

About 30 minutes later, first light broke, and so did my spirit. Somewhere along the way in, probably where I stumbled, I had lost my arrow. I pulled one of the three remaining in my quiver and clicked it in.

Then I realized that I had not pressed the right button to allow my arrow to shoot when I pulled the trigger. I fumbled around and fixed it.

Of course, that was about the time a mommy doe and her fawn showed up 20 yards to my left, exactly where I walked in and stumbled. The doe picked something up and stopped. She lifted her nose straight up and began stomping, the universal sign that trouble is near.

What was it? Did I leave a scent? Did she hear me messing with my bow?

Whatever, she fled, followed by her fawn. About 20 minutes later, a small doe appeared in the same spot. She too stopped, lifted her nose, and ran off.

It was the earliest I’d ever hunted for deer. In Loudoun, which stretches from Dulles International Airport to the Appalachian Trail just east of the Shenandoah River, the explosion of deer has prompted the Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries to throw on an early doe season.

The state allows the use of any weapon, which is kind of stupid since deer change their habits when the guns start going off. My hunting crew has decided to stick to quiet bows during the early hunt.

I didn’t plan to shoot because the day’s heat would mean I’d have to butcher that day. Hanging deer on hot days draws a lot of flies.

Still, I wanted some fresh venison to prepare a homemade version of Slim Jims.

Around 8 a.m., as I passed the time flipping through the latest tweets from President Trump on my iPhone, I heard a rustle about 30 yards away in a small group of trees. I could see four, maybe five, large does.

I cautiously pulled up my range finder, mostly to make sure they didn’t have any antlers. The first to come into sight was a big and pretty doe, its summer coat starting to change from a short gray hair to a long brown winter coat. The wind was working perfectly, gently blowing past them and into my face.

Unlike the earlier three, these deer sensed no danger.

As the lead doe quartered broadside at about 10 yards, I shot. The arrow hit the lungs, and the doe died quickly about 20 yards away. The rest of the posse watched her fall, gave a quizzical look, and backed out.

I waited about 30 minutes like I do when I shoot with my Parker Ultralite compound bow, but I was sure she had expired.

She was a big beauty and a great start to the season.

Getting her out was a struggle, as is everything as I get older. The woods are filled with logs and briars, so it took a while.

As I neared the grass path that I took in, I remembered my lost arrow and looked for it where I’d stumbled.

It was dangling in the briars, exactly where those two deer had sniffed and paused before running away, answering my question of what caused them to stop — my personal message to run!

Paul Bedard is a senior columnist and author of Washington Secrets.