And good will towards tree stands
By Dave Bates
Contributing writer
A buddy is someone who’ll have a beer with you when you’ve fallen on hard times. A pal is someone who’ll loan you his socket set. A friend is someone who’ll offer to let you sit his best deer stand even when they haven’t tagged out yet.
Anybody who has read more than a column or two of mine will recognize my penchant for writing about the topic of friendship, especially as it relates to matters of the woods. It is the prime focus of my book, Friendship Afield: A Collection of Short Stories and Snapshots. Most of the buddies and pals and friends I enjoy in this life take root in our association through the great outdoors.
This hunting season was different from any that I can recall. Back in August, I began my downward spiral in regards to back trouble. Dec. 3 found me awaking from surgery, pain free, for the first time in longer than I care to remember. Less than a week later and I am putting in 1½ miles per day of road work. Miracle is probably the closest thing I can think of to describe this journey, phenomenon, experience. As with most axioms, this one drives home the point better than most: “Out of all bad comes some precious good.” Just about the time we want to afford ourselves the privilege to complain and begin feeling sorry for ourselves, we experience some overwhelming kindness, some amazingly generous act, some gift of selflessness that closes our lips and embarrasses us into silence.
What started out as a lackluster dove season descended into a non-existent archery season. Pheasant and grouse seasons were a complete wash. I lost an 18-day Wisconsin grouse-and-woodcock hunt like no other I had ever planned. The early duck season never got started. Kayaking was an impossibility.
The first morning of deer season would find me in my stand at daybreak, barely able to walk. Still, it was better than not hunting. I was able to participate the first morning, as well as sitting in the evening because of the compassion of my friend Brad Monas and his son, Lt. Col. Kent Monas, U.S. Army. Worried that I might not be able to drag a deer, the father/son duo offered to sit in close proximity, just out of sight, to my right and pitch in, should I be lucky enough to bring down the buck of a lifetime. I had no plans to shoot anything less simply as a matter of inconvenience to these guys. I was not that lucky. I couldn’t have dragged a deer to save my life without injuring myself further. Equidistant to my left, my friend Mark Strube sat watch from his stand, ready to make his way over should the assistance of the cavalry be enlisted. My friend Norm Thompson was just across the valley and in range to hear the shot should additional help be required. Vince Collarusso, John Curtis, Bill and Luke Lubich, Mario Barchesi and my brother Glenn were in the bullpen.
Released from the hospital just over a week prior, I was able to sit a midday stand on the last Friday of the season. The final Saturday of the season had me, again, sitting both morning and evening stands. The last three hours of the closing day of the season were some of the most memorable days in the woods I’ve experienced – snow piling up like the good ole days, visibility down to 30 or 40 yards and eerily quiet. I had managed to piece together three days of hunting for the entire season – a most treasured three days.
Asking for help is something that I can’t say I know much about and it took me longer to manage than I care to admit and was certainly the result of circumstances that I’d rather not have been privy. I’m usually the one pitching in, dragging deer, hauling people and game in my buggy, tracking spore, providing the shooting range for sight in. For me to ask for help seemed near out of the question. Turns out that it was one of the greatest gifts I have ever been afforded. While we don’t always want the gifts thrust upon us, sometimes we need them more than all the others. This was certainly the case this past deer season.
With any luck, flintlock season may still hold the buck of a lifetime. I can certainly fill the freezer with my remaining doe tags, if I do my part. There are still a few weeks remaining in duck season. Even the late pheasant season holds limited offerings. And provided my health holds out, I will attempt to take full advantage of every one of these remaining gifts.
Merry Christmas!
Dave Bates writes a weekly outdoors column for the Observer-Reporter. He can be reached at alphaomegashootingsolutions@gmail.com