Thoughts on the Opener

So here it is, two days to the season opener for archery in Kentucky. I haven’t got my gear prepped. I’m still not practicing with my bow the way I should be. I’m just not into it yet. I’m getting away this weekend for some hiking and to visit some in-laws. Why?

For years, I hunted only Ohio, and the opening of bow season was and is the first weekend in October. That is what I lived for. That is what drove me. That is what still drives me. Like the bucks, my neck does not swell until the leaves turn. I don’t start knocking over saplings or raking my ears against bushes (ouch!) until there is a bit of a chill in the mornings. It just is that way, and I realize I cannot help it.

Labor Day weekend was always my time to get out and prep the stands, clear brush, prune a shooting lane or two, then hightail it out and wait for a month. Now that I own a place to hunt in Kentucky, that work was done clear back in June and July.

Next week I’ll get out the bow and start shooting a few shots in the evening. Next week, I’ll start washing the clothes and sorting the gear. By mid month I’ll be sporting a nice bruise on my left forearm from taking that one last shot when my concentration is beginning to flag. The family room will be coated with a thin film of sodium bicarb settling on large plastic tubs of freshly washed clothes.

That still does not answer why I’m not hunting the opener. I could have done all this back in August.

Here’s a few ideas:

First, looking at the harvest numbers for September for my county, there seems to be about as much chance of bagging a deer as finding Bin Laden in my bathtub. Harvest numbers jump by a factor of ten in October. I’ve hunted September in Kentucky—short sleeves and mesh baseball caps and and lots of liquids. It’s hard not to work up a sweat and it’s hard not to work up a stink. The deer act like kids in school—barely moving in the classroom, chafing in their new fall clothes. They stay inside and do homework and do not come out to play until the sun is down.

Second, this is the time of year when I need to be plowing something back into the sport. It’s Squirrel Season and #2 and #3 son need time afield. This it when I pull down the .410 and my big floppy hat we go and sit in the big oak groves and listen to the acorns fall. This is when I drag out Grandpa’s Winchester 1897 for its annual trip to the woods and Old Whitey and I go hunting together and I try and listen for him amongst the trees. This is the time of year when fathers hand the gun to their son and tell them to take this one themselves.

Third, it just ain’t the right time. No, not yet. The processor is not answering his phone yet. There is no one in camo at the diner to greet. There are no posters for big deer contests. I haven’t yet caught a high school football game—gotta watch the boys lose at least once, so you won’t feel bad missing the rest of the season. (For those of us in Cincinnati, that includes the Bengals) . No one has put up a sign for a single bond issue, and I have not seen the Halloween stuff in the yards yet.

No, this part of season is unnatural to me. I want to watch the golden maples glowing in the sunrise. At the end of the day, I want a carcass that steams and I want to warm my hands in a body cavity instead of swatting away flies.

There is another reason still. As I delve deeper into the psyche of this cervid serial killer I see in the mirror, I realize that I am slowly passing from being a bow hunter that does gun to a gun hunter that does bow. There was something lurking deep within me, that was awakened hunting with a rifle here in Kentucky, and now it has grown and matured. Bow and muzzleloader has now become merely a prelude to modern firearms. I am loading up some more of the light 308’s. I’ll probably do another batch of 30-06 in 165 grain. I’m working with a new crimp die for the 30-30. It would be a shame to take anything but the largest buck before the Savage 99 had a chance to speak again. I need a day or two out with the Remington 742, and the Winchester and the Marlin. So much to do, so little time until November.