![]() ![]() ![]() We all know that every hunt is a very special experience. I look back and chuckle with pure happiness and thankfulness at the incredible pace I would maintain each fall season, then I sit here in the fall of 2020 and realize those crazy fast paced days afield are pretty much done with, over and out. #Quest for infamy pine cone full#We’re talking, miles, and miles, and miles and miles and miles each morning when the flight birds were in, and then we would grab a quick bite, dump our hard earned gamebag full of birds, reload, oilrag down the short barreled side by side 20 gauge then head right back out to do it again.Īfter yet many more bone fatiguing trudging miles, a quick change of clothes, a hot shower and getting the amazing hounds fed, watered and kenneled up, I would race to my favorite high ridge makeshift treestand with my trusty bow and arrow for another thrilling afternoon of deerhunting. I mean, when I hunted partridge and timberdoodles behind my trio of equally hyper Irish Setters, Paco, Popeye and Pinecone, we covered ground like some sort of swamp bustin, timber scrambling Olympic Samurai sodbustin marshland maniacs. Mercy, mercy me, was I a hyper rapscallion ridgerunning MoFo back in the good old days as a young whippersnapper deerhunting fool or what?Ĭlearly, there is no what, for the inescapable evidence tells no lies and my youthful incendiary vaportrail in the wild burns on! I know! I know! Many an arrow has already been unleashed across the land and many backstraps have been lovingly carved from hard earned trophy kills here, there and everywhere as so many hunting seasons have opened up in many states and provinces by now.īut for this old guitarslamming bowhunting addicted backstrapper, and so many others like me, no other day of the year resonates quite so powerfully as October 1! Say Hallelujah and Amen brothers and sisters!Ī snarling, growling, singing, howling, joyous, gnashing of teeth Happy Happy Octomy fellow mystical flight of the arrow Fred Bear BloodBrothers everywhere! Today, all is good with the world! Everything bad and ugly in life has just been obliterated and momentarily washed away by this magical, mythical, wonderful, long awaited traditional October 1st Opening Day of archery season in many American families’ lives. Stop the presses! Release the hounds! Houston, we have Spirit Arrow LIFTOFF! THE DAY of infamy has arrived and the American bowhunting spirit hath risen once again! Sanctuary for the mind, body, spirit and soul is upon us! Then the welcome flutter flutter flutter wing beating sounds of descending wild turkeys stopped me cold as four big longbeards landed thirty yards to my right. With the last sip of hot joe from my thermos, I prepared to dismantle the SpiritWild video camera from its ladderstand perch and begin the gear gathering rituals calling it a morning. But alas! Right place right time will always trump clever strategizing and otherwise well laid out bowhunting ambush plans. I had waited a full two weeks into the season to hit this historically target rich swamp edge ridge where many a handsome critter have fallen to my arrows for more than 40 years. ![]() The lap of God is one of my favorite places to rest.īut no deer. Acorns were falling, turkeys were yelping, squirrels were running amok and the orgy of glistening fall colors surrounding me cleansed my soul and made me very, very happy. Rejoice another splendid morning in my favorite Michigan deerwoods, and the spirit soared on high. ![]()
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