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Old 08-24-2005 | 10:17 AM
  #4  
by23856
 
Joined: Feb 2003
Posts: 530
Likes: 0
From: Omaha Nebraska USA
Default RE: What Hunting is to me

Huntingus, you hit the nail on the head, especially with the sights, smells, andsounds. Especially the smells. I still smell the wood smoke, the pipe tobacco, the food, the mustiness... everything.

I hunt pretty much by myself now, for bow season anyway. I do travel back to PA for rifle season each year to hunt with my dad.He and I used to hunt at a camp very similar to the one you describe, even down to the pines that grew up over the years to hide the camp. But then my father's Uncle Tucker died. He owned the camp and it passed to his eldest son. Without getting into dirty laundry, we'll just say that his life style and ours were not very compatible, so we don't go there any longer, but the memories will live on forever of when Uncle Tucker ran the camp.

I now archery hunt on my small piece of property in Nebraska and on a friend's property 10 minutes away, so I no longer have the arrival to camp sequence that you describe and that I had as a kid at my Tucker's camp, but there is still something magical and different about that first morning of archery season that is completely different than the morning before. The hunt still matters to me, but not necessary bagging anything.

WVBowhunter has a signature line that reads, "It's cold. It's cramped. It's silent. Then from below comes the crackle of dry leaves. And suddenly nothing else matters." I love those words. I have started using them to try to explain to my wife and non-hunting friends why I go to all the trouble and expense 'just to hunt a deer'. At that first glimpse of movement, that first crackle of dry leaves, all of the work, sweat, and preparationis worth it. Doesn't matter if it's a doe, a small buck, or a trophy. Nothing else matters at that moment.

My dream is to one day build a camp where those sights,smells, and moments can become a part of my son's life, so thatone daywhen he is a 40 year oldfather sitting by the crackling fire the night before opening morning, he can tell his son for the hundreth time, "Yeah, I remember when me and your grandpa..."
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