“Archery season is now?!” I question my wife as she wakes me and asks, “Aren’t you going hunting this morning?”
“I mean, of course it’s archery season. But, you gotta let the elk realize this too, honey. They need a fighting chance.” Honey looks at me with that all too familiar “whatever you say” smirk and pushes me out of bed with her cold feet.
This is my start.
As opposed to other newbies to this noble tradition.
These are the folks who have preseason rituals involving growing a beard, quitting soda and jogging with their tree stand strapped to their back in their suburban neighborhoods working off three pounds before the big hunt. They sleep in their six-man tents in the backyard thinking this will prepare them to sleep in the woods. And this is only the beginning of their madness.
While some hunters feel the need to buy the latest gadgets, wash their camo in Scent Lock, and store their hunting gear in nicely labeled Tupperware boxes, this is entirely the wrong approach to hunting. Sure, it may be efficient; it may even be effective. But there is no joy in this approach. Sighting in a bow before archery season may be the right thing to do, but where’s the sense of adventure in knowing you can split expensive carbon arrows at 50 yards?
If you can identify with this you may be in a category of hunter with too much time, money, and a career that affords these unnecessary expenses. These people are maniacs, zealots of the forest doing all kinds of preseason rituals otherwise known as extraneous attention-seeking mental illness. They are seen putting the silent stalk on an unsuspecting skunk cabbage or twelve point sapling just to see how quiet they can move through the woods. Yep, you may be one. If so, stop reading here. This instructional article will do you no good. However, if you care to learn something from a seasoned veteran of the woodlands, read on.
You’ve spent 1300 dollars on the latest bow….a bow….singular….this thing looks like some futuristic alien weapon in a Bruce Willis movie. For this price it better come with a lightsaber function and marriage advice. Wiser, more experienced hunters, such as myself, have spent their 1300 dollars on a bow, 4 mismatched arrows, a “remodeled” camper and the vehicle that takes me to my hunting spot. We think in terms of package deals and spread our money—our credit card—out for the best bang for the buck.
But, there is hope for you. That hope comes in the form of something we refer to as “wife.” Wife will help you realize the error of your spending habits. Wife will step in soon if you do not take corrective action yourself. She is a wily creature. She knows how much is in the checkbook and you’ve never seen the checkbook. The family treasure is earmarked for gadgets of her own and other superfluous stuff like groceries and laundry detergent.
But, there is hope for you. That hope comes in the form of something we refer to as “wife.” Wife will help you realize the error of your spending habits. Wife will step in soon if you do not take corrective action yourself. She is a wily creature. She knows how much is in the checkbook and you’ve never seen the checkbook. The family treasure is earmarked for gadgets of her own and other superfluous stuff like groceries and laundry detergent.
Fellas, fellas, fellas. You’re going about this all wrong. Let me help you avoid the wrath of Wife, save some money, and save your manhood.
First of all, preparedness is for the faint of heart. Where’s your sense of adventure and spontaneity? Let me set out a better course of action for you:
Step one: roll out of bed at the crack of a couple hours into sunrise. Put on the hunting clothes you stuffed into the corner of your “camper” the year before. The elk urine you squirted on them last year has had a chance to age and is at the peak of its effectiveness. Throw your bow in the truck and hope your arrows are still in the case too. Allow yourself time to grab a chimichanga and diet soda at the Circle K before heading out to the woods (after all, you gotta give the “hunters” an opportunity to get the elk moving). This is all the prep work you need, aside from warming the frozen chimi on the dash with the defroster.
Step one: roll out of bed at the crack of a couple hours into sunrise. Put on the hunting clothes you stuffed into the corner of your “camper” the year before. The elk urine you squirted on them last year has had a chance to age and is at the peak of its effectiveness. Throw your bow in the truck and hope your arrows are still in the case too. Allow yourself time to grab a chimichanga and diet soda at the Circle K before heading out to the woods (after all, you gotta give the “hunters” an opportunity to get the elk moving). This is all the prep work you need, aside from warming the frozen chimi on the dash with the defroster.
In your excitement to get out there, you forgot about the convenience store’s microwave. You could have had that chimi searing hot, but now you’ll have it defrosted on the dash and still frozen at its core. That’s OK. You can eat around the frozen part. Who needs processed cheese lava coating their tongue right after scalding it with hot coffee anyway? Now, wipe the coffee you spewed all over your windshield away and get to your spot!
Step two, the hunt: Here is where things get exciting. All you have to do for a successful hunt is walk 100 yards from where you parked the rig and proceed to hang your bow on a tree limb while you use the bathroom (those store-bought chimis hit within minutes). This is when you’ll see the big bulls step out into the meadow that you’re scoping out. It’s a proven strategy. Research-based. Drop your pants and they will appear.
Step two, the hunt: Here is where things get exciting. All you have to do for a successful hunt is walk 100 yards from where you parked the rig and proceed to hang your bow on a tree limb while you use the bathroom (those store-bought chimis hit within minutes). This is when you’ll see the big bulls step out into the meadow that you’re scoping out. It’s a proven strategy. Research-based. Drop your pants and they will appear.
While you have literally been caught with your pants down, that is OK. This is what signifies a true hunt. It is at this point, like a hobbled horse making a midnight escape from hunting camp with your pants around your ankles, you move to your bow. You pick out your favorite arrow–the one with the single neon green feather and you knock the arrow. Here is where you realize your release is in your truck hanging on your rearview mirror (because it’s cool to have your release with you year-round so everyone can see you’re a bowhunter). Now is when you fight every urge to take the shot anyway. Like a pro, and conscientious hunter, you don’t try a fingers shot. Instead, you hang your head and go back to the truck to get your release with the knowledge that the one hour you had to hunt this year is quickly coming to an end.
But, you don’t give up so easily. The job your boss expects you to be at today can wait. You press on, release in hand and amble into the woods. If you have enough meat for the year, why do you need a job?
You arrive and get situated in your homemade blind–three sticks and some cattails–on your favorite honey hole: the secret pond. “Secret” meaning only three other buddies have already come and gone harvesting any creature that dared come in on opening morning (rookies who show the distasteful eagerness that us veterans refuse to engage in). This year you even remembered scentless insect repellant. That squadron of mosquitoes raised in Satan’s army that attacked you last year will have to wait for some other sucker. This year there’ll be no maniacal slapping yourself silly as you fight them off and sit “still.” Of course, the footage of the battle from the game camera you didn’t know was strapped to a tree in front of you is still making its way around social media. Over a million hits. You’ve gone viral. Congratulations. You’ve accidentally arrived at the same level of fame only the Kardashians enjoy while other attention-starved sapheads purposefully conduct ridiculous pageantry to collect on their fifteen minutes.
You arrive and get situated in your homemade blind–three sticks and some cattails–on your favorite honey hole: the secret pond. “Secret” meaning only three other buddies have already come and gone harvesting any creature that dared come in on opening morning (rookies who show the distasteful eagerness that us veterans refuse to engage in). This year you even remembered scentless insect repellant. That squadron of mosquitoes raised in Satan’s army that attacked you last year will have to wait for some other sucker. This year there’ll be no maniacal slapping yourself silly as you fight them off and sit “still.” Of course, the footage of the battle from the game camera you didn’t know was strapped to a tree in front of you is still making its way around social media. Over a million hits. You’ve gone viral. Congratulations. You’ve accidentally arrived at the same level of fame only the Kardashians enjoy while other attention-starved sapheads purposefully conduct ridiculous pageantry to collect on their fifteen minutes.
No sooner have you sat down than you hear that familiar whistle of a bull elk bugling. It’s a ways off but as you listen it seems to be getting closer. You’ve developed an acute sense of hearing over the years; you already know it’s a big 6 x 6. Your heart begins to race a little faster with each bugle. You breathe deeper and a little faster. The bugling gets louder. The bull should come out of the trees any second now. You knock an arrow, the bugling can’t possibly be any louder.
But, there’s no bull. It’s so loud it should be no more than ten yards away by now. To listen even better, you hold your breath for a moment.
It’s now that you realized the hairs in your nose have managed to align themselves and the snot has hardened in such a way as to make a nose whistle. Oh well, at least you’ve already had some action and heard some bugling, even if it was just your own body parts whistling a familiar tune from Ned Nostril and the South Seas Paradise Band.
Day two. You’re fired from your job now, so you may as well be hunting. Besides, you don’t want to be home when Wife finds out you’re no longer the “employed provider” she married. You roll out of your camper sofa/breakfast table/bed and hit the trail.
Day two. You’re fired from your job now, so you may as well be hunting. Besides, you don’t want to be home when Wife finds out you’re no longer the “employed provider” she married. You roll out of your camper sofa/breakfast table/bed and hit the trail.
Patiently you wait at your spot….your spot being the stump you gassed out on and have been sitting at after a grueling quarter mile walk into the woods. You can’t go any further anyway because your sock has slipped halfway off your foot and is crowding the toe end of your boots. By boots, I mean those old converse basketball shoes you had in high school when you brought water to your teammates during timeouts.
You don’t want to be noisey by fixing the situation, so you decide this spot is where you will become the provider, gain respect, live out your primal instincts, carry on the tradition of early civilization. Taking your hunting boots off after putting them on for the season is health hazard anyways; and the scent released into the air may spook the big bulls too. Your fine; it’s time to settle in and wait.
Your patience—or nap, as some ill-informed rookies like to call it, pays off. Just as the sun sets, you see your steaks sauntering down the trail in the form of a mentally-challenged raghorn reject that that’s having as much luck with the ladies as you did your acne-filled tenth grade year of high school.
You knock an arrow and realize the new arrow rest you were so excited about last year is sitting on the workbench in your garage. That’s OK. Arrow rests are for the unconfident among us. Over the years of making the same mistake you’ve become an expert at the impromptu “index finger rest,” a tactic us road-worn warriors invented.
Raghorn steps broadside in the trail as he senses the stump he is staring at is different from other stumps he’s recently passed. This stump, if it knew English, is muttering the finer parts of the language (with some Spanish thrown in for good measure) under its breath.
This is caused by you as you’ve drawn your bow full draw on Raghorn. You know you’re full draw because your bow has broken over into that 80 percent letoff, not to mention your index finger arrow rest is now dripping blood, the sweet nectar of life, as your broadhead dug into the flesh until it stopped at the bone.
You let go just in time to save your finger—if you quickly render the appropriate first aid–“first” meaning deal with this first before you are found at the end of your own blood trail. Your arrow finds its mark, or a mark. Raghorn whirls and runs straight up the steepest hill available to his escape. You have your work cut out for you.
Finding a job. Better get to it so you can try again next season.
Finding a job. Better get to it so you can try again next season.
For all of you that don’t understand these time-tested, tried and true, tactics of the hunt take this instructional lesson to heart. I don’t know how to order at Starbucks, but I can offer this wisdom. Good luck out there. For now, it’s time to head back to your cubicle in Dallas. Load up that Razor, your five four-wheelers, the freezer you strapped to the top of your F-850 Gargantuando, and wear that 800 dollar camo shirt to the office–you won’t need it out here. All you need is to open your mind to the learning I’ve so freely provided in this instructional article. Follow this advice and you’ll be out of a job and into the woods in no time at all.
This, after all, is every hunter’s dream.
3 responses to “It’s Archery Season! Wisdom from a Veteran Master Hunter”
Great read…I was laughing so hard the entire time! Glad you decided to post! Love ya Paterfamilias
Great advice to all those "hunters" out there. Would recommend this to anyone.
If you can stalk up on a skunk…. YOUR READY!!!! That's good stuff right there!