Don't be lame
The main target of this diatribe is a so-called outdoor writer who pens a column in the daily newspaper I work for, but his name will be withheld.
I guess that's because it is Christmas.
I'm tired of reading about how this geezer (and others) write of staying indoors 'cause it's too cold out or they would rather sit and reminisce by the fire with coffee cup in hand occasionally stopping to pat their snoozing bird dog on the head.
Then he'll go on ad nauseam about the joys of fly tying for a season that is months away. What about right now, dude?
Hey, I expect lethargy from my pals and "all my rowdy friends who have settled down," who make up any excuse from being broke, too busy, in need of rest or being henpecked to death by the missus to not come out for a hunt.
But when I pick up an article authored by an outdoor writer, I want to read about an arduous, rugged December hunt for whitetails or the like.
I mean, after all, that's what the hell I'm doing. And will continue to do as long as I'm able.
I often say to myself if I get the targeted deer number I would hang the shotgun up for the season, but I know in my heart I would be heading out the next free day I had because THAT'S WHAT I DO.
If there's too much snow on the ground to bird hunt, then I'm gonna find something else to pursue through the Michigan woodlands and farm fields.
Hey, today, even my 7-year-old son endured the elements for the last day of the muzzleloading season. When I noted the temperature on the Weather Channel was 17 degrees with the wind chill, I was proud of the boy. He enjoyed himself and other than saying his hands were cold when he took off his gloves for a few minutes, he embraced the hunt, albeit it was a short one at that.
At least he had the fortitude to climb off the sofa for a few minutes.
And there is something about how hunting with family brings you closer together because we got to talk more than we usually do and spend more time together ... there was a closeness ... hard to explain it. You have to feel it, I suppose.
I'm still hoping to bag at least one more deer, hopefully a fat doe or giant buck, to keep me in enough venison until next season.
A little snow on the ground and nip in the air aren't going to deter this outdoorsman.
I get a sense of accomplishment by completing a manly hunt and guess what? It's fun.
Well, I'm done, besides I have a muzzleloader to clean and pack away.
The final two deer seasons await: late firearms for doe and archery.
I have all of January to hibernate but don't count on it.