Shedding The Past

The season is well over. Temperatures in this part of the country have dipped sub zero at times and even the most stubborn leaves have left the branches. And soon, antlers will be falling as well. 

I have never hunted antler sheds. The closest I have come is stumbling over one three tined antler in the mountains of Montana in the middle of a cloudless, moon lit night. Truth is, I almost left it where it laid, believing it to be a weathered branch rather than the part of the crown of some small buck the year before.

This year I decided to set out a shed trap. A humane and passive attempt to catch antlers as bucks come to get some nourishment in the dead of winter. I have no idea if I'll be successful. But perhaps I'll have something to show for it.

When I first mentioned the idea to my wife, she stood perplexed. "Why would you want old antlers? What would you do with them?" To sportsman, antlers are the gold plating on the trophy. Rarely are does mounted unless paired with a buck, or in more lavish examples, taxidermied herds such as one might find on display at Bass Pro Shops or Cabela's. Besides, the creative outdoorsman will find no end of uses for sheds, even if they are just strewn about their domicile as decorations. 

I still have the one from Montana. I can't quite express the reason why. Maybe it ties me to the memories of that summer working at a riding ranch high in the mountains or because it was such a superb find, like finding a gleaming trinket on the sea shore. Why do people collect sea glass or other odd things that wash ashore? Perhaps for the same unspoken reason.

But there's something to the shedding of antlers. Antlers serve a purpose for deer, certainly. They are weapons of war and defense. They are signatures of status. And they are unique. Every year they grow different than the year before. While the deer may not have any further need when they detach, they are still a momento of the previous season, a lost badge of maturity. 

People aren't much different even though they don't grow antlers. We have achievements that we are proud of in the moment, but then we move on. We grow out of old habits and into new forms, develop skills and adapt to new environments and situations where those skills may not apply. 

Finding sheds is tangible reminiscence, a way to recall the previous season when the hunt is over. And an offering for the future. I don't mean this to be some spiritual demonstration, but metaphor. Shedding the past as we move into the future. 

Don't get me wrong, the past is important. It's a journal of ourselves - our failures, successes, achievements and struggles. But, as I've told my children many times and will continue to tell them, we are not our past. Good or bad. We are present. Though the choices we make certainly impact our future path, that path should not be defined solely on our past. 

Deer don't lose their antlers and whisper themselves "oh well, should've been bigger. Should've bred more does. Should've pushed those other bucks out." Neither do they gloat as their crown falls loose saying "how mighty I was! I was a stud. This heard is Mine and Mine alone."

Whether they were the dominate buck siring the next generation of giants or the runt barely able to sense the spikes sticking out, they live oblivious of the past rut or even the past year. 

We humans have the benefit and struggle of knowing our past and choosing our future. Something deer don't. But that doesn't mean we can't learn something from this.

Recently I took a trip through LinkedIn. In a way I've come full circle from where I was a few years ago. On track with a career but in a totally different industry. Many of my old contacts have moved into other areas or roles as well. A few are still going strong in the same position or with the same companies as when I left their circle. These might be considered sheds. Those moments I can look back and reflect on but can't bring with me. Just as a buck doesn't wear their crown of horn perpetually. 

So what to do with these "sheds"? Get lost in the 'what ifs' and 'how comes' that could so easily distract us from the future? Or recognize them as what they are, marks of a season now past. 

2020 itself is a year of sheds. Many of them looked back upon with disdain, fear, and grief. And in the midst of them there are those of hope, love, and new beginnings. This is the cycle of the stag. He grows his crown to fight the battle of the season and when the season ends, readies himself for the coming year of unknowns. 

I read recently about a man who had everything he thought he'd need; all his ducks in a row. An amazing fianceé, options for placement at a prestigious institution, awards, the works. One night he was troubled by a dream that everything came to fruition - an internationally renown award, a houseful of cheery children, a supportive and lovely wife, regal house with two high status automobiles. For what? The dream drove home an emptiness. There was nothing more if he stayed the course. Fame, money, security. To what end? There was no meaning in them. So he shed everything. Left behind it all to pursue something with meaning, something worth striving for that would last.

Bucks will soon be loosing their antlers and foraging for survival. They haven't much else to do. No meaning to their lives but to eat, sleep, survive, breed, and repeat. But as a hunter, I recognize the fight for dominance in their season. I sympathize with their need to survive. Although my life is much more than that, I get the drive to continue on. 

I don't think bucks mourn the loss of their antlers. We shouldn't mourn the past. It is what was. A memory. The hope is next year the tines will be longer, the shafts hefty and the lessons learned etched in our memory so we can make the most of present situations. 

Memories are worth keeping though. Like the shed I still hold onto from that night hiking the sage and pines of the mountain side. That summer was as brutal as it was remarkable. And not one I'm likely to forget though it's some 20 years past. My life has change in marvelous ways, with great peaks and vales along the way. 

Sheds are something we should be willing to lose. But not just because they served their purpose, but because we're changing, growing. Next year, next season, even next week might be something different, life changing or at the very least, memorable. It's ok to go 'hunt' for those things, but only with the knowledge that those moments can't be reclaimed. Recalling the hurts and the joys, the losses and the wins is a good thing when looked upon in a healthy manner. 

An old sitcom was fodder for all sorts of jokes and remarks as one of the characters was middle aged father who sold shoes but always tried to live off the accomplishments of his youth as star quarterback in high school. He tried to drag the glory days of football with him into every facet of life and failed miserably at every turn, making him the brunt of jokes and derision. While it was all meant to be comedic, the writers drew from real life situations. How many times have people identified themselves as the person who accomplished (fill in the blank) yet continue to operate in a here-&-now devoid of any connection or meaning to the past accomplishment?

I am not opposed to taxidermy. The craft requires a fundamental understanding of biology as well as in innate respected for the animal on the table. A good taxidermist is able to take the lifeless form of a harvest, whether fowl, fish or mammal, and breathe the semblance of life back into the creature. Once complete and on display, it becomes a static reminder of the challenge that yielded the displayed result. But I have yet to meet a hunter or fisherman who would be fully satisfied just the one experience. It is not the win, it is not the trophy, that makes the hunter hunt or the fisherman fish. It is the process, the challenge of pitting oneself against a slew of variables and obstacles. Certainly there are less violent pursuits that challenge the participant - like golf.  But the prize is not in the taking. Any I would challenge any hunter who solely hunts for the prize - you've lost the plot. 

The prize is the hunt. Whether failed because you forgot to de-sent or you squeaked the stand trying to keep your muscles from freezing up as you sit like a statue for hours on end. Or whether it was a dead drop shot that played out perfectly as hoped because all the things were just right; the wind, the temperature, sighting in, the release... 

It's for this reason that I don't hunt for trophies. Every hunt is worth it. Rain or shine, blanketing snow or humid breezes. Those are just the fields of play. And if I don't catch a glimpse of a brown fur or hear the rousing sounds of creeping prey, there's still the practice of sitting, waiting, and remembering - and hunting for sheds in my memories.