by Ted Nugent

Not a day goes by where an American outdoorsman doesn’t confide in me that due to the increasingly complex, illogical hunting and fishing regulations across the nation, that it would not surprise them that they have unintentionally violated a game law at some point in time. Other outdoorsmen routinely express their frustration about regulations that serve no purpose and cannot possibly be explained in terms of wildlife management.

America is increasingly drowning in just such strange, goofy regulations and requirements. As logic crusader John Stossel recently exposed, our federal government releases roughly 80,000 pages of new regulations each year–confusing, ambiguous, weird illogical regulations that serve no meaningful purpose other than to feebly attempt to justify bureaucracies already off the rails. It’s way past bizarre.

The “you don’t need to read it, you just need to sign it” health care bill argued before the Supreme Court was almost 2,000 pages long of extraordinarily complex rules and regulations. Sarcastically, Supreme Court Justice Scalia stated that reading the bill was a violation of the 8th Amendment’s cruel and unusual punishment clause.

Regrettably, state hunting regulations have also been ravaged by the over-regulation beast. In Alaska, the hunting regulation book is 128 pages long. The Alaska trapping regulation is 48 pages.

Alaska is not alone. Numerous other states have seen incredible expansion of their hunting regulations over the past few decades. In Texas, the summary of hunting and fishing regulations is 85 pages. The hunting regulations in California are roughly 140 pages long.

Even with an increasing mountain of often confusing and complex hunting and fishing regulations to abide by, sportsmen have a legal and ethical obligation to know and abide by these regulations, no matter how goofy they may be. I have said this for decades and will continue to do so as we fight to make them sensible.

I have hunted in Alaska for almost 40 years. It is a spectacular, beautiful place that offers incredible big and small game hunting cherished by sporters from around the globe.

In 2009, I returned again with my sons to Alaska to hunt black bear. What I was unaware of is that the specific region where I hunted had a new and unprecedented requirement that a bear hunting tag was considered to be “filled” even with a non-lethal hit on the animal. For sixty years, every “tag” regulation in every state and Canadian province has declared that you tag the animal upon taking possession of the animal.

The first arrow I shot on that hunt was obviously a non-lethal shot where the arrow literally glanced off the animal’s rib, as seen clearly on stop action video. The bear leapt, stopped, looked around, and slowly ambled off, confused but unhurt by the disruption. After diligent effort by my son and me, we were convinced that this bear was alive and well. We then continued our hunt and ultimately killed a beautiful black bear.

I filmed the entire hunt including the first non-lethal arrow and put it on my television program Spirit of the Wild on Outdoor Channel for tens of millions of viewers to witness. Airing the hunt on television proves beyond all doubt that I had no willful intention to violate any hunting regulation.

Was I negligent in not knowing the Alaska bear hunting rule for the specific region I hunted that year? Absolutely. For my negligence, I have been charged with a violation and I pled guilty. To the best of my knowledge, I am the only person ever charged with violating this new, unheard of law. Lifetime AK hunters, guides, outfitters, even the resident judge at my hearing were unaware of such an unprecedented regulation.

While I disagree with Alaska’s requirement that a tag is considered to be “filled” even on a non-lethal hit, that was the requirement at the time of my hunt. Had I known of that requirement, I would not have hunted that region because I fundamentally disagree with it, and I certainly would not have hunted another bear.

I have promoted the grand, honorable hunting lifestyle all of my life and will continue to do so. Hunting, fishing and trapping are the epitome of true conservation.

What I also pledge to American outdoorsmen is to work to repeal onerous, unscientific, counterproductive rules and regulations that make no sense such as the seven states where hunting is banned on Sunday, making 50% of the season illegal for the average hunting families in those states. Idiotic laws such as these are a hindrance to real conservation and the critical need for recruiting new hunters. Such arbitrary laws serve no scientific purpose that benefits the management of wildlife value whatsoever.

The outdoor lifestyle cannot be preserved for future generations of sportsmen by constructing such a labyrinth of confusing, unscientific and oftentimes counterproductive regulations and rules. Reversing this trend is my focus.

While I have never intentionally violated a hunting regulation, ignorance of the law is no excuse, and I am truly sorry, and have paid dearly. There is even less of an excuse for ignorant laws.

Hi Folks,

Attached is a customer review of the new Vital X Vision (3Pin).

Highlights:

• Metal Pins with pass through fiber
• Longer Arms
• Micro Adjustment Clicker Windage
• More cut-outs for a lighter product.

For my birthday I bought some new carbon arrows, not many just three.

I was rounding out a dozen where I’d lost, or destroyed a few. Rounding out my dozen makes me feel good. There is some security for an archer in that, not having a dozen makes me feel incomplete somehow lacking, sort of the way opening your refrigerator and finding it mostly empty feels.

Part of becoming arrow whole again is to get those arrows fletched, which I’m doing as I write this, one vane at a time. Fletching jig at my side, I glue one on, blog rhapsodize myself silly, then glue another and so on. Becoming whole again.

I thought I’d also work on my whiskers. Laurel and the kids got me brown whiskers for my birthday, something I’ve always wanted, although I didn’t know it until a few months ago.

Whiskers or string silencers absorb vibration coming off the bowstring making it quieter, making me stealthy and badass so beware all you critters out there that I’ve not yet ever hunted!   Plus they are appealing traditional gear that looks nice, nothing wrong with that.

Putting them on is a whole other matter though, I checked the web and right away ran into a Mana’o Productions Youtube video on the subject. It’s on the long side but this dude has his quiver in order, real pro, liked him right away. I’m including it below for those of you who want to take the time to learn a new skill, polish up or just check it out. If you don’t care just skip it.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyGuPxe1BMA&w=853&h=480]

As soon as I was done I went outside and shot a few ends and was amazed at how well they work. On this light 35 lb bow I only lashed on two but I will do the four that Mana’o recommends on my heavier bow and see how it goes. The whiskered approach is meant as a refinement in further quieting an already quiet tool, certainly for bowhunters. I would think the soul searchers would appreciate them also, providing them with an easier, quieter path to the introspection they seek.

Check out my personal blog at:    http://charlesarcheryblog.wordpress.com/

ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?                                                                                                by Ted Nugent

When I ask myself if I’m ready, I mean am I really ready for anything and everything, all the time. Way before I think about preparing for the upcoming hunting season, I discipline myself to be ready for the day, each and every day when I rise to carpe’ diem! And boy do I ever carpe’ that Diem with a full throttled vengeance. Why mess around. Plan B is for clowns who think Hee Haw was a documentary.

I of course take the absolute best care possible of my mind, body, spirit and soul. I don’t eat junk, remain clean and sober at all costs, and fast food at the Nugent household is represented by teal in the freezer. We know our body is a sacred temple, and sacred temples don’t have toxins or blubber, San Antonio.

By the time I was nine, my wonderful over-disciplinarian dad drilled into our heads that the Boy Scout motto was not only for Boy Scouts, and that not only is being prepared the right and only mindset to have, but being unprepared is downright irresponsible and dangerous. Does anybody other than the Nugent boys still live this way? I hope so.

I lift myself out of bed, go through all the prepatory personal hygiene and fortification procedures, and make sure my pants pockets have all the bare essentials; pocket knife, folding knife, large handkerchief, truck and house keys, chapstick, lighter, folding reading glasses, small flashlight, spare 3V battery, a wad of guitar picks, wallet with ID, credit cards, cash, insurance card, a few business cards, family photos, a couple of bandaids, and a flat, lighted magnifying glass. No bulk, perfectly streamlined.

Then I go to my belt, on which I secure my handgun(s), spare mags, and belt tool.

In my double pocketed shirt I find my ever present small pad, pen, marker and cell phone, my law enforcement credentials and shield.

Okay, I’m ready for anything.

My truck is a whole different story, loaded with the basic survival, emergency gear obvious to those who live the rugged individualism that makes America and Texas great. Registration and proof of insurance, heavy duty work gloves, phone charger, flashlight, basic tools, air compressor, tire gauge, 1^st aid kit, chainsaw,  flares, HD jack, jumper cables, rifle with lots of spare ammo, rain slicker, towel, snake bite kit, fire starter, a few MREs, some water and spare sun glasses to just name some of my gear.

You notice my phone, keys, handgun and other basics are on my person, not in my truck. A knife in the truck does not quality as a “pocket knife”. That would be a “truck knife” and will not be handy when away from the truck.

Critically, the same goes for your handgun. Everybody at Luby’s that fateful day had their guns in the truck, and only a fool would dare fail to learn from that lesson of life and death. I personally choose life.

Also in my truck is a full tank of fuel. I have taught my family that when the fuel gauge gets to the half way mark, fill er back up. With the lessons learned over so many years, a full tank of gas or diesel can make all the difference in the world when things go bad. And for those not paying attention, things do indeed go bad, and for the truly tuned in, things are more likely today to go real bad now more than ever. There’s a fuel gauge on your dash for a reason. Take a look at it often.

I hang out with some mighty rough and tumble hombres, hard-working ranching, outdoors types that fancy themselves plenty ready to rock. Unfortunately, many Texans are not really prepared adequately, more often than not, leaving everything “in the truck”.

Cellphones are small so as to be convenient to keep on our persons, on hand for when family and friends may really need to get ahold of us. And of course, they should be charged up each night while we sleep.

Same goes for that lovely little belt tool. I use mine dozens of times each and every day.

And handkerchiefs? I cannot believe how few men carry a clean handkerchief with them at all times. I consider it an essential.

As you read this little ditty here in our favorite outdoor publication, we are gearing up for spring turkey season, but I got my turkey hunting gear all reviewed and ready way back in January. In the springtime, I am actually getting ready for the fall hunting season, reviewing all my archery gear and making certain all my hunting gear is in perfect order way in advance so I don’t lose a precious minute when the season is upon us.

I will be rocking my royal keeshker off all summer long, but still shooting my bow and arrows every day to stay on my A game. Like a fighter jet pilot who must be ready at a moment’s notice, I like to manage my life to always be ready so I never have to scramble wildly at the last minute. Being prepared is good. Not being prepared, lame. Be prepared.

THINK DEER                                                                                           by Ted Nugent

You can’t really close your eyes and read this, so instead, concentrate as you read and pump images of deer into your brain. Envision all those stunning beasts you have been so blessed to encounter over so many hunting seasons, and burn that beautiful picture deep into your cranium. Imprint it on your psyche, make it an actual element of your being. Now, doesn’t that feel good.

I am typing this little ditty in my Ranch King deer blind on a cold December afternoon, and I have eight whitetails in front of me right now, all within twenty yards. I sit spellbound.

An old matriarch doe is crazy alert, two doe fawns and a very handsome button buck with huge pronounced nubbins could care less as they nibble away. There is a yearling doe, a yearling three point buck, and a fat stud of a three year old eight point beast. They own me.

My heart is racing rather predictably, and I only keep typing because I am trying to convince myself to not shoot the handsome eight pointer.

Steady Uncle Ted. Steady as she goes.

For all the right reasons, I should kill that old doe as part of my Texas Parks and Wildlife Managed Land Deer Permit plan. We figure eight more does gotta go off our ground, and she’s an old gal that would be perfect to take out to better the herd. We shall see.

I really love hunting, ambushing and killing deer, love watching and videoing them, love being a natural part of their world, love grilling and eating them, really love sharing their sacred flesh with the regional Hunters for the Hungry program and the families of the US Military, but what turns me on the most is the intelligent, stewardship system by which we manage deer and all wild game for healthy, thriving populations and properly balanced conditions. By doing so, I can forever enjoy and celebrate all those other ways that I love deer.

I just looked up again from my laptop, and now there are ten deer. Another shooter doe and a scrawny spike horn buck arrived, and they are all bulking up on feed in the cold weather. They constantly look around and flinch at every bird, every breeze, and for many unknown reasons. What an amazing creature. I would propose that for millions and millions of us, our lives would be dramatically less enjoyable without deer. I know it has always been a powerful force of joy, inspiration and awe for me and my family.

The two big does just stood up on hind legs and went into that flurry of cartwheeling punches with their front hooves. That is some violent behavior right there, and any one of those cloven hooved blows could kill you outright. I am sure that while we are all conveniently tucked away in our cushy homes throughout the year, whitetail deer are knocking the living bejesus out of each other, including killing each other at a much higher rate that anyone really understands.

The button buck is way out of his league haranguing the old girl, as the rut is up and down for the last couple of months. I am real tempted to kill the puny spike and forkhorn, but at only one and a half years of age, their first set of antlers in no way provides a meaningful indicator of their genetic potential. Have you ever noticed that once we decide to not shoot a particular animal, that they pose perfectly broadside with their leg forward for the longest periods of time?

I just gulped a deep breath of freezing air, for a dynamo buckaroo just arrived on scene to take any deer hunter’s breath away. This majestic stag has ten perfectly defined points on his tall, wide, sweeping rack, and represents the kind of monster buck I would never have dreamed of coming in contact with growing up in the Midwest deer woods.

This incredible beast has no idea that a blood thirsty venison addict is only fifteen yards away in this dark blind, with a bow and arrow and razor sharp broadhead and the tags to go with them.

He noses the does and the other bucks give him lots of room, and with all the commotion, you couldn’t ask for a better opportunity to get to full draw on such a great deer. But I just gaze, video it all and type away, for though this buck’s antlers are very impressive and highly desirable, I can tell by his trim neck, brisket and body that he is only two and a half years old, the very definition of a quality deer management specimen to let walk.

I am so proud of myself. I am learning, and his presence literally increases my excitement just knowing such quality bucks are around. It wasn’t that many years ago that I would have killed him in an instant, but like so many other hunters these days, I know I can get all the venison I need by killing the right deer and letting the right deer grow to their potential.

Shooting light is gone now, all the deer have moved off, so I put away my vidcam, attach my quiver back on my bow and get ready to shut down my laptop, absolutely thrilled beyond words that I am a deer hunter. I head home with my soul filled with allthings deer.

Tomorrow in another day, and tomorrow is another deer. I will now fill my belly with some scrumptious backstraps and keep the spirit of the deer alive in everything I do.

TEXAS TEN                                                                                 by Ted Nugent

I never really stop hunting. It is indeed a cherished, time honored lifestyle for me. A wonderful, totally alive, day by day celebratory outdoor lifestyle of great, deeply appreciated, heartfelt gratification. Self-sufficiency. Rugged individualism. Hands-on conservation. Private land ownership. Property rights. Privacy rights. Experimenting in “self-government”. We the people resource ownership and stewardship. The right to keep and bear arms. Live free of die. Don’t tread on me. Surely the ultimate American Dream the way I see it. Independent. Free. Self evident truth, God given right’s. Pursuit of happiness guaranteed. Perfect. You can’t do this in France.

The supremely enjoyable daily routines of checking my trapline, killing varmints, choosing and planting foodplots, running irrigation, positioning new deerstands, constructing groundblinds, upgrading old ones, checking fences and gates, filling waterholes and feeders, trimming shooting lanes, practicing with rifles, handguns, shotguns and bows, arranging and upgrading targets and ranges, training dogs and introducing new people to the joys of shooting, watching and studying wildlife and constantly strategizing ambush zones for my hunting clients, and more, are all chores and enjoyable outdoor activities that I really look forward to each day. Rocking my brains out nearly 100 concerts per year pretty much keeps me busy throughout the summer any way you cut it, so these wonderful activities which I live for in between rockouts do indeed keep me bright eyed and bushy tailed in a constant, energized way. When the actual official hunting season shows up in the fall of the year, my state of mind doesn’t need too much adjusting back to my natural predator mode and spirit. In fact, with the amazing year round hunting opportunities for exotic wildlife in my new adopted homestate of Texas, there are not any “No Hunting” days in my life. How cool is that? Godbless Texas, Godbless America and Godbless the beasts all!

Back in my ancestral homegrounds of Michigan, the seasonal changes are palpable. The air tastes different. Dramatic change is tangible. The planets do indeed realign and there is a mystically altered pulse in the wind. Ya gotta love that. Meanwhile, in the great Republic of Texas, one must routinely check the calendar so see if summer will ever end. Texas is hot. Usually hotter. For an old dyed-in-the-wool Michiganiac, it is a bit of a psychological adjustment to deal with all this blazing sunshine and brutal heat. But as a guitarplayer-cum-U.S. Marine, I can improvise, adapt and overcome with the best of them. And I do. There is no Plan B. It is time.

So it was, as the blistering fireball in the LoneStar sky grilled my inner being, nonetheless, the calendar read October and my spirit insisted on liftoff. All that dedicated boot time on my hunting grounds had kept me abreast of whitetail activity, and this day I chose a tall ladderstand nestled deep, and hidden within the green embrace of a tall pine tree overlooking a winding, rocky creek course amongst the thorny screen of greenbriar, assorted impenetrable tangles and relentless juniper. A line of huge, towering pecan and live oak trees made up the forest before and behind me, and with the gentle southwest breeze, my confidence ran high. It is always a roll of the hunter’s dice, but we had a full on backstrap mojo going on this day. I could feel it. You never know, but we always hope.

After a long wait, the eye-candy parade of beautiful, sleek, healthy does and fawns ghosted from the shadows as the sun dipped lower. Some of the whitetails were red, some brown, others slate grey. A few of the fawns still showed remnant spots, confirming that the breeding does indeed continue well into winter. Momentarily, a small forked horn, a spike and a fat, muscular, slick six joined the group. My elevated ambush hideout gave me a perfect viewing position to watch the group of 20 plus deer carryon undisturbed, and again provided me the greatest joy that is being a hunter. To be on the inside of their natural world has a powerful healing and calming effect on me, and I studied each animal in detail through my Yukon binoculars. Mutual grooming, prancing, kicking, nipping, licking, head butting, sparring, browsing and constantly examining their surroundings with an uncanny alertness entertained me completely. I love every minute of such encounters and it represents a prime allure to the great outdoors lifestyle. The critters never let you down and there is never a dull moment.

Early season bucks tend to hang out in bachelor groups, and the slight glint of bone through the scrub materialized into antlers as five stud boys emerged from the tangle down below. The first two were handsome 2-3 year old eight pointers, followed by a 3-4 year old 9, then another young eight. It was the arrival of massive, tall, wide, light colored antlers that got me. With a dandy set of impressive antlers towering over his distinctive, Roman nosed face, one hog of a mature buck strode up the creek embankment and waddled into view. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that Texas whitetails are small, for this old granddaddy of a buck was every bit as fat, muscular and heavy as a Kansas or Michigan brute up North. I could tell by the deep chest and brisket, and the fat belly that I had before me a 7+ year old trophy. Now the slight trembling began.

Slowly lifting my binocular, I examined this fine buck carefully and realized that I knew this old boy. I had encountered him in this same grove late last season. His distinctive white legs and exaggerated white facial markings clearly identified him as my old buddy. My bow was already at half mast, Scott release locked onto my bowstring, and my mind made up.

The does and fawns and younger bucks backed away as the old boy strode toward the small piles of Wildlife Innovations Buck bran I had put out as an attractant, and now my inner predator ballet was going into the gutpile pirouette hyper two step. I dance divinely.

A slight screen of leaves on a young cedar elm separated my arrow from his vitals, so I had no clear shot. It doesn’t take much interference to deflect a speeding arrow, so I held tight. As goes bowhunting, the big boy kept his forward shoulder toward my position for a long while, and life around me ceased to exist. It was just his ribcage and my broadhead that existed, nothing else.

With a graceful swing of his long neck and head, he took a step to his right, bringing his bulky chest clear of any obstruction, and the mushy 55# CP Oneida bow flexed back smoothly on its own. I zeroed in dead on the crease behind his left foreleg, and the next thing I knew, big white feathers were dangling out of his armpit as he and all the other deer exploded at once. Angling forward as he had turned, the zebra colored GoldTip shaft had surely sliced through his ribs and into the life pumping heart of the old beast, his sagging hindquarters telling of his imminent demise. Big Jim swung the SpiritWild vidcam from the now departed buck’s vaportrail, onto my now smiling, giddy face for the whole word to share, and I was one happy American bowhunter to say the least.

We captured on tape all the glory and joy of this wonderful, perfect hunting connection, then filmed the short, quick bloodtrail and recovery to the heartshot monster. Everytime we collect these wildlife gifts, a Nuge party erupts in the forests and wildgrounds of the world, knowing and celebrating the thrills of being so intimately functional as a beneficial, positive participant in this natural tooth, fang and claw world. Every exacting nuance and detail of the pre-event, anticipation, encounter, shot preparation and intense action is relived and articulated as clearly as possible, so that the viewer of our Spirit of the Wild TV shows and videos better understands the depth of spirit, form and function of the real world that we are living and documenting. Life and death is it. It is perfect. Shame on those who pretend otherwise. Rejoice to be a player.

For the Best of Spirit of The Wild DVDs or Ted Nugent Hunt Music CDs, contact tednugent.com or call 800-343-4868. Dealer inquiries welcome.

Straight Shot
with frank addington, jr.

Frank Sinatra once sang that “Chicago is my kind of town…” Now that I have attended the 2012 Chicago Outdoor Sportsman Show I can also say that after 27 years on stage, Chicago is finally my kind of town too! I’d wanted to work this market for a long time and it never worked out. I’d heard Fred Bear, Ann Clark, Dick Mauch and others talk about the famous Chicago shows but I had never been booked to perform there. I came close in 2011 but it didn’t work out.

It looked like I wouldn’t have a chance to do the show when I heard that there would not be a 2012 Chicago show. However, an east coast based company called MET group stepped up and started to organize a show in three months time! I was booked to perform along with my friend Jeff Watson and his huge bruin, Brody the Bear. There were many other features there of interest to sportsmen including seminars and demos, 3-D archery, and other activities.

My sidekick for the weekend would be one of the show’s employees Jimmy. He’d never thrown for me or even seen the show. I told him what we’d be doing and it was showtime…. he did a super job that first night and I hit the baby aspirin shot second try! I told him he was hired and that I wanted him to throw the rest of the weekend. Saturday morning the audience and Jimmy was amazed when I hit the three baby aspirin/three arrow shot first try! Then we followed that up with three mustard seeds and three arrows–and hit that first try too! Never underestimate the help a good assistant is. There is an art to tossing targets and some people have it and some don’t.

They captured one performance and we have that on video you can see here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEvSZPfbYZ0

I really enjoyed doing this show. Folks asked lots of questions and I remember doing some outdoor radio shows to promote this event. We had good crowds and this show did very well to have been organized in such a short period of time. If you want more information, you can visit the MET Group’s website for this event at :

www.chicagosportsmenshow.com

Special thanks to MET Group, Jimmy, the audiences, show staff and everyone that came to the show. I had a great time and look forward to coming back! The Rosemont Convention Center is a short distance from O’Hare airport which was also handy. Ole’ Blue eyes was right, “Chicago is my kind of town.” Great to be in a town where so many of my archery heroes have performed!

That’s the latest. Coming up: Shows in Indianapolis at the Indiana Deer, Turkey, and Waterfowl Expo and then on to Ohio for the first annual “Eastern Ohio Sportsman Expo.”

Thanks for reading. Until next time, Adios & God Bless.

Shoot Straight,
Frank

CHECK CHECK DOUBLE CHECK CHECK AGAIN

by Ted Nugent

Alright, I better write this while I’m still seething. I am so angry my blood boils, my eyes are bloodshot, I twitch, turning beet red, lips pursed so tight it hurts, fuming, seeing red, snarling, forehead furrowed deeply with a full body scowl to scare the devil himself. Did I mention that I am really, really angry?
The first word in this piece is alright. Well, nothing is all right, I assure you. Anything but.
Being that I fancy myself Mr. Cocked Locked and absolutely ready to ROCK, Captain Detail, Mr. Smarty Pants Know it all master of allthings shoot, hunt, ambush sniper world, it is with great pain, humility and consternation that I am compelled to share with you how Mr. Murphy can sneak into our psyche no matter how dialed in, prepared or attentive we may otherwise dedicate ourselves to be.
Personally, at this point in time, I suck.
Okay, in the real world of meaningful priorities like God, family, health, country and freedom, my painful evening on deerstand last night doesn’t really qualify as all that upsetting. We miss. Get over it. Yet here I am, head hung and forlorn like little Teddy just lost his favorite puppy dog.
Here’s how it unraveled; Throttling onward nonstop with much gusto for my truly inspiring 2011-2012 hunting season, I had a wonderful meeting with my SpiritWild Ranch hunters as the rain poured down on our little chunk of Texas hunting heaven. Everyone was excited to be at our special camp with the barometer and temperature plunging, making for some optimal critter encounter conditions.
Master guide Paul Wilson organized the guys to head out for their killer blinds, and I decided to return to my Ranch King portable tucked into a nice jungle of cedars and tangled blowdowns on the edge of the big hay field.
With rain pelting my snug little coop, I smacked away on my laptop writing more invigorating celebrations of our beloved hunting lifestyle, not really expecting shooter beasts to arrive in the pouring rain.
Next thing I know, a highly desirable, elusive “Alberta” whitetail 10 point is smack dab in front of me eating corn at the Hang Em High feeder before it even went off. YIKES!
I’ve never had a shot at this particular buck that looks like he belongs in the forests of Alberta, Canada, and I was about to implode with excitement at the opportunity before me.
I carefully turned on the SpiritWild vidcam, silently set down my laptop, reached for my bow, then zoomed in on the trophy beast.
He was joined by his girlfriend, then out of nowhere, a spotted axis doe poked her head out of the scrub into my little clearing.
Axis! Axis deer are so incredibly elusive on SpiritWild Ranch that we are lucky to get a quick glimpse at them but few times each year. I knew that if a doe was here, the herd must be close behind.
One by one, the majestic Chital deer emerged, including monster stag after monster stag, right there in front of me, within 20 yards. I captured all their antics as they jockeyed for position until the biggest baddest buck went broadside.
Like a million times before, I picked a spot, gracefully drew back my arrow, and let er rip for a gimme trophy of a lifetime.
And ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the embarrassing NumbNut of The Year Award goes to, (drumroll) Teeeeeddddd Nuuuuuugent!!
My orange Lumenok told no lie as it zinged six inches under the huge stags brisket. At about 18 yards ya all!
I’m here to tell you I was supremely aghast. With my Robin Hood sniper arrow routine going so beautifully all season, how can this possibly be?
As the sickness in my stomach began to subside, I nocked an arrow in the garage, took aim at the Big Green target at 15 yards and sent two arrows touching each other, SIX INCHES LOW!
I cradle and protect my bow with tender loving care each and every day. How the sights could have gotten that far off from one day to the next will forever be a mystery. But since I have written and raved about it so many times over the years, I may want to obey my own rules of bowhunting and take a “feel” shot before each hunt, and I think I shall.
It’s not only an archery thing, but as we all know, each year somebody at many camps somewhere will experience the heartbreak of a bad shot for inexplicable reasons. Inexplicable that is until we admit that we all know things can go wrong, so we really oughtta plan on them and do everything in our power to keep them from happening.
Under most conditions, there will be an opportunity to take that pre-hunt test shot with both bow and or gun so we can be certain everything is tight, sighted in and in order before that long awaited moment of truth on the beast.
Mr. Murphy is a predator, an indiscriminate, soulless, uncaring predator, and as his prey, we best be aware that he is ubiquitous, so check, check and double check, then check again to keep the punk at bay.
I’m on my way to my stand now, and I just took a shot to be sure I am ready. ZI am ready, and vow to always be ready forevermore.

I feel that I am not alone when I say that there is most definitely a bittersweet side to the harvesting of game and the hunt being over. I was fortunate this year to once again fill my Minnesota archery tag with a nice buck. Not only that, but it also was the third consecutive year that I took my buck on Halloween weekend. So to say harvesting my 2011 buck made me happy is an understatement, although deep down there was a strange feeling that was oddly not surprising.

Looking down at my buck lying in the bed of my truck, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat upset. I had spent the last 364 days since I killed my last buck getting ready for that moment, and now it was over. The thought that my 2011 season was over really struck at me, and thinking about a whole year of preparation until the next season seemed depressing. I found it very interesting that despite my success I had mixed feelings about it. This was supposed to be a time of utter celebration and nothing more. Which we did celebrate the harvest, and I most certainly couldn’t have been more happy with a happy ending to a hunting season, but the emotions I felt still kept me uneasy deep down.

Finally an epiphany happened, and I realized why I was feeling these mixed feelings. The happy feelings go without any need for explanation. However, the unhappy ones I found to be caused by the end of a season. I would no longer get to go out into the woods, sit in a tree stand, observe mother nature, and enjoy God’s work. I anticipate that opportunity all year, it is what I essentially live for among other select things. I have also found that it is inevitable that these feeling will come when you put in so much time and effort into the preparations for your hunting season, then have it all come down to the climax and have it end only to start the cycle all over again. The important thing to remember is that you get the opportunity to do it all again. For many this chance doesn’t come. Half the fun of hunting is the off-season preparation isn’t it? The anticipation, the prepping, all working up to that fleeting moment, that is why we do it. So don’t let those end of the season woes get to you. Always remember there is another season coming, so reap the rewards of the recently ended one and start getting ready for next year’s adventures, and remember why we do what we do.