Year: 2010

You generally have to sit a lot of hours in a treestand before you get a chance to see a truly spectacular buck within bow range. Before this morning, it happened once to me, when I didn’t have a tag for a buck. On that morning, I watched as the monster pawed and dug up the ground on a little hillock in front of me. After a good 10 minutes, he finally meandered slowly over to my tree, looked directly up at me, and sauntering slowly into the forest behind me.

I wasn’t expecting another chance this morning. When it happened, my lack of good preparation of shooting lanes from my stand forced me into a difficult ethical decision regarding the shot I was presented with.

It started soon after sunrise – maybe 45 minutes or so into shooting light. I’d rattled a few times, but hadn’t seen anything yet. I hear the casual rustle of a deer behind me, and slowly crane my neck around the tree to see what it was. A buck who was probably a 2 year old is back there, sniffing through the leaf litter on the forest floor.

A short rattle brings his head up, and gets him headed across the creek over toward me. He isn’t an animal I’m going to shoot, but I’m hoping I can get him headed up the hill toward my brother-in-law, who is looking only for meat, and isn’t going to be picky about antlers. Luckily, he points himself up the right path, and I’m able to drop a line to give him a casual little spook up that trail.

I sit and wait, expecting to hear the twang of an arrow soon, but am disappointed when the young fella’ spook out of the hedgerow and into the meadow in front of me. A nice try, I think, but we missed out chance at that one. But watching him looking back over his shoulder into the hedgerow, there’s something different about the way he spooked out. He’s watching something intently, but if he’s seeing a person, he’d be runnin’.

I’m wondering if it might be another buck that spooked him out, when movement a little higher up the hedgerow catches my eye. Stepping slowly but deliberately toward the young buck is a magnificent animal about twice his size. His swollen neck was in perfect proportion to the huge basket of antlers he carries like a crown on his head. The mahogany colored antlers sport at least 6 points on a side, though I didn’t really do a detailed analysis. The upright prongs are long and deadly.

The young fella wants no part of this big boy, and they both know it. After assuring the young guy is headed safely away from his territory, the big boy slowly starts to move across the open field. This action has all taken place about 50 yards in front of me.

I’m not sure what happened back there in the hedgerow, but my intuition tells me that this big boy had been attracted to the rattlin’ that I’d been doing, and was slowly making his way down toward the sound. I’ve seen this happen before, where the big boys approach a rattle like a grey ghost, staying silent and hidden until they get a good look at who’s sparring. I suspect the big ones let the battle play out, then move in to chase off both the victor and the defeated – both of whom are likely worn out by the battle they just played out.

In either case, I know I’m glad this big guy decided that the young fella was the source of the noise, and had come out into the open. Now that I had him out, I want to see if I can get him over to me and into one of my shooting lanes. I’m cursing silently to myself that I didn’t do a better job of clearing lanes.

I give a short, rapid rattle. His head snaps back toward me immediately. I realize immediately that I was probably too hasty, as he’s now approaching me from my most visible angle, making it hard to pull a draw on him unless he turns away from me. To make matters worse, the breeze is blowing right across me and toward him. It would have been smarter to let him get across the field before I rattled, so his approach to me would have given him less advantage than he now has. Too late – write this one down in the lesson book. Patience, grasshopper…

He saunters toward me with that “cock of the walk” embodiment of pure strength and grace that only a massive whitetail buck can display. I’m sitting dead still, avoiding a direct stare into his eyes as he stares directly at me while approaching to find the source of the rattle he’d just heard. At about 30 yards, he stops to evaluate. If he’ll only look away for a minute, I can draw and be ready for him. But that doesn’t happen. Instead, he starts his walk again, stopping at 25 yards and presenting a perfect broadside shot to me. But I can’t get a draw on him while he’s staring directly at me.

I wait, and he walks out of the shooting lane and behind some brush. Rapidly but silently, I draw and aim at his form moving behind the brush. Rather than walking into the next lane, he detours a bit, and decides to rub up a small sapling. I’ve been holding this draw for long enough that my arms and shoulders ache, so I let down to wait.

Four times I draw on him as he moves around in the brush beneath me, and four times I let down as he stays out of the shooting lanes. There are two lanes that I should have cleared, and had I done so, I’d be planning a trip to my taxidermist. Few things in life bring the bitter taste of regret to a hunter’s heart as much as holding a draw on the animal of a lifetime as he moves behind some twigs that should have been cleared in preparation for the hunt.

A couple times he stops behind sparse vegetation, and I can easily loose the arrow. There’s a good chance the arrow will clear through the twigs and make a good hit where I’m aiming. There’s also a better than fair chance it will glance off one of the twigs, and result in a poor shot.

I hold and wait. It’s the right decision – the ethical decision – and the one that stings the most.

He eventually catches a big enough snootful of my scent that he decides this is not the spot for him, and trots off. I try rattling again, but am unable to get him to reconsider. He’s seen what he needs to see, and doesn’t like it.

My curses are aimed at my laziness in not clearing shooting lanes well enough, and they aren’t quite as silent as they were a few minutes ago. I spend an hour in the late morning doing the work I should have done when I set the stand up, clearing the lanes properly. Like a penance that helps focus thought and reflection on the deed that earned the penance, I use the work to drive home the need to be more meticulous in my preparation in the future.

While I’m upset with myself for making such a novice mistake, I’m also grateful for the chance I had to watch this guy walking around within 20 or 30 yards for as long as he did. My encounter with him taught me some practical lessons. The bitter regret in my heart for a rare opportunity squandered is only slightly eased by the recognition that when faced with the tough ethical decision about whether or not to take a low-percentage shot, I came down on the right side of the decision.

I know that as time goes by, I’ll replay the events of this morning many times in my memory. I know that on many days, I’ll tell myself that I should have taken the shot through the branches.

I’ve made those sorts of bad decisions in my life, and I know the taste of the guilt and remorse the seeps out of the memory forever. On those days when I convince myself that I should have taken the risky shot, I’ll be only slightly comforted in the knowledge that it’s a regret that’s a lot easier to swallow and taste than the regret of a poor decision gone bad.

It started raining just as I got set up in my treestand this morning. This is my hilltop treestand, one that I need to drive to get to. I park my truck about half a mile away, and walk in while it’s still good and dark. By the time I’m in the stand and ready, I’ve generated quite a bit of heat to keep me warm for the 30 minutes until the sky starts to show a little light.

It was a slow process this morning – the sky showing light. The clouds sort of mushed night and day together, so darkness crept slowly away as a gray light grew on the meadow in front of me. The rain was never particularly heavy, but combined with the wind, quickly burned up the reserve of warmth I built up hiking in. It wasn’t long until I was trying to work all the muscles I could internally, while remaining still on the outside, in order to generate a little more heat.

I started rattling as soon as the light was good enough to shoot. Nestled up against the face of the dark timber behind, I watched the gray meadow in front of me, and the edges that lead to the meadow.

The sound of the wind and rain jams one of the key senses that a deer has – their ability to hear – so they like to stay hunkered down when this sort of weather comes up. True to form, they stayed tight to their beds this morning, and I never saw a single deer moving.

I took a long and circuitous route back to my truck, exploring other corners. I found a spot or two that looks like it’s had more buck activity than the one I choose, but I’ll stick where I am.

I like the spot where I have this stand set up. I’ve had a couple of pretty magical encounters with deer while sitting here, and have come to think of it as my special mystical hilltop. Regardless of what happens this week while I sit at that meadow, being there fills my heart and soul with goodness and a deep connection to this Place.

The rain seems intent on keeping up all day. Even if it does, I’m thinkin’ I’ll spend some more time this evening with my mystical little corner of the world.

I usually try and stay out of politics in this blog, but just can’t resist today.

It is amazing to me that the Democrats in the House of Representatives re-elected Nancy Pelosi as their minority leader. She was completely ineffective as the majority leader, and I see no reason we should expect her to do a better job now that her party is in the minority. I would go so far as to say that in my opinion, her personality, style, and lack of effectiveness was one of the big reasons why the Dems fared so poorly in the majority.

As for the Republicans, John Boehner wins without a contest, which is even more appalling to me. The fact that this guy walked around handing out big tobacco checks to Senators who were kind to big tobacco made a mockery of our democracy, rubbing our faces in the fact that he and his ilk are owned by big money. Over the past 2 years, his entire career has been nothing but an effort to thwart any of The People’s business from happening on the Senate floor.

Shame shame shame.

A nice buck is standing right behind the tree I’m in, sporting for a fight with another buck. There isn’t another buck here, but he thinks there might be based on the antlers I’ve rattled twice. He’ll walk into range for me in just a few minutes as he sniffs around looking for an opponent to size up.

He’s a nice buck – probably 4 on a side but maybe 5. I saw where he likes to lay up late yesterday afternoon, and figured I could rattle him in to this spot early this morning. I was right…

I watch him walk past me. He’s within range, but he’s headed up to where my brother-in-law is sitting, and he’ll probably have a better shot than I will. Plus, it’s early in my week of hunting here, and I don’t want to use up my buck tag this early unless it’s a real big boy.

This morning is pristine and perfect. Right at about freezing, with the promise of a nice day, and the rut is just coming into bloom. Climbing up into this stand this morning I was reminded of how scary the climbs in the dark can be when there’s frost on the handholds, footholds, and stand. That last hoist onto the platform always gets the heart pounding.

I enjoy the scenery for the rest of the morning, not seeing any other deer. The squirrels who call this little corner home aren’t at all happy that I’ve taken up temporary residency here, and make their opinion quite clear to me. To make up for it, though, there are a couple of really friendly Chickadees who are quite curious about me, and often will land within a few feet of me as they flit about the branches. A pair of Hairy Woodpeckers find a good cache of something under the bark nearby, and work away for quite a while.

At one point, a Cooper’s Hawk, (of course, it could have been a Sharp Shinned), is flying silently through the branches straight toward me, and veers at the last minute. He flies within 2 feet of me, but far too fast for me to make out many details. The grace of his silent dance through the branches is breathtaking, and I suspect he’ll find breakfast pretty quickly as thick as the birds are in these trees.

In the evening, as I’m back in the stand again, the Chickadees have become even more curious and friendly. Though I wish the hawk good luck in his hunting, I’m glad that these little guys who add some social complexion to my solitary treestand didn’t end up as a meal for him today. Before the light goes completely, I’m able to get a new buck down here into my corner, but he’s not one I’ll shoot either – he’s probably a 3 year old.

After climbing down out of the tree, I squat quietly in on the damp ground for a few minutes to listen around me. Hoisting my pack and picking up my bow, I start a slow and quiet walk toward the house in the dappled moonlight of the lane. I’m comforted by the look of the house as I approach it, hearing the dogs barking up the lane a ways.

Few things feel as good to the heart as the sight of home as you approach it in the dark of a chilly night. The warm light pouring out of the windows into the chilly darkness fill you up inside with the promise of a warm fire inside. It’s hard to keep a smile off your face while looking forward to the friendly banter of family inside, and warm comfort food spooned into a bowl.

It feels good to be me right now, and my heart is full of thanks.

Though I try and stay generally non-political in my blogging, Tikkun recently published an article by me that I’d like to link to here. I’ll offer a bit of a warning and spoiler: If you’re either truly conservative or truly progressive in your leanings, you’ll enjoy the article. However, if you’re either extreme right-wing or extreme left-wing in your leanings, you’ll not like the article.

Fair enough.

Progressives and Conservatives – A Case For Exquisite Harmony

My son Jesse is in Vietnam, managing construction projects over there, teaching folks how to plan and build. Vietnam is booming right now, and companies there are looking for ways to leverage American construction knowledge. I talk to him most mornings, (or in his case, evenings), and through these conversations I’m coming to understand more about craftsmanship, quality, and just how much I’ve taken these values for granted in my life.

Jesse’s particular “craft” is decorative concrete. He’s an artist really, who happens to use concrete materials to build beautiful work that becomes part of a home or place of business. From stamped patios to countertops, he cares deeply for how something looks, and how well it’s put together. He’s built a valuable reputation as someone who “does it right”.

When a Vietnamese company hired him to come over there and work with them, he thought it was for his skill with decorative concrete. Now that he’s over there, though, he’s realizing that their culture is a long ways away from even beginning to understand that sort of concrete.

It’s a pretty foundational concept and value in the American Psyche – the notion of quality workmanship. During my own generation, we let some of that value slip away, and it’s still slipping today. But it’s such a basic underpinning of who we are that many generations will pass before we’ve lost it altogether.

Not that we do everything right. Not that we don’t know how to do shoddy work. We make mistakes, and we do sometimes do shoddy work. But we know it’s shoddy when we do it, and we generally see the mistakes for what they are.

For years, Detroit built cars that were works of art. To this day, few things are as beautiful as a ’56 or ’57 T-Bird, or a ’58 or ’59 Corvette or ’63 Corvette Stingray. How about the ’67 GTO (in black of course). These cars were all built as a result of a solid connection between the American worker and a belief in good workmanship and a quality product. I could go on for pages and pages about things like American furniture, or the solid stone homes throughout the Midwest, or the fine bicycles that are built in small shops across American still today.

We get quality. We get fine workmanship.

I’m learning through Jesse that this isn’t a universal notion – the idea of understanding quality workmanship. As he tries to teach workers in Vietnam some of the most basic notions of how to build a quality product, he’s learning that their cultural vocabulary just doesn’t seem to include an appreciation of a well-planned and well-executed project, or of the difference between a truly fine concrete finish and one that’s barely passable. Their cultural vocabulary seems much more focused on getting done quickly, regardless of the future costs of poor planning. They have a focus on the appearance that something is completed, rather than on an understanding of something done well that will last.

I remember when I was young, and a tag that said “Made in China” was something I was taught to avoid. It implied not only that the product was probably cheaply made, but also that buying the product supported a “system” that we didn’t believe in.

Somewhere in the 56 years of my life, we’ve turned this notion on its head. Now corporations like Walmart seem to be dedicated to stuffing stores with junk made in China. And people shop at these stores, either unaware or uncaring about what this represents.

50 years ago, “Made in America” represented something of great value. Good, hard-working people went to work in well-paying jobs and made good quality products. We knew how to pay people well to do a good job, and how to create and innovate. We knew how to build a 1958 Corvette. OMC built motors that would last for generations, not months or years.

We could have exported this to the rest of the world. We could have taught the rest of the world how to appreciate quality in the same way we appreciated quality, and how to find the elegance, simplicity, and beauty in products that were made well.

Or we could have imported another way of thinking. We could have imported the idea that cheap is better than good. We could have imported the idea that workmanship is worthless, and we need to pay people the lowest wage we possibly can, rather than a wage that will allow them to live well and support other well-paying jobs.

The American Worker would have benefited far more from the first course of action. We The People would be much better off if we’d have invested in exporting American Workmanship overseas. However, large corporations could show a better short-term bottom line by following the second course of action.

Guess which one we chose? We’ve now effectively eliminated organized labor in this country, which was the single most important factor in maintaining a living wage for the American Worker. Companies like Walmart have been very effective in exporting American jobs overseas, while working tirelessly to assure that their workers never enjoy the benefits of organized labor. We’ve lowered our standards of quality in this country, and we’ve accepted that everything we buy is throw-away.

For anyone who thinks I’m being racist in some way in this article, I think you’re missing the point. It isn’t that people in Vietnam or China are “less” somehow than people in America, it’s just that their culture places value on different things. In many instances, I think there are values in these cultures that we should be learning from and importing – they’re better than ours.

But understanding quality and fine workmanship isn’t one of these. Quality Workmanship seems to be something that still flows through American blood, and this is one of those things that we should be exporting, rather than importing the alternative.

Jesse’s a smart guy. He’ll figure out how to teach his colleagues in Vietnam how to focus on quality workmanship, and how to run a project efficiently. By the same token, I’m sure there are some extremely valuable qualities that he’ll pick up from them. I’m just sorry that as a country, we didn’t do that same thing, and instead allowed the short-term profits of a few large corporations like Walmart to define the decline in the culture of American Craftsmanship.

What if one of the major news networks had a reputation for consistently pressuring reporters, editors, and producers to present information that was blatantly biased, distorted, or plain lie? What if they had a reputation for going so far as-to fire reporters and others who refused on ethical grounds to write or produce stories that were fabrications and lies?

I know we all talk about how untrustworthy certain “news” sources are, and we know that there’s one in particular who has the sort of reputation I’ve described. We also know that there are lots of folks who watch this particular news source, and who’s response to such accusations always seems to be something to the effect that everyone does it, and their source just gets picked on more than others.

But surely if one of these allegedly fired employees took this news outlet to court, (let’s call them faux news here just because we’re talking about making stuff up), said news outlet would work hard in court to vindicate themselves – to prove that they don’t really force their employees to lie and fabricate stories just to support their political agenda. Right? Surely they would, because if they didn’t, they’d be exposed as nothing but a lying propaganda hack, right?

Wait for it…

What if instead, this faux news network went to court and argued that sure, they lied and made stuff up, and that it was their right to do so under the first amendment. Furthermore, they had the right to fire people who refused to lie with them and for them, as this also somehow was covered by their first amendment rights. No refutation of the allegation that their news was fabricated to support a particular political agenda, no fight for credibility in the eye of the public, but brazen boasting that sure they make stuff up and lie to their audience, and they have the right to do so.

No really. This really happened. I’ll not name anybody here – if you think I’m making it up there are lots of ways to check it out and form your own opinion about what happened. They were sued and lost, and upon appeal to a federal court, the verdict and award were overturned. They then went on the air and boasted that they’d been vindicated. I’m sure their audience thought that meant that it had been decided that they didn’t lie after all, rather than the truth, with is that they argued that of course they make stuff up and lie to their audience. And they won. They now have court precedent allowing them to continue to blatantly lie and distort and make up whatever they want to, and present it to the public as-if it were truth.

I know this all sounds really surreal. But it’s really true. And the saddest part to me are the following 2 bullets:

• That the courts in this country once again treat a corporation like a person. There is no Bill of Rights for corporations – THEY ARE NOT PEOPLE. The First Amendment protects the speech of The People, not of a corporation.
• Most sad is that the folks who watch the collection of trash that they call news on this particular network are not swayed in the least by this sort of revelation – doesn’t bother them a bit that they’re being fed fiction and lies and distortion in the guise of “news”.

I don’t care what side of any political spectrum you’re on. Personally, I’m very conservative, but not at all right-wing. We should all be responsible enough to demand a level of truth and credibility from our news sources, and when one of them does what this one did, anyone with an ounce of concern for honor, integrity, credibility and truth should never, ever, allow that outlet to run on any media source they watch.

Care to guess which one it was? 🙂