The Road Less Traveled By
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
– Robert Frost
I
dreamed of deer hunting. Period.
“Why don’t you try bow-hunting?” my dad asked. In the eyes of a father, bow-hunting sounded like
a safer avenue of hunting as opposed to toting a high-powered rifle. I
was 12 and hadn’t hunted very much. I had yet to kill a deer. Some
kids dream of throwing/catching the winning 4th quarter touch-down pass in the Super
Bowl, or of hitting a walk-off homer in the bottom of the 9th inning in the 7th game of the world series… I
dreamed of deer hunting. Period.
As such, my last thought was
of willfully setting down my Browning in order to make things harder on myself
to realize that dream. At the time, I was content to take the road
frequently traveled by. Nevertheless, my dad prodded me further.
Finally, I found out that, in Tennessee, bow season opened nearly a month and a
half before gun season.
Bow-hunting
= more hunting. Sign me up..
And at that we went down to
our local outdoor store which also happened to have an archery pro-shop in the
back room. I didn’t care about the brand, what camo pattern it wore, or
how fast it shot. At that time, in my mind bow-hunting = more hunting.
It wasn’t and didn’t need to be any more than that. Sign me up..
Of all the gifts I have ever
received from my dad, his time is what I cherish most. If he was willing
to pay for my time with his time, I must have been valued. At 12 years
old my mind didn’t comprehend that level of sacrifice. At 26, words fail
me to fully thank my dad for that
sacrifice. I walked out of Wiley’s Outdoor Sports that day with a PSE
Nova, set at a mighty 40# with a draw of 26 inches. Neither of us I
realized what happened that day, but my dad had just given me the gift of bow-hunting.
At the very first shot
something broke loose… Not on the bow, but in me. I have found no better
explanation than that of Ted Nugent, referring to it as “the mystical flight
of the arrow.”
So I shot, and I shot, and I
practiced, and I practiced. It was the first activity in my life that
no-one had to force me to do. No external motivational input
required.
I
had been given something I didn’t deserve. And I knew it.
Within a few months I had
outgrown the limitations of a youth bow. On a random trip back to Wiley’s,
the pro-shop manager Ronnie Kimbrough, handed a cardboard box to my dad with
“HOYT” printed on it. Inside was a Hoyt Razortec. My dad handed it
to me. “It’s yours.” It could have been a brand new truck and I
wouldn’t have been more excited. I had been given something I didn’t
deserve. And I knew it.
Amos Taylor, a staffer at the
Pro-Shop offered shooting lessons. For the price of a cheap burger, my
mom took me to Wiley’s for weekly 1-hour shooting lessons. Did he teach
me how to shoot – form, technique, follow through, etc..? Yes.
However, He shared something
far more valuable. He shared his passion for bow-hunting. His
hunting stories occupied more time than his shooting lessons. I had none
to share. So I sat and I listened. It was contagious. He was
contagious. I am forever grateful for his lessons, but all-the-more, for
his time.
What followed was a summer of
hundreds and hundreds more arrows – thousands. Trips through the house and up
the stairs to shoot off of our back deck to simulate shooting out of a tree
stand -Amos’ idea- only to trek back through the house and down the stairs to
retrieve my arrows – over and over.
Spring turned to summer, and
among the endless flight of arrows my dad and I fumbled through our first
attempt at hanging a tree-stand at the back of our property. To this day
we lease it to a local farmer, and that season it was planted in
soybeans. As summer turned to fall I watched and patterned the deer that
fed through our property – what, how, where, when, and why. Every
preparation made. I was as ready as a 13-year-old could be.
Early season yielded close
calls but no success - no arrow flights from the tree stand.
On October 18th, a Monday night, I was a little late
on heading to my tree. A lesson learned. As I approached I noticed
several deer, including a nice 7 pt. - a trophy to me at the time - were
directly under my stand.
My frustration and genuine
despair only had to last a day.
The following afternoon, I
came home from school, took a mandatory Scent-A-Way shower, and made it to my
stand far earlier than the day prior. At 4:30 on the nose, I watched as
nearly a dozen deer entered the field, soon surrounding the tree in which I was
sitting.
There were several smaller
bucks in this early season group, but I had quickly made my mind that the only
deer I was concerned about was the one that gave me a shot.
As I maneuvered in my stand
to prepare for the opportunity I hoped would arrive, several deer spooked… all
but one… I don’t remember checking my yardage, I don’t remember making
sure I had a good anchor point as Amos had taught me, I don’t remember settling
my pin behind his shoulder, I don’t even remember having the conscious thought
to ‘squeeeeze’ the trigger on my release…
My only awareness then or
memory now is of being at full draw, the flight of the arrow, and the emotions
of a 13-year-old boy who had just realized his greatest dream…
I watched as the large-bodied
4pt. wheeled and spun off, and headed toward the creek, only to stop and turn
back. I watched as the deer tipped over, and piled up, a mere 20 yards
from my stand…
-in
those woods…
In the 13 seasons that have
followed I have seen countless sunrises and sunsets in those woods. Many more deer have fallen to the ‘mystical
flight of the arrow’ in those woods.
I learned how to hunt and even something about the man I was becoming, became,
and desire to be, in those woods.
For me it is sacred ground.
-time..
I often think back about how
I got started in bow-hunting. My dad took the time. My mom took the time. Ronnie Kimbrough
took the time. Amos Taylor took
the time… Countless others
sense have taken the time.
-following Christ, not
myself
For me, the yellow wood in
Robert Frost’s ‘The Road Not Taken’ was hunting as well as life. The two
roads diverging weren’t merely bow-vs-gun-hunting, but about challenging
myself. Intentionally setting forth difficult goals with the
foreknowledge that those goals would entail a prolonged season of planting
before the season of harvest. About following Christ, not myself.
For
me, I chose the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference...
If you have read this far, my
name is Jake McNeal. This is Harvest Season Outdoor Media. Slowly
but surely, this is yet another dream coming to fruition. As I have been
faithful to follow, Christ has been faithful to lead. In the future,
Harvest Season will continue to mature into the reality of His will and not
mine.
Instagram @j.p.mcneal
Twitter @HSoutdoors
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