Camo Doesn't Make the Man...

     There's an old quote that goes something like this...”The clothes don't make the man, but when he is made, his appearance is greatly improved.” Absolutely true. After all, you can put me in a Stetson, a pair of dusty boots and big, ol' shiny belt buckle, but that doesn't make me a cowboy. I can wear scrubs, carry a clipboard and a stethoscope, but you wouldn't want me as your doctor! The same can be said in the hunting world...Just because I wear camo brand A or camo brand B and have my 4x4 decal'ed up like a NASCAR racer doesn't make me a hunter...

      Hunting and being a hunter is more than appearances and looking the part. It's something deeper. Enjoyable and fun, but at the same time, serious and thought provoking. A hunter is an ambassador to the non-hunting public. He's part of a small, but visible group, in the publics eye and under the microscope in today's world. A hunter's individual actions represent our entire fraternity.

      A hunter isn't made by hours in front of the Sportsman Channel or Outdoor Network. A hunter isn't made by buying the must have, latest and greatest from the big box stores or by hanging onto every word from an outdoor “celebrity”...A hunter isn't made overnight. Being a hunter is about paying your outdoor dues in the cold, the heat, the rain and the snow. Dues paid through poison ivy rashes, stinging nettles and locust thorns. Dues paid with mosquito bites, ticks and deer flies.

      A hunter is ethical. Its about doing the right thing when no one is around. Hunting is about character. A hunter is respectful...Respect to the animals he pursues and the land he hunts. He respects the landowner who graciously opens up opportunities and the landowner that chooses to not allow access. A hunter honors fences and boundaries and the rights of other sportsman.

      Hunting isn't about instant gratification and over the top technology. Hunting is about skill and tradition and lessons learned and passed on. Being a hunter isn't always about inches of antler or the length of a turkey's beard. It's not about score this or weight of that. A hunter is patient and willing to wait. A hunter is a provider and self-sufficient and able to make do...A hunter is a survivor and a conservationist of the highest degree. A hunter is connected to the land he hunts and the game he chases. Being a hunter isn't about taking short cuts and ease of the path...

      Being a hunter is more than wearing this year's newest camouflage and looking the role...So yeah, the clothing or the “camo” in this case, doesn't make the man or the hunter, but when he is made, his appearance is greatly improved...A lesson I hope some of today's hunters will take to heart.

  

Tis the Season...

     The air feels of football and flannel shirts, bonfires and fleece…My favorite time of the year is just around the corner and you can bet I’ll be perched high above some well worn deer trail waiting on an unsuspecting buck to pass my way…

    

     My mind will wonder to hunts from the past and my thoughts will drift to the future. I’ll soak in the sun of an Indian summer and enjoy the first frost. I’ll solve the world’s problems and maybe a few of my own out there in the trees. I’ll re-live the excitement of my first buck and the thrill at launching my first arrow. I’ll feel the warmth of the wood handle of my recurve and see how the oils from my skin have polished it to a shine. I’ll pretend I’m 16 again and my imagination will take me to far off places and exotic hunts. In my mind I see moose, caribou, elk and more…

     I’ll feel the cool breeze on my cheek and watch the musk rat fur silencers on my bowstring dance in the wind. I’ll get to watch as the chipmunks and squirrels gather their seeds and nuts for the upcoming winter and not a moment waste. I’ll listen to the songbirds and the crows as they sing and call out to one another.

 I’ll hear the eerie cry of a barred owl in the fading evening light. I’ll see the stars and moon of the predawn morning and feel the pitch black and shake off a shiver as I can see my breath…

     I’ll hear the footfalls of a doe as she delicately picks her way along the trail with a yearling in tow. I’ll watch as a redtail hawk swoops in and makes dinner out of a field mouse and witness coyotes as they slink along on the prowl, ever vigilant for a meal. I’ll see a red fox make his pounce, looking more like a cat than a canine…

     I’ll get to see the woods put on her finest hue and color of autumn…oranges, golds and yellows of every shade. I’ll listen to the leaves as they rain down onto the forest floor. The acorns will drop and the hickories and hedge apples will fall with a thump as they roll down the hollers…

     I’ll feel the adrenalin rush at the sight of a mature, old buck and feel my heart race and palms sweat. My throat dry and coarse. I’ll feel humble and proud and grateful at the moment of truth. I’ll make my own meat and bloody my hands and feel gratitude and remorse for the animal that provided me.

     But, most of all, I’ll add to “me” and my memories. I’ll spend time with my children and with friends. I’ll experience the real world, nature as it was intended to be. This is why I hunt, this is my deer season…

The Trade...

      The tarp was rolled out on the ground as the hunters dragged their chairs to the circle with their barter goods in tow...bows and some arrows, knives and quivers and all sorts of items that any outdoorsman would like to have in his camp. The rules were explained and discussed and all nodded in agreement...

      The trade blanket was about to begin. The crew was a gnarley old bunch of experienced traders, each a die hard traditional bowhunter with years of experience in the woods and in life. A few in their “20 somethings”, but most in their 50's and 60's, trying to put on their best poker face as deals were about to be made. But one trader looked out of place. A young kid of 14, ball cap, red flannel and denim. Tall and lanky, that awkward in between space, no longer a kid, but not quite a man...Thin build and broad shoulders, not yet grown into his giant hands and long arms.

      He's quiet and his nerves show a bit, but he does his best not to fidget or twitch or show his hand. It's time for the bartering to begin as the goods are laid out. Stories are told and stories embellished. Laughter and joking, flavored with some banter before getting down to business. A few jabs are given and a few taken as each player “plays” or passes. A couple of rounds through and the kid is getting his feet wet and the nerves settle...

      Now it's his turn as he lays out a handmade straight knife and leather sheath...Dad holds his breath as his son speaks up. His young voice now deep, not a pop or crack to be heard as he describes the blade in front of him. It's on to the next trader as he proposes a deal and then to the next and so on and so on...Another knife hits the tarp, a long up swept, fixed blade, perfect for “working up” a deer. The boy picks it up and eyes it for a moment...pondering as I can almost see his mind working as he thinks. In an instant, he juts his right hand forward and shakes the knife owner's hand with a manlike grip and in a baritone voice says “We have a good trade”...

     The game of trade continued on, as the smell of the campfire drifted through cool evening air. Good deals made, some not so good deals made, but all of the participants enjoying the round. It's almost over and time to go all in, lay it all out...when its all said and done, the kid came away with more than he had started with. A beautiful, primitive selfbow of Osage, a fine boning knife and a buffalo hide quiver. But his dad came away with even more...a memory made and an experience had and pride felt as he witnessed his boy take another step further from childhood, as his gains his footing as a young man...a lump raised in dad's throat.

(This trade blanket could've taken place a hundred or even two hundred years ago, but it just happened last weekend at a gathering of the Indiana Traditional Bowhunter's Association and a good time was had by all. No Xbox, no non stop texting, no constant FB...only a group of folks with a shared interest in traditional archery and keeping old traditions alive in a world that has sadly become too fast paced)