Many of us here, I'm sure, have had years or stages of life where other responsibilities kept us out of the woods more than we'd prefer. Some seasons, we can count on one hand how often we'll climb a tree. It's a stage I'm in right now. Comparison is the thief of joy, as they say, but it's tough work avoiding envy. I'm not always able to. This year in particular.
It can be frustrating trying to pack a season's worth of excitement and expectation into a few hunts—hard not to put an unrealistic amount of pressure on any individual sit. Even when you know that you should just enjoy the solitude of nature, a morning or afternoon with no action weighs on you when you only have a handful available. That's where I found myself a few days ago.
I was able to wrangle a couple of days to muzzleloader hunt this past week; an all-day sit on Friday and some time Sunday afternoon. I hung a stand Friday morning in a prime spot and only saw a spike. That afternoon I hit some nearby public and didn't see a thing. That just left Sunday.
Sunday afternoon I got out of the house late, much later than I hoped. The spot I was planning to hunt would take too long to access and set up. I considered staying home and trying to find another time to hunt, but ultimately decided to sneak into a spot that I could get to quickly and quietly enough to make it worth my while. I hadn't hunted this area in over a year, but hey I already had a babysitter. No small feat these days.
Before I even had my muzzleloader hauled up, a spike came out of a thicket and slipped by at 40-50 yards. Thankfully I saw him and froze until he passed, because moments later, just as I'd gotten my gun settled and a shooting stick up, a bigger deer came cruising from the direction the spike had gone. I had just enough time to grunt him to a stop in a shooting lane, but his vitals were covered. After 20 seconds or so he took a couple steps and I squeezed off a shot. He tucked tail and ran quickly out of sight.
After waiting a while, I got down to check for blood. Nothing. Went to where I thought I lost sight of him, nothing there either. I searched the general area for 20 minutes or so, then decided to back out and call for some tracking help. As I was walking out, I caught sight of a tail by a dry creek a few yards away, and there he was. 50 yards from where he was hit. He never bled til he got about five feet from where he fell. I know I don't have to explain the relief I felt.
Later that night, though, I couldn't shake the feeling that my attitude still needed adjusting.
There are many places in this world where people don't have a fraction of the hunting opportunity we do. There are many people who would be thrilled just to have the five or six days in the woods I catch myself complaining about, or the job and family that keep me busy.
This year I got lucky. Next year, who knows. But if I can learn to focus on the opportunities I have instead of the ones I don't, it'll still be a success.
It can be frustrating trying to pack a season's worth of excitement and expectation into a few hunts—hard not to put an unrealistic amount of pressure on any individual sit. Even when you know that you should just enjoy the solitude of nature, a morning or afternoon with no action weighs on you when you only have a handful available. That's where I found myself a few days ago.
I was able to wrangle a couple of days to muzzleloader hunt this past week; an all-day sit on Friday and some time Sunday afternoon. I hung a stand Friday morning in a prime spot and only saw a spike. That afternoon I hit some nearby public and didn't see a thing. That just left Sunday.
Sunday afternoon I got out of the house late, much later than I hoped. The spot I was planning to hunt would take too long to access and set up. I considered staying home and trying to find another time to hunt, but ultimately decided to sneak into a spot that I could get to quickly and quietly enough to make it worth my while. I hadn't hunted this area in over a year, but hey I already had a babysitter. No small feat these days.
Before I even had my muzzleloader hauled up, a spike came out of a thicket and slipped by at 40-50 yards. Thankfully I saw him and froze until he passed, because moments later, just as I'd gotten my gun settled and a shooting stick up, a bigger deer came cruising from the direction the spike had gone. I had just enough time to grunt him to a stop in a shooting lane, but his vitals were covered. After 20 seconds or so he took a couple steps and I squeezed off a shot. He tucked tail and ran quickly out of sight.
After waiting a while, I got down to check for blood. Nothing. Went to where I thought I lost sight of him, nothing there either. I searched the general area for 20 minutes or so, then decided to back out and call for some tracking help. As I was walking out, I caught sight of a tail by a dry creek a few yards away, and there he was. 50 yards from where he was hit. He never bled til he got about five feet from where he fell. I know I don't have to explain the relief I felt.
Later that night, though, I couldn't shake the feeling that my attitude still needed adjusting.
There are many places in this world where people don't have a fraction of the hunting opportunity we do. There are many people who would be thrilled just to have the five or six days in the woods I catch myself complaining about, or the job and family that keep me busy.
This year I got lucky. Next year, who knows. But if I can learn to focus on the opportunities I have instead of the ones I don't, it'll still be a success.
