By Glen Wunderlich Outdoor Columnist Member Professional Outdoor Media Association
“There I was, back in the wild again I felt right at home where I belong I had that feelin’ comin’ over me again Just like it happened so many times before
The spirit of the woods is like an old good friend It makes me feel warm and good inside…” Ted Nugent
Love him or not, Uncle Tedly speaks volumes in his opening tribute to ol’ Fred Bear. My wife can’t understand but my cat does. Season after season, I am driven to show up. No matter the job. No matter the weather. No matter what.
Like a kid at Christmas, the anticipation evolves into overwhelming excitement. All the reading, practicing, and paraphernalia preparation come down to one morning. Off I sneak into the dark unknown. While the saner among us remain tucked in, snug and warm, I begin to work my plan to another season’s destiny.
Face in the wind, ears alert, I stare into the silent darkness, as if somehow, for the first time in my life, I will be able to see in the dark. A Great Horned owl informs me it’s too early, but a short while later, cruising crows tell me otherwise. To them and my wife, it’s just another day; to me it’s Opening Morning.
The sum of all the days of our lives has placed us in our secret hideouts this morning. And, then we hear a distant shot and wonder if that hunter connected. Just in case, we face the direction of the sound, hoping deep down that guy missed. It has to be a buck, because nobody would be after a doe this early.
We wait. We wiggle our toes to get blood moving down there. We withdraw our fingers inside our gloves and make a fist inside them. Our exposed ears are chilled, so we shelter them with our caps. We shiver.
Have our buddies seen any? Another shot and then some more. Once again we assume they missed. Slowly and silently we shift position, as our eyes rapidly scan for any sign of movement. We wonder.
As random thoughts come and go, we daydream about so many things we never seem to have time for otherwise. The warmth of the sun melts our shivers. Our bellies growl. Bacon and eggs sure sound good, but we fight the impulse. We remain hidden and watch.
What drives us hunters to be afield tomorrow? (And, don’t tell me it’s the meat. Of course, that’s part of it, but I consider it to be only icing.) This tradition, which has been bestowed upon us, drives some ¾ of a million Michigan minions to purposely shirk the day-to-day responsibilities of normal adults. We never seem to have time for anything, but for this November 15th, we find it.
Some say they just like to be “out there”, but I don’t buy it. Why pick this day to be out there? Are you crazy?
Others cite camaraderie, but playing cards or bowling on a Friday night serves that purpose. So, that can’t be it.
So what does that cat understand anyway? He has the choicest cat food in those fancy little cans costing more than prime beef. He gets Mexican cheese and the finest IGA ground round. He doesn’t care much about camaraderie, either. He does like being out there, however, but his quarry better watch it.
I gotta go with Ted on this one; it’s primal and it’s The Opener.
