This past season was challenging. We are now several months removed from the end of the last hunting season and many more before the start of the next. There is preparation. And there is reflection.
While I was greatly challenged by a number of factors from scheduling and work, to family events and responsibilities, to changes in the landscape, one thing remains true - success is what you make it.
My daughter has begged to join me on some of my hunts. And I have prudently declined. Understand that she is adept at shooting, capable of following instruction, and willing to patiently wait. But she hasn't prepared.
Like many things in life, she throws herself into things - head first and full tilt. This can be a blessing. Sometimes the courage and the drive make all the difference in accomplishing what goal you set to complete. But hunting is more about preparation. And reflection.
I've spent many hours reflecting about my hunting practices, strategies, equipment, skills, and more. Sometimes I reflect in the middle of the woods, hanging on the side of tree listening to the sounds of nature sing about me. Sometimes it's as I inventory my gear or work on my equipment.
But the goal, the focus is always the same - where can I do better? Where did I come up short and what do I need to get that next tag filled?
My daughter is beautifully artistic. Passionate, she delves into things with oodles of energy. But often she becomes frustrated or feels defeated because her idea of completion, her picture of the final outcome doesn't match up with reality. She has taken to painting, but like any person fresh into a new craft, the skills are blunt and unwieldy. As she presses on, her hands become more controlled, her bearing more confident and the results only get better with each stroke.
Hunting is just the same. No hunter should ever consider themselves perfect in shooting, in stalking, or any other skill that takes time and repetition to master. There are dozens of professional hunters who have testified to their mistakes, their failures. Sometimes these stem from arrogance, sometimes from lack of preparation. And sometimes, through no fault of their own.
She recently decided to start whittling. After watching several introductory videos on carving a simple figure from a block of basswood, she jumped into the exercise, fired up and buzzing with excitement.
The challenge she faces is her perspective on the end result. Thinking that a few minutes slicing away curls of wood from a block with result is a perfect representation of a woodland animal stood in stark contrast to the rough shape that sort of looked like the silhouette of her imagination.
And so she collapses. Defeated, angry and hopeless.
The first thing I tell her is "breathe." Just breathe. Let the weight of it out and away. To me this is no different than when I've put the sight over the vitals of my target. With everything lined up and ready to go, holding my breath will only result in poor shot. I need to breathe. Let out the adrenaline and excitement. Focus on the moment, the trigger or string, the sight, the graceful movement of the game before me. Breathe and shoot. If I've done everything as I should, as I practiced and prepared for, I shouldn't have to go far to collect my harvest. But if I hold my breath and my vision starts to cloud, my hands tremble, my heart races and my lungs burn, I'll miss my mark.
Hunting isn't about the taking of game. That's a goal, yes. But hunting is an active word. The connotation is movement, progress. That's where my daughter struggles.
The second thing I tell her is "you are not the sum of your failures." I don't know where I heard that, but it's stuck with me. It's so easy to condemn ourselves because of poor choices or mistakes. The moment we define ourselves as failure, we've lost. All of it. Our hope blinks out, our passion dies and our heart becomes too heavy with defeat to press on. And each subsequent trial becomes a practice in enduring pain.
I've missed my share of deer. And I've had a couple shots that landed in poorly placed locations leaving me with an empty tag and a wounded deer wandering until it doesn't. I'm not proud of those moments. And I hurts to know I could have avoided it if I did ____. Mostly, if I would have just breathed.
I didn't stop hunting after I blew my first shot, or second, or third, or.... I pressed on. Checked myself. Practiced the skills. Prepared best I could so next time I would have the advantage.
This year may be the year she goes out with me. But first, she'll need to learn to breathe. And then, learn that missing the mark doesn't make you a failure - it provides the opportunity reflect and to grow, mature.
She continues to paint and she's gotten better at not being so hard on herself. She's learning to enjoy the process of growing. And it's inevitable. Growth takes time. It is a process and one that can't be circumvented or ignored.
