Nov 22, 2025 7 min read

By Dave Bates

For the Observer-Reporter

I’m not going to pretend. This fall has been the toughest on record for which to give thanks … at least at the start.

I completely missed out on an 18-day bird hunt of a lifetime to Wisconsin this autumn. Having just retired, I had made some big plans that simply didn’t work out. Following an incredible final year of teaching, my retirement tour was more than I could have hoped. I was prepared to ride off into the “next chapter” of my life and demonstrate to the old fogies what the golden years are supposed to look like. Those of you who know me well are acquainted with my mantra, “If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans.” Actually, my favorite saying is, “If you’re gonna be dumb you gotta be tough.” Both might be applicable to this week’s sportsman’s rant. I don’t know if He’s laughing or not, but my plans got shot to hell this fall.

We made one Labor Day reunion dove hunt to Slippery Rock with an old softball pal. That is when the bottom fell out of the proverbial bucket. My back was already giving me problems but I figured, stretch a little more, walk a few more miles each day, maybe climb the hill in back of the house a couple extra times each week. I even bought a pair of hiking poles to hasten the process. No bueno. They have not gotten a great deal of use. It took four stops to rest my back on the normally two-hour drive home. In hindsight, that should have served as a marker. Maybe omen is a better term?

I missed out on sporting clays and skeet in preparation for the coming bird season that never came. My buddy Bob and I put a few rounds down range when he delivered his new portable trap to my barn. This was intended to hone our shooting skills for our Wisconsin adventure. Two boxes of shells later, I hung out the closed sign for this season.

Archery season was a nonstarter. Pheasant, ditto. My bird dog is in worse shape than me. I had hoped to attempt a couple of squirrel hunts, but thus far, even that has proved an impossibility as well.

I’m going to attempt to sit my deer stand first morning and see about harvesting the big buck that has eluded me since arriving at our farm. Don’t know if I can even manage more than a couple of hours but several friends have all offered to come running if they hear me shoot, so we’ll give it the old college try. College was 37 years ago so we’ll see how this one goes. Eh, Lord?

So what is the end result of a sportsman’s Thanksgiving column that seems like anything but a sportsman’s paradise? Well, it has provided the opportunity to take stock of the many gifts with which I have been blessed. This has become a daily exercise, better known as prayer. It has kept me from wallowing in my own self-induced pity. It prohibits me from whining about all the things I don’t have and instead, allows me to focus on all the wonderful blessings I do have – my sportsman’s Thanksgiving, if you will. Here goes my abridged list of blessings:

I’ll start with sunrise. On those frequent mornings where I’m up well before the sun, I have enjoyed a few sunrises from my couch, kitchen command post and front porch that I would have ordinarily missed but my favorite spot to enjoy sunrise is from my deer stand. Also, I could ask for no more beautiful place to convalesce than our farm with which we have been blessed.

I’ve gained a much deeper appreciation for health care and what others might be doing without. I have health insurance and a prescription plan, doctors and nurses and surgeons that I have used more extensively than any other time in my life. I am hoping and praying for a full recovery from the upcoming back surgery but am resigned to place it in the hands of God. Being an optimist and outdoors writer I still continue to mount my 20-gauge and swing on imaginary flushing woodcock and grouse.

My wife and daughter and brother Chris have been incredible in putting up with my most grumpy of selves and driving me to appointments. I couldn’t ask for better care and appreciate their support.

I am blessed with a host of friends who call and text and gather on my front porch or in my kitchen or who assemble at the local coffee/doughnut shop just to break up the monotony. They have offered the loan of deer stands and to drag, field dress and haul deer in my decline. And I’ll let them.

For Gertrude, my ancient German Shorthair, who lays at my feet (actually on top of my feet) and keeps me company. I feel no small amount of guilt that her grouse-chasing days are over and I am secretly planning a comeback without her.

I have gained new appreciation for my health, diminished as it may be, but I recognize that many others have it far worse. I worked for a quadraplegic professor in college who taught me “It can always get worse, ask the guy in the wheelchair. He’d trade places with you in a second.” I’ve attempted to live by that credo throughout my life and use it as a reminder to stop feeling sorry for myself.

I appreciate my talents and abilities with which I have been blessed. I am able to write while I’m down. In fact, I’ve done more writing since my debilitation than ever before. Out of the bad comes some good.

I am thankful for the ability to work hard and will go about my chores without complaint if I am, again, given that opportunity to do so pending the outcome of the surgeon’s efforts.

Maybe the most important part of all this is what I will do with the lessons I have learned. As a result of being sidetracked, I will smell more black walnuts along the path. I will take more walks, especially through the crunching leaves. I will help others who are down or can’t do for themselves. I’ll mentor more kids. I will enjoy more sunsets and more moon rises and more fires with those I love. I’ll be a bit more patient the next time I’m feeling raw. I’ll carry my old side by side a little more and pledge to get afield in the mornings instead of sleeping late. I’ll shoot more guns and not complain about cleaning them. Maybe I’ll even get out a bit in the late duck season?

I wish you and yours a happy Sportsman’s Thanksgiving. Enjoy your fall and may your blessings be as plentiful as mine.

Dave Bates writes a weekly outdoors column for the Observer-Reporter. He can be reached at alphaomegashootingsolutions@gmail.com