After our 5 1/2 day archery trip in Ohio my friend Rich and I set out for Nebraska, 9 days to hunt however 8 days were about 5 to many. A sort of success came early as I tagged a lesser buck on opening morning followed by a focus on getting Rich his first Mulie Buck. That was a success as well. All in all I'd say it was a great trip.
Our mornings came early as there was much travel to do just to arrive at our hunting locations. About half of the week was spent on public land and the other on either of two small ranches that we hunt. My buck (attached) was harvested on public land. There was an air of uncertainty for me on this trip, I just couldn't shake the feeling that this may be the last trip to what I call my home for a fall hunt. It has all changed and yet stayed so hauntingly familiar. I cherish my memories and often remember and relive those I've forgotten as we travel from one place to another. Every building, every road and every person seems to have a past point in time where I shared something special. It's like that: hunting. Once you've been to a blind or tree stand for the first time, the second seems like you've been there for ever.
I don't claim that anyone can travel to Nebraska, hunt and then share my feelings, they are deep rooted in what was and what will be. Being raised in and yet somehow taking for granted an area like the Platte River Bottom can make a man prideful and complete and just as fast: lonely and distant. I miss the area as it was and I long for the days that have been.
We hooked up with an old friend of mine, Ben. We met opening morning along a road and headed down to the dock to load his boat in the reservoir we were to hunt that day. I remember the chill in the air and how it made the boat spray feel like ice chips. The sun was somewhere over Iowa and heading our way but hadn't quite fully committed to assisting us. Three grown men, an aluminum boat and a much too small motor plowing along at warp -3 speed. If we'd gone any slower we still wouldn't be there. The chill was on, the deer were moving and we were finally hunting once again. I'll not go into details as this blog is more about the things we miss then the things we get, moments shared in quiet solitude in a vast state.
Imagine if you will a morning, just about day break with the sound of ducks whistling overhead. In the distance a flock of Canadian Geese sound off as if to let everyone know they are coming. The anticipation of the mornings hunt, the inconvenience of the preparation work and the thoughts of massive antlers and big bodied deer being overruled by the cold. It's Nebraska, the corn is still being picked, the soybeans are all but harvested and the hay fields look like lawns. As my brother once described it: miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles! Thousands of hunters out on opening day and we saw about 10 of them.
With 4 of our 5 deer harvested we were in combat mode, Rich and Ben left no tree unexplored, no valley unreached and no hilltop not looked from. I have to say that they did their leg work on this trip! I took a picture of Rich atop a Nebraskan sand hill and promptly named it: Rich's Happy Place, if you look closely you'll see some Fluorescent Orange in the top center of the picture.
Being a retired military guy I've traveled a bit in my life. I've had opportunity to hunt in many of our great states, 13 in all. I love Iowa, Oklahoma and Texas however they don't possess that which possesses me: my home. Nebraska is a funny sort, she demands you hunt ethically and yet begs you through opportunity to do that which isn't allowed. She talks to your conscience while afield, temps your every desire and taunts you with the strange and unusual: how many of you have stood staring at a porcupine sleeping sprawled out on a limb? Shoot a buck, watch a badger, now that's hunting! The people there are friendly, down to earth and ready to lend a helping hand; but not until you've tried to help yourself!
I can see it all leaving, it's changing slowly but surely, one of the ranches I hunt will be set up for guided hunts starting next fall, the draw of money has finally gotten to what I call the last great frontier. Commercialism once again will erase all that was and soon a deer will be harvested by those with the financial means and not by those who would appreciate all that it is.
To that point I say: Thank You Nebraska, for all that you've given me over the years. I tip my hat to you and your people. I bow to you in reverence and I weep for your tomorrow.
