For me, hunting isn't as much about memories or just bringing home the meat, it's about getting out there and doing it. Sure, I've got boxes and bins of racks and turkey beards, animals on the wall, photo albums, scrapbooks, etc., and it's fun to go down memory lane every once in a while, reliving every breath, every shot, every recovery, every moment. But that's all in the rear-view mirror to me. I'm more of a forward thinker. I'll have the rest of my life to reflect.

Before you can understand what is important to me, what reallygreases my wheels...you have to get a grip on the way I'm wired.

Since I was a kid - I'd always wanted to bowhunt.But I had no money, no bow and nobodyto take me. So, I saved up enough grass-cutting moneyand bought myselfa cheap compound. Practiced night and day. When season came, I strapped the loggy to my back and either biked or hoofed itto the nearest deer woods within walking distance. Every day after school, and dark-dark on Saturdays.

Only a couple kids my age bowhunted. Theirdads wereavid hunters, with their own land and nice newbows. My dad doesn't really hunt.

I made it my mission every year to out-hunt 'em all. And damn it, I did. I didn't care if it took sitting in that treestand until I couldn't feel my hands, or my toes felt like they were gonna break off...So, while those guys weretrucking around totheir local farms,traveling to other states to hunt,I was quietyperched on a hillside near the house, overlooking a garbage dump, and it was heaven-on-earth.

Years passed.

Eventually, bowhunting kinda got to be a big deal around home...

I've never been your conventional woodsy looking guy, so I always stuck out among the local pro-shop crowd. I avoid all their competitive shoots, just showing up to get my bow tuned, buy arrows or sign up for the buck/turkey pool.Theregulars wouldlook at me and see some numbnuts inboardshorts driving a sportscar.I hear the sarcastic comments, I notice the looks, see the sneers, but those moments are what drive me. I live for it.

Competitive spirit fuels this machine. If I have to log 200 hours in the woods... If I have to wear out a pair of boots... My name will be near the top of the score sheet by season's end. I can't handle failure. Never could.

I don't know why, but I live for the competition, the chance to prove somebody wrong. I live for the days when I go to the bowshop and some big talker inside, with hisgleaming competitionbow and shiny sights, takes a long, hard look at me while I'm standing there paying for my arrowsin my flip-flops and just blows me off as somecity-slicker fool who couldn't find his way out of a hayfield. That's it. That's the moment that triggers it.

I just can't stop until Ifinally get totromp in there some musty night in October with blood-stained fingernails and see the surprise, shock and jealousy on their faces. Etch my name on the leaderboard.

I live for those moments, I really do. Every year, the same scenario plays out...and it feels just as good this year as it's felt every year before. God willing, next year will be no different.