Peaks and Valleys: A Bowhunter's Journey
People ask why I hunt. I usually say something about sustainability or connection to the world around me, feeling closer to God in the woods away from all the noise. But that's not really where it started.
It started with my old man. I was too young to remember much, but I remember watching him. Deer hung in the backyard every winter before I was old enough to walk. My mom would say, "We live off the food your father provides." By the time I was six, I already knew what hunting meant. I didn't choose it. I just grew up watching someone who made it look essential.
My dad hunted to escape. He struggled with a lot, and the woods helped. When the woods weren't enough, he found other ways. That taught me something: I'd be different. I'd leave my problems out there and trust that the timber would be enough. So far it has been.
Learning the Hard Way
I didn't pick up a bow until I was nineteen. Twenty-one before I actually killed something. Two does on a cold snowy morning after sitting in freezing rain for four hours straight. That spike buck the next year, thirty yards, ground sit. I can still see it clear as day. Got hooked after that.
The first three years I hunted hard and missed some massive bucks. Two ten-pointers that would've scored over 130 inches easy. Still hasn't happened for me. Still working on it.
Two years ago I killed a buck with a longbow. That one's with me for life. Last year I hunted elk out in the San Juan Mountains in Colorado. Country so wild and hard it feels like it belongs to something bigger than all of us.
I taught myself everything I know about bowhunting, and most of what I'm confident about came from screwing up. The losses teach you more than the wins. For every deer I've put down, I've probably missed or messed up nine times. Honestly probably worse than that.
The gear companies want you to think equipment makes you a hunter. It doesn't. I've seen guys with ten grand in gear never kill anything. I've seen guys with borrowed bows figure it out. What actually matters is whether you're willing to accept that failure is normal, that success is the exception. Nine out of ten times you do everything right and still go home empty.
What Hunting Has Become
Social media turned hunting into a measuring contest. Every kill gets posted, scored, compared. The inch count matters more than the story. The Instagram photo matters more than the meat in the freezer. Guys are hunting for content now, not for connection.
I get it. I create content too. But somewhere along the way, a lot of hunters forgot why they started. They're chasing someone else's version of success instead of figuring out their own. It's not about the biggest buck or the best gear or how many people like your post.
It's about stewardship. It's about being responsible to the land and the animal and understanding that you're part of something bigger than yourself. It's about putting real food on your family's table, the kind you know the source of. That matters more than any trophy.
Public Land, Public Trust
I didn't grow up with access to private land. When I was learning, I only had public ground. That shaped everything about how I hunt. Public land teaches you that this isn't about possession or bragging rights. It teaches you respect for the resource because you're sharing it.
You're part of a community of hunters whether you like it or not. What you do on that public ground affects the next guy and the guy after that. You're not just hunting for yourself. You're a steward of it.
That's what bowhunting really is. It's not about the trophy or the story. It's about showing up when showing up is hard, and doing it again when it doesn't work out. It's about understanding that you're privileged to be there at all, to take an animal, to feed your family.
That's the whole thing.