Category Archives: General Tales

I said lurker … not looker

I’m a lurker. In the world of Web forums, that means I spend a lot more time reading than I do posting messages. It’s not that I’m completely quiet, but I’d bet that better than 85% of my time on different hunting forums is just reading what others are talking about.

It never fails that once a month you stumble upon posts from fellow outdoorsmen who want to bash celebrity hunters. The logic behind them typically either cracks me up or infuriates me enough to wonder what kind of people are sitting on the other end of computers. I read a post recently wondering if other hunters were getting sick of Michael Waddell. The preposterous argument was that Waddell was no different than other hunters so why should he be making “millions”?

Guess what, Einstein? Just the fact that he seized an opportunity to make a living at something we all do does indeed make him different than you. While there tends to be jealousy at the root of all the posts with the bashing, one has to wonder if people actually read any of their messages before they hit “POST”.

Of course, many of these posters are the ones who suddenly grab their Sherlock Holmes junior detective kits with every successful-harvest post. It drives me nuts! Hunter A posts picture of a deer he just spent all autumn chasing; Nimrod B points out in a post that the deer’s eyes look too cloudy to be shot during a morning hunt – ending the post with, “Something’s fishy.”

Give me a break.

Before my size 9 Muck Boots step down from this here soap box, let me quickly make a plea for my fellow hunter to quit whanking about cyberscouting. It sucks, yep. I too don’t really want people meeting me at 4 a.m. at my favorite duck-hunting spot. That also is why I don’t post about my favorite places. In this case, Nimrod A all but gives the GPS coordinates to his best spot with pictures in parking lots of public launches, near recognizable markers, etc. Then Nimrod A is complaining about the skybusters that are 75 yards from him the following weekend.

You can’t fault people for utilizing all available resources to improve their chances at success. You fault Nimrod, who opted to tell the world. Cyberscouting, afterall, is sort of like performance enhancing drugs for lurkers!


Happy Anniversary!

Five-hour flights across the country provide ample time for the mind to wander. Amid the journey of mine today was the realization that this week is the 13th anniversary of a monumental moment in my hunting life.

It was a Tuesday in October of 1997 when I plopped down at a table in a Creative Writing class at St. John Fisher College. Another student at the table asked if he could borrow my notes from the previous session the week prior. I’ve never been accused of being a solid note taker, but it mattered not in this case because I too had missed the last class. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I decided to explain further why I’d be no help.

“Sorry, I wasn’t here. I was hunting the archery opener.”

The interesting part about this was the fact that I’d never before connected with the student. In fact, he was a slick-haired, preppy dresser who might only be offended by the fact I was off chasing animals. Surely he had nothing in common with this hay-seed, farm boy. Perhaps that was just enough of a reason for me to answer the way I did.

“You hunt?” he asked.

“Sure do.”

So goes my introduction to Greg Johnston. Greg has become a hunting buddy and dear friend. Rarely is there a hunting expedition that Gregor and I don’t find a way to connect on. Our wives will confirm that we likely talk on the phone some 100+ times between September and January – albeit from 500+ miles apart.

In what only can be considered an ironic moment, there happened to be a text message and voicemail on my cell phone from Greg today as my plane landed. We needed to discuss his hunt from today.

After all these years, we’re still trying to compare notes!


The anticipation of the hunt

My wife and I became parents for the first time just a whisker more than 15 months ago. The eagerness with which we waited for the arrival of our little girl was like only two other great waits that I can compare. The first is the wait for Santa Claus to visit my house as a child. The other is the merciless anticipation for an upcoming hunt.

At this moment, only 13 sunrises lay between me and the annual pilgrimage north to Scio, NY. This is my favorite trip each hunting season for a number of reasons – none of which ranks higher than the opportunity to enjoy the woods with the fellowship of my friend, Kenny. Of course, there also is the opportunity to visit my parents and friends in the homeland that helped shape my being.

The anticipation also finds its roots in the chance to make it into the woods of our family’s farm. It’s not the biggest tract of land – measuring only a few hundred acres when combining all the property – but to me it represents all that a whitetail deer stands for. The rolling hardwoods and large hay fields are dotted with the memories of some 17 years of deer hunting. The anecdotes that are a part of its history, mostly passed down by my father, date yet another 30 years beyond that.

There is the spot where I harvested my first deer (a six point), the place where I saw my first black bear and even the trail my dad and I tracked a deer I had shot the first archery season after his stroke.  The memories are truly countless and I look forward to rekindling those memories at a later time.

We often joke that I feel like I know every tree on that farm. In fact, I can say with certainty that one could blindfold me, make me dizzy and drive for an hour before dropping me off anywhere on our farm and I can tell you where I am and recite each deer encounter I’ve experienced in the area within a minute’s time.

Speaking of minutes, only 18719 to go …