It’s hard to believe it was only a year ago that this giant, 200-inch monster muley stepped out in front of me at 20 yards. It’s even harder to believe how easy that hunt was! Now, how in tarnation can I expect that to happen every year?
After an incredibly difficult season this year, I have two words to say: WHO CARES!? I spent many, many days afield, marveled at God’s natural splendor, and came out with a rejuvenated spirit…many times. And at the end of the season, with hopes and dreams dashed, I still get to come home to a loving wife, a room full of magnificent mule deer trophies, and countless memories of amazing hunts.
A couple years after getting the infamous Droptine Buck, I remember telling my brother Russell that failed hunts don’t bother me anymore because at the end of the day I can go home, take the Droptine mount off the wall, and snuggle with it in bed. Russ got a kick out of that.
What really happens is I hobble downstairs on sore feet, cramping legs, and with a broken ego and weary back. I slowly look up from the floor and stare at these magnificent creatures. If their glassy eyes could see my face, they’d see a man with many more questions than answers. A minute later, solemnity fades and I force a smile. I think these masters of the woods deserve appreciation, and I think I deserve some satisfaction, even amidst failure.
Anyway, failure is relative. I failed to meet my goal this year, but in the final hour I still brought home some sacred meat for the family. Guy Eastman once wrote that if you fail to harvest a deer, it’s okay. It just makes the ones you get that much more special. These words of wisdom have stuck with me, and I want to believe it’s true.
With only a week left in the extended hunt, I saw the looming clouds of failure building. Then I remembered Superbuck and asked myself, “How long is a trophy good for?” It seems a buck like that can keep a man going for a few years, at least.
This year, I will rest on my laurels. I think I’ve earned it.