It's what I dream of at night!

It will start out early in the year as an innocent desire to hunt whitetails in the great north woods. it will end with a smile and a memory. The day you write out the deposit check and send it off to the outfitter seems like years before the season opener, yet it goes by in a flash.

I remember searching my computer for my packing list for a rifle hunt, once found I query as to why I have so many things on the list. By the time I've gone through my gear and hunting clothing I've found a bunch of things I'll need that weren't even on the list. As I shuffle through my office guiding through the piles of clothes, boots, ammo and more clothes I begin to think that somewhere along the line I must have went crazy and nobody told me.

The date comes to send off your rifle customs form, you get ready pen in hand and then mull over which rifle it will be. I do it in my own fashion, which rifle has yet to be successful on a hunt and that's the one. Write out a check, attach the form and put it in a envelope, seems easy enough.

About 30 days later you get a letter from Customs that your form has been accepted and your all but there. I have some quirks when it comes to hunting, for some reason I need to leave a day or two earlier than I really need too. I don't know maybe it's my former military service or my desire to get there. I often stay at the motel located at the airport just so I can catch an early flight out. The night isn't sleepless though, you just can't call the 30 or so minutes you'll get-sleepless!

The alarm clock rings as does the phone and like a shot your showered, dressed and waiting in the lobby, I'm not sure why I get to the lobby two hours before my shuttle, it's boring sitting there. Onto the shuttle and it's off to the check-in counter.

Hunting Canada entails passing through customs on each trip there and back. I personally fly out of Newark airport, directly to Minneapolis and then on to Saskatoon. You don't hit customs until you get to Saskatoon and it's about a 15 minute inconvenience should you get picked for inspection. Out of the airport and into the motel shuttle.

Its somehow comforting when you set your rifle and gear down on your motel room floor and take a deep breath, you've arrived. For the most part you'll either be picked up at the airport by the outfitter or in my case the first one's in pick up the rental SUV's and take them to the motel. In the morning other hunters meet you in the lobby and you load up the gear, divvy up the seats and your off for a 5 1/2 hour ride north.

I'm not an unsociable man but somehow the ride is a time of reflection and solitude for me. I just like to sit and look out the window at the miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles. The occasional deer or wolf in the distance or crossing the road ahead. The distinct chill of the northern air and the feeling that your slowly putting miles between yourself and civilization as you know it. Once you arrive in camp it all seems to go so fast: get to your assigned bunks, confirm your sights, get a meal and begin to talk smack about past hunts.

After dinner the outfitter goes over the rules and fills out the licenses. Tag in hand and guide assigned your all but sitting in your stand, only a nights sleep between now and then. 5am comes early and the trucks are already gassed and running. The guides are chomping at the bit and ready to go. While you put on your hunting clothes you'll open the door to let some cool air in so you don't sweat in the layers. Your rifle sits outside the door so the optics get chilled and clear up. Ammo clinking in your pocket. A quick breakfast, a lunch bag and your off to the stands.

It's hard to realize that once you climb into your tree or ground blind that your finally there. Months and months of preparation, planning and of course-dreaming; and your finally there.

As the sun breaks through the trees the deer have already shown themselves and are milling around your stand. You can hardly breath as the does and bucks just seem to come and go all day. I don't know if it's the chill in the air, knowing that I'm miles from any human being or that just realizing I'm hunting in Canada that takes my breath away, it's like asthma.....you actually have to make yourself breath!

Hunting in Canada is a 15 second event. From the moment you identify your target, engage and harvest, your entire year had come down to that 15 seconds. I can't tell you how hard it is to sit on stand waiting for your guide to arrive. Your harvest is a mere 100 yards or less away and you can't go see. Funny how your mind plays games with you during that time: It's a 12 point, maybe a 10, probably an 8! Then you think to yourself, good God I hope a bigger one doesn't come walking out!

It's back to the camp, harvest in hand, an opportunity to share stories. I've posted my last Canadian buck on the front page of this blog. I sit most days and smile at the opportunity, the memories and the harvest. It's as if it were yesterday. Whether you take a shot or not, it's a trip of a lifetime.

Yes, there's something about the great north woods for those of us who seldom see beyond the concrete and steel. the paved roads are miles south of your location and most deer you come into contact with have probably never seen another human. It's the kind of wilderness that Teddy Roosevelt would write about, protect and enjoy. Miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles, that's what the great north woods are, miles and miles of the very thing that hunters dream about: big deer, cold days and sleepless nights.

It's what I dream of at night!

Fathers and Mentors

As with most northeasters we woke up to about a foot so snow this morning, there's another foot on it's way. I can't say that it's Richard Proenneke kind of snow, but it's a blizzard for New Jersey. First Things First: the dog has a trail to follow to her favorite early morning spot.

I sat down this morning wondering what today would bring. It's my intention to sit and relax, not much to do with the snow still falling. Nanny and Poppy have groceries enough to last a few days, there's no construction going on due to the weekend: and snow. My money says that Wendy will come up with something. In my opinion it's a good day to sit and enjoy my custom arrows and Leon Stewart bow, not sure that would be Wendy's opinion.

I often think of my father on days like this, wearing his bib Carhart overalls with Remington 1100 in hand on his the way to the truck. I'm sure that a duck or a pheasant could be found if one looked just a bit. Headed into town for some gas and milk, mostly just to sit at the diner and visit with the others. Who are the others you ask? There's a whole lot of folk just like my dad in central Nebraska, no surprises there. Put on the coffee and they will come!

I take great care in my thinking when it comes to nostalgia. Proper memory is needed to truly feel the days of yore. Standing in the driveway waiting for dad to unlock the door of his Ford Bronco so I could mount up and head out for some looking. I'm not sure what others were doing however on snowy days like this I spent most of my time looking and very little time actually hunting.

I still find time for some "looking". There's nothing more fulfilling to me than taking a ride in the country, as country as New Jersey gets, and just looking to see what I can see. A time to reminisce I guess, to relive that which can not be relived.

Lately I've spent some time talking to some High School friends and acquaintances on Facebook. Some will read this post possibly so I'll apologize up front, nothing is meant by my following statement; I'm not sure that it's been all that good for me to have went back in time via the Internet like that. People that I remember don't have a clue who I am, others remember me in ways, well, I'd rather not be remembered in. Old memories have surfaced, mostly good, a few well let's just call them memories. I think to some point that it has only strengthened my feelings about not being able to go back.

There is one person of note that I'm going to mention outright: Don McKee. Mr. McKee as I will always know him was my science teacher in Jr. High. You would think that in a small town like Overton Nebraska the need or desire to learn Science would be near the bottom of the learning priority list and the mere meaning of the word "why". Why would you worry about Science in a small farming community where the focus is on crops and will it be a good or bad year? Mr McKee transcends all of that, a firm hand and an open heart! All that I would want to be when I grow up.

Teachers most often stand out for what they do outside of curriculum. Mr McKee was no different. Although I've only graced his door infrequently, combined with being one of the lesser Science students you could conger up, I was welcome when I did appear! There has been no less than a thousand times that I thought of him while amidst a tough time or decision over the years. A lasting impression to say the least!

For all that my father did wrong, for all that he lacked in not being able to fulfill my selfish desires, for all that I can fault him for should I choose to inventory said things; I could just never thank my father enough for having raised me in Overton Nebraska. The gifts that often go unseen are there for the taking. It sometimes takes years for us to see them. Don McKee was one of those gifts. I'll forever remember you: Don McKee.

Nostalgia is a double edged sword to say the least. Remembering is a good thing at my age, but it's certain memories that I sometimes wish would go away.

I do so long for the simpler times, a time when I could walk 3 miles into town and no one ever mentioned or worried about a stranger and the harm that one could bring. Doors were left open on warm summer days, pickup windows down with rifles in the back window gun racks. Kids laughing, few crying. There were no doubt worries and strains, tears behind closed doors however there were more mentors then there were bothered children. There seems to always be an adult near by that one could find comfort with.

As I look back I find the very examples of what I'd like to be when I grow up however mostly I'm just thankful that they were there. To all who would teach: teach not to a grade but to a life, for each child will grow one day to be someone and your someone too! To Don McKee I say "Thank You", thank you for making me feel welcome in your world even today, from a scraggly little runt of a kid in small town USA.

To my father who dawned not a book nor a classroom your lessons of life have gotten me through! A rough road at times however never has there been a bump or mountain that I couldn't get over. May God Bless, more than he already has!