Posts

Why I Hunt

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Get a lot of folks that don't hunt ask me why I do..... My immediate reply is to ask "When was the last time you sat by yourself for five hours straight without a sound or outside distraction all while immersed in nature influenced only by your enhanced senses?"... Knowing the answer for most would be never without having to even ask the question.

They often reply "I don't think I could do that, sit still for that long". To which I reply, in a non-judgmental manner, "That's your problem." ... Life nowadays gets faster and faster. Every thing is immediate. Anxiety and depression go hand in hand with burning out which everyone will experience if you don't willfully slow yourself down sometimes.
"Take pride in yourself for that." The woods and its subsequent silence works as a natural filtration system for your mind and body. Couple that with the adrenal boost that comes with hunting and it becomes one of the most efficient methods…

True tales of macabre from the PA wilds: Shapeshifters.

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All my life there has been a fascination with the paranormal. I've had my fair share of the unexplainable happen, enough to shatter skepticism. A prevalent instance or should I say instances involves something that I had never really looked much into but has happened to me so many times, all over the state of PA, that it would be difficult to quantify.


Shapeshifters: -- In mythology, folklore and speculative fiction, shapeshifting (or metamorphosis) is the ability of a being or creature to transform its physical form or shape. This is usually achieved through an inherent ability of a mythological creature, divine intervention, or the use of magic.




For years I have been having encounters with shapeshifters while out in the wilds of Pennsylvania (Plenty of you are calling BS right now I know, I would too had I never experienced it). Encounters as recent as three days ago even. Unexplainable instances that for the life of me I cannot understand how they happen but they do almost every…

Wise Words from a Friend

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I love this time of year. I get to talk to my friends, people at work, in a store, all around my everyday life about Deer. About archery, hunting, rut predictions, trail cams, stand sites.... you get the point. What people have harvested, what they are seeing, what they missed, all the things that we, as hunters, live for. 

It is a very short time frame, our window is small and not always crystal clear. That magical moment can happen at anytime. But life can get in the way of our passion, we may have to work, take care of the kids, be "responsible", act like grown ups, it happens, we get frustrated, upset, mad because we do not want to miss IT!

I know, get to the point already. Well in one of these at work conversations, a friend named Jeff was telling me the story of his hunt. All about the weather, wind direction, stand setup and describing the surrounding forest. As I listened, I could see the whole picture. We all can when someone is excited to share their passion with a f…

The Right Side of Solitude

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I've experienced what in my mind is the most amazing thing in the world.... watching the birth of both my boys takes it. It was a time where absolutely nothing else that ever happened in my life really mattered, just that exact moment.... All else was silent.

My second, and it relates, is watching the woods wake up around me on the first day of archery season.



The heightened senses gained by sitting in the pitch black of the forest as a twig cracks 60 yds down the hollow yet feels like it's 5 feet away.... The solitude of that exact moment.

The seeming dip in temperature right before the sun opens it's eyes coloring the sky. The fullness of the moment when the most and the least are going on all around you simultaneously.

And that's all before you even set eyes on the silhouette slinking silently at 35 yds and realize that it will be broadside at 20yds in 40 seconds and its got a rack..... that particular type of solitude runs a close third.

The Hunters Son: Disappointment and Failure

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I recall fondly those evenings, breath fogging up the living room windows as the crisp fall wind spread leaves across our property like a painting, awaiting the return of my father from the hunt with fevered anticipation. Adrenaline pumping through my tiny frame.

Watching his silhouette exit his vehicle and opening the tailgate to retrieve his gear, hoping that momentary pause he took was one of appreciation and fulfillment as he gazed upon his latest harvest. Living vicariously through him in hopes that one day I would be the one pulling into the driveway with a harvest of my own. The vast majority of the time he simply retrieved his bow and came into the house to relay to me stories of the woods and its bounty, stories that went beyond just filling our freezer with meat.

I recall the disappointment at first, building an early assumption that a rack would be protruding from the back of his truck on each return trip -- not knowing, at that time, the benefits I would draw from that ini…