Artfully Aging #11
More Than a Bow: Discovering Life in the Hunt
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In 2007, I knew nothing about deer hunting and didn’t care to learn, but I found myself stuck watching hunting videos and various weekly shows that aired late in the evenings, all while mopping (then) Toxic Relationship Guy’s (TRG) sweaty forehead and holding a throw-up bucket during his chemo treatments.
A few months after TRG completed his chemo, he decided to buy me a bow so I could learn to hunt, thinking it would be a fun way for us to start doing “couple’s stuff” together.
One show I actually sat down to watch was Jack Brittingham’s Wide World of Hunting, filmed in South Texas. Each week, Jack took viewers along on his guided hunts, sometimes bringing one of his three kids, and on rare occasions, his camera-shy wife, Chris, would make an appearance. Most shows featured men, but Jack’s was one of the first to include women hunters as well.
Around TRG’s birthday, he wanted a rangefinder, so I began researching different brands, features, and prices. The choices were overwhelming. After one of Jack’s shows, an email address was displayed for viewers to send in questions. I decided to write in, including my contact information and phone number.
A few days later, I received a call from an unfamiliar number. Since I was selling real estate at the time, I answered, thinking it was a client. To my surprise, it was Jack Brittingham himself. We talked about rangefinders, hunting locations, and then he made me an unexpected offer.
“You should book a three-day hunt with us here in South Texas,” he said. “Surprise TRG with a birthday hunt. I’ll give you a discount. Why don’t you come along too? I won’t charge you for your hunt—you can shoot cull deer, javelina, and boar while he hunts whitetail.”
“I don’t know how to hunt,” I admitted. “He just bought me a bow, but I’m not very good with it.”
“This will give you a reason to practice,” Jack encouraged. “You’ll both have a great time. There’s no better way to kick off the sport than with a big hunt.”
Into the hunt
For the next seven months, we spent every weekend driving back and forth between Indian Rocks Beach, Florida, and hunting spots in Echo, Alabama, and Thomasville, Georgia. We leased hunting land from farmers who let us plant food plots, set up tree stands, and hunt whitetail during the season. During the week, I practiced shooting at targets, and on the weekends, I sat in my tree stand alone, while TRG hunted from his own spot.
We’d start our hunts at 3 a.m. and finish by 9 a.m., then head back out from 5 p.m. until dusk. Afterward, we’d rush back to Florida, trying to make it in time for work early Monday mornings.
Does a bear shit in the woods?
I’m not sure, but I did. Scent is a big deal in deer hunting—you have to be careful not to contaminate the site with human smell, or the deer will avoid it. There was a strict ritual I was supposed to follow before going out, and I knew it was important, but I rarely did it, because I really had no intentions of actually shooting a deer.
My deer stand was tucked inside an old oak tree near a peanut field I had named Cozy Corner. The deer reliably showed up at dawn and dusk, and I was comfortable shooting at a distance of up to 30 feet, so they had to come within that range for me to get a clean shot.
One morning, after a particularly short night and in a rush to get into the tree stand, I hadn’t taken care of “business” beforehand. It became unbearable, so I quietly climbed down, leaned against a nearby oak tree, and did what I had to do.
As I finished, I glanced up and, to my amazement, saw a big doe wandering just 10 to 15 feet away from me. We locked eyes—neither of us moving. My bow was still up in the tree. After a long minute of silent standoff, an arrow suddenly whizzed through the air, missing her. I whispered, “Run!” and the doe bolted.
I scrambled back up to my stand, pulled my hood down, and pretended I’d been asleep the whole time.
I heard TRG approaching my deer stand, his footsteps crunching through the leaves. He walked over, clearly excited, and breathlessly asked, “Did you see that deer? She came right by your stand! How could you miss her? Were you sleeping?”
“I must have dozed off,” I replied, still trying to shake off the buck fever.
“You need to stick to target practice. You don’t have a game eye, and we need serious hunters out here. We’ve only got a few weeks left before the Texas hunt. You’d better get your act together,” TRG scolded.
I sighed and nodded. “You’re probably right. I don’t think I’m cut out for sitting in a tree stand for hours, waiting for something to happen.”
As TRG walked off, already recounting the hunt that almost was, I sat there for a moment, staring out at the field, still buzzing with the adrenaline of my standoff with the doe. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this, I thought. Maybe I didn’t need to be. Hunting had been his dream, his challenge. But here I was, deep in the woods, doing something I never imagined I’d do.
I glanced back toward Cozy Corner, where the doe had stood, thinking about how we locked eyes, both of us unsure of our next move. In that moment, we were the same—creatures of habit, caught up in something bigger than ourselves, just trying to figure out the right direction. Maybe that’s what hunting really was—waiting for the moment when you decide who moves first.
Recently, I realized that much of life is like this, especially as we age. We find ourselves in situations we never planned for, wondering whether we’re up to the challenge, whether to make the first move or wait. But that’s what aging artfully is about—embracing the unexpected, stepping into unfamiliar territory, and recognizing that growth doesn’t stop just because we think we’ve “aged out” of new experiences.
Maybe it wasn’t about being a good hunter after all. Maybe it was about learning that sometimes it’s okay not to have all the answers, that life is as much about the moments of hesitation as it is about the ones where we act. And as we age, it’s not about being perfect or having it all figured out; it’s about continuing to move forward, no matter how unfamiliar the terrain.
Postscript:
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That reminds me of my learning to shoot a gun. I was taking law enforcement classes at the time and to pass the class , I had to learn to shot a gun. I tried, I really did, we even went to the shooting range to practice - but it was awful. I did manage to pass, but got rid of the gun.
Great comparisons between your hunting experience, aging, and getting outside our familiar comfort zones.
Btw...I would've whispered 'Run,' too!