Throughthe 1960's - bowhunting consisted of some old hand-me-down camo or flannel, a recurve, a fistfull of arrows, a wing and a prayer. There was little-or-no methodology and next to zero expectations. Hunting in its simplest form. Few tried. Fewer succeeded. At least that's the way I understand it.
Over the next 20 years, bows evolved. The sport evolved. So did the people doing it. Wooden treestands began cropping up in funnels and field corners across America. Things were still simple.
You heard about people with compound bows. You even knew some. Somewhere along the line, you needed to try it. So, youscrounged up some spare dough and came upwith one to call your own.It wasn't long before you became the zenmaster of the release aid and the peep sight. It rocked your world, and you became a bowhunter.
You wore the green paint off of your Gamegetters. It was a testament to your dedication. You were a hero among men.
Success early-on was spotty, at best.
Before long, here comes thepre-fab treestand. What a joke. Youscratched your head, wonderingwhy any sane manwould pay for a metal treestand, when you can build a perfectly good one out of wood. Seriously.
The annualGander Mountain catalogs found a comfy spot beside your favorite toilet, and life was good. You dreamed of new broadheads and buck knives with every poo.You may haveeven circled the item numbers of the thingsyou wanted - subtle messages to Santa. Those dreams, however, usually went unanswered.
It wasn't long beforetheportable treestand made its debut, and it knocked the planet off its axis. Loggy Bayou changed your life. No longer anchored to your wooden stands, you'd gone global. It was like Jesus of Nazareth walked into your living room and handed you the golden key to the universe. You became a bowhunting machine.
Bowhunting was a snowball rolling downhill, but you didn't see the writing on the wall.
Giant overdraws, jacked-up pickup trucks,superslam arrows andsalt blockstook over planet earth. Out with the haybales and in with the McKenzie faux deer. What in the hell is a bow league? For the first time in your life, you saw a hunting poster, and you wanted one. You knew who Chuck Adams was. Roger Raglin was your hero. You knew a guy who had an autographed photo. The whole world was messing with you.
All the sudden, reality slammed you right in the face.
It happened faster than a one-night-stand. Everybody in the world suddenly wanted to be like the "pros," demanding high-dollar bows and high-percentage stand sites. Retirement funds were rolled out of IRA's and into hunting land in the golden triangle. Whose "team" are you on? Bow shops popped up across America like chicken pox.
Fiber optic sights and high-fashion camotook over the world. Gander Mountain abandoned your toilet andwent brick-and-mortar. Cabela's catalog now monopolized your restroom, sitting alone atop the magazine pile.You feel weird pooping alonewith Jim and Richard Cabelastaring you in the face. Your entire existence had been turned upside-down.
The words "Quality Deer Management" pierced our ears for the first time, and that conceptbegan sinking into the very fabric of our souls.
Your old wooden stands now serve as rotted reminders of the days of yore.
Things that never mattered before started to matter.
Bowhunting mania had begun. Your one-time lonely parking spot at the gamelands gate has become cluttered with traffic on opening day. The old guard found themselves entrenched in a bitter struggle for good stand space. You said less, and listened more. The politics of hunting started to play games with your life for the first time. You actually lost friends over it, but you adapted. The stakes were raised.
For the first time in the course of human history, you knew somebody who actually paid money to shoot deer. Thousands. You hoped with every ounce of your existence that you'd never have to lower yourself to that.
Scenes like this became a living nightmare.
What the hell is a bowtech? What the hell is a staff, and why does everybody want to be one? Is my camo pattern really that important? Hoyt has clothing? Your buddy shows up with a "Size Matters" sticker on his truck and says he's gonna start taking competitive archery more seriously. Are you fugging kidding me?
Some joke who took up hunting 2 years ago and couldn't kill a deer at the zoo,tells you that he's a "professional" and expects a pat on the back for his great lifetime of accomplishments in archery. You refrain from beating him with a baseball bat, and try your best to be nice. It's sad, ironic and funny all at the same time. At least you see the entertainment value hidden inside.
Seriously?
For some reason, nobody can bowhunt around here anymore without the assistance of a giant 4x4 quad. You try to understand it - but it's just too much.
Just what you want to hear at 6:15 a.m.
The whole bowhunting world is collapsing around you. You're alone on an island.
Making matters worse, the cashgrab continues as theDrury's showed up and pour gasoline on the fire. People were locking their guns away and picking up the archery tackle in mobs. Bows had become so user-friendly that one day at the shop with a fist-full of money could have you pounding the x-ring 3 hours later.Jokes about people leasing land just for hunting weren't just jokes anymore. It was happening. Not just in far-away places, either.
Your favorite treestand became a Walmart. You wish you could just quit, but this is your game. You will not be defeated, even if the whole world was tilted against you. You do it for the love of the game. You'll never stop.
Walmart is the antichrist.
Because you're the man, you clear the hurdles and make due and fill your tags. Things are as fulfilling now as ever.
Now here you are: you've joined a hunting website, and aremaking "hunting friends" on the internet.Hell has officially frozen over.At this point, you're officiallyexhausting every available option to keep your hunting hopes alive. You're marching on, because that's the only thing you know how to do. One foot in front of the other.
Then, gasoline hit the $4 mark, and it shocked the world, changing everything. Again. How will it change the dynamics? How will it affect you?
Gentlemen, we are entering a new era. An era wherethe avid bluecollar bowhunter is yet again forced to change the rules of his game and adapt.He will succeed, like always.
The Evolution of Bowhunting - from a personal perspective.
...I think my kinetic energy was 47 
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