I had serious, I mean serious, reservations about hunting after coming back from the big Sandbox. Skipped dove season entirely that year, which was a big deal to Pops, bcause He normally hosts a big opening weekend shoot at the farm, and evrybody, I mean everybody comes. The mayor, the Sheriff, all four of the school principles, everybody. And I couldn't bring myself to go to that.
Well deer season rolled around and I didn't even bother to buy tags. Three of my faternity brothers asked if we were still planning on going on our yearly hunting trip to my cabin, about an hour or so from where we're in school at, and, not wanting to disappoint them like I did Pops, I reluctantly agreed to go, but only to play guide.
So we went, and the first night we got there, we made a big fire, grilled steaks, and stayed up late into the night. My buddy badgered me into sitting in the stand with him the next morning, and I trudged out to the stand with him, hungover and cold, nursing a large thermos of coffee. W settled in and waited. And waited. Around 11 o'clock, we packed in and headed back to the cabin. As we were walking back, I realized I was content. I wasn't on edge, I wasn't evaluating terrain, I didn't feel naked without a gun, I was content and relaxed. That is what I love about hunting. The ability to totally immerse yourself into somthing for a few hours, and let the world slip away.
NRA Life Member
Big Sister: "Everyone in America is fine with the .30-30, except Mack. He has to shoot that .35 because that extra point zero fives inches will matter on Bigfoot."