The Hunt

As all men are sure to do from time to time, I have spent some time pondering about my life; why my hobbies, my occupation, and my life, are so tied up in The Hunt. Both my parents grew up in Detroit, Michigan; hunting was not part of their family culture, and I didn’t grow up hunting. My family didn’t own recreational property or hunting equipment. A chance friendship with my business partner, Aaron, brought me into the hunting community as a teenager, and I slowly began to learn. Almost 20 years have passed since I began my life as a hunter. As I matured, so did my understanding of The Hunt. Time and experience have a way of deepening your understanding of most things, and hunting is certainly one of those things. Early motivators for my engagement with hunting were good, but not profound; personal enjoyment, challenge, skill, and even competition with friends were the first seeds that egged me on. As my understanding of hunting and the role the hunter plays in nature deepened, I added basic theories on conservation and wildlife management, plus fresh organic meat for my family as some of the “why” behind my drive as a hunter. Most of my years of hunting were spent with these, plus time spent with family and friends, as my motivators for success. Hunting with this mentality is perfectly fine. It served me well for most of my hunting experience, and gave me plenty of motivation to continue to be challenged by The Hunt. But when you’re spending your free time and your working time and your relaxing time doing the same thing, you start to wonder… what am I doing? Where’s the depth, the meaning, the understanding, behind how I’m spending my time?

In 2017, I took my dad on a moose hunt. It was only his second time every hunting with me, and his first time hunting with me in Alaska. If you know my dad, you know he isn’t a hunter; sitting quietly in a shack is not his forte. Two years prior to this hunt, my dad had been diagnosed with Kidney cancer (as of this writing, he has been cancer free for 6 years, thanks to a successful surgery & God’s provision). When the reality of dad’s diagnosis hit me, spending time with my pops became all the more important and meaningful to both of us. Feeling excited and sentimental about being together and dad being cancer free, coupled with my dad shelling out the dough to gear up, fly to Alaska, and hunt moose even though he isn’t even a hunter, just to spend time with his son… well, all of those feelings allowed for me to gain a deeper understanding of The Hunt.

My dad and I had just finished our morning hunt and made our way back to camp for lunch. I try to make a habit of cow-calling in the morning, before lunch, and right at bed. So per my usual routine, I let one rip. Halfway through lunch I went outside to get some more water and saw a small bull just across the slough, roughly 75 yards away. I quickly told my dad to get his gun and get his butt outside now! I think I may have used some different language than that, but the message was the same. My dad lined up his shot, took his time, and let 180 grains of Nosler Partition find its target. I had my binos up and noticed right away that I did not see the shock from the bullet, or any indication that the bull was hit. I immediately looked at my dad and asked “did you miss?!” He insisted that he had the cross hairs right on the kill zone like I had showed him. We stayed still and listened as the bull was crashing through the brush, listening for any indication that he was hit or fell down. I thought I heard gargling, which of course would be an indication of a lung shot, and would coincide with where my dad said he thought he had hit the bull. We crossed the slough and began our search. We found no blood, but we did find hair. Moose are notorious for not leaving a blood trail mainly because a combination of the thickness of their hide and their hair. I was fairly confident that my dad hit this animal and put a successful kill shot. We just had to find it, and with no blood trail or sign we were struggling. We started a grid and walked for 2 hours. As the time ticked on, I became sick to my stomach and was feeling rather horrible knowing that there might be a wounded animal that we couldn’t locate. At 2.5 hours, we threw in the towel and went back to camp feeling defeated. Sitting on the bank looking in the direction of the moose, my dad tried to cheer me up, like any dad would do for his son when he’s feeling beaten. I decided to go look again, and dad went with me. We walked in a different direction than the moose has ran and within 5 minutes, I heard my dad’s shaking voice say “Oh my gosh!” I knew right away he had found the bull, as that was my reaction the first time I walked up to a downed moose. They are huge! We celebrated. I had never been so happy to find an animal. Just before bed, after taking care of the moose and hanging it for the night, my dad said “this is crazy, I never thought life lessons would be taught through hunting. Never give up.” Of course I had heard this saying many times before from my dad, but it hit home because the reality of “never give up” meant us finding the bull. From that point on, I began to search, and to find, many life lessons hidden in The Hunt.

Never give up.

NOTE: If you don’t remember I had mentioned that I never saw my dad’s shot hit the moose. Well believe it or not, he hit the bull right between the ribs on the entrance and the exit, hitting both lungs and destroying exactly no meat. In and out, baby!

MOOSE DOWN!