Addiction is a state defined by compulsive engagement in naturally rewarding behavior. With regards to drugs and alcohol, sex, gambling, or internet addiction, there are usually adverse consequences. Other than mosquito bites and poison sumac rash, I have not found any adverse consequences of hunting; yet I would definitely say I’m addicted (like I am to fishing, and coveting that moment when there’s a fish on the line struggling to get away as I reel it in).

My waking thoughts, and my sleeping ones, now turn to the next chance to hunt, and Monday seems like torture as I persevere to Friday evening just waiting for the opportunity to begin my whitetail ritual (which I’m sure will look much the same when I’m hunting turkey, or should I find myself in some opportunity of a different kind).

Today’s Daily Word message is “Communing with nature, I find oneness.” The text reads, “Communing with nature reminds me I am one with all life….” For the nature lover who hunts, this is the truth. I have expressed before how much satisfaction I get when I’m fishing and catch a trout or catfish. In that moment, I am in a struggle with one of G-d’s creatures which desires to live; yet when I successfully reel in the fish, gut it, clean it, cook it and eat it, I feel at oneness with my true being. I have taken ownership of my responsibility to feed myself. Shopping in a grocery store and consuming food that has been killed for me and dressed to be attractive and guilt free does not provide oneness.

So I go out to the hunt, each night I am able to go (and some mornings as well) with great anticipation of the ultimate connection to nature; the opportunity to be self-responsible, to face another animal (as I recognize that humans are animals despite our evolved souls) with the intent of taking its life to feed myself and my family.

Tonight was no exception, and I hoped and prayed that this night would be THE night that I actually succeed at my endeavor. When I spoke with my son over the phone this morning, he suggested I would hunt better if I channeled my inner warrior by painting blood on my face, under my eyes. My son suggested I prick my finger for the blood supply. At this rate, I figured a little superstition couldn’t hurt, so I proceeded to prick my finger and paint blood under my eyes, along with the camouflage paint, after my Scent-a-Way shower.

About 1835 (6:35 PM) I spied a beautiful buck headed for the clearing. This was not the young buck I’d seen before, but a younger trophy buck, maybe 2 1/2 – 3 y/o. I had prepared myself to take my time; to sight in on the deer, breathe, and take a purposeful shot. As the buck meandered into the clearing, headed toward the pond, I kept him sighted in my scope. It was surreal watching him from the scope of my crossbow instead as a tourist in a treestand or tree-blind. The buck seemed uninspired to stop for me, however, so I made a noise with my mouth (I find the only down side to using a deer call is that it requires use of hands, which in this case were both busy steadying my crossbow). The buck stopped and faced me. I knew that if I was going to take a shot, this would be the time, so I targeted his chest and squeezed the trigger.

I’d love to end the story with, “And that’s how I shot my first deer,” but apparently my left shoulder disability impacts my bow shooting as it does my gun shooting. Being 70% disabled in my left shoulder tends to make me shoot down and to the left. I can only assume that is what happened. The buck bolted, screaming (more masculine screams than the doe), and I wasn’t sure if I’d hit him or not. The deer move so quickly that I don’t get a chance to see if there’s an arrow protruding anywhere. I got up and went to look for a blood trail, but that’s when I saw my arrow buried in the ground at the base of a fallen tree limb; just about where the buck had been standing. Apparently, finger blood was not enough to compensate for my lack of prowess (or skill) with my crossbow.

Blessed is the beautiful buck who lives to see another day! I will be up early tomorrow morning to try again. As my intention is to hunt for food, I do not have a preference if I shoot a doe or a buck. I have now taken a shot at one of each; I figure “three’s a charm.” The important thing to remember at this point, is that I have continued to hunt, despite many nights and mornings seeing no deer at all. I have invested over 30 hours in the past month (my first hunt of my life was 20 Sep 2014), and have learned valuable lessons in the process. I have also been blessed to sit in the silence (which does not exist in nature) away from the noise of mankind; I have witnessed creatures’ great and small investing effort in their own survival; and I have unwound in G-d’s natural temple after hours and days of demanding work.

And like the buck, who was blessed to live another day, I have been blessed to feel what it is to truly live; to be free in nature, unencumbered by computers, crisis, and the cacophony of noise expressed daily by humans. I am addicted to hunting, not just because of the craft of the hunt, but because of the time it affords me to care less and just Be.

(This essay was originally published on 24 October 2014 on Facebook by Sara Crusade – GalHunterMidlife)

(Follow my hunts on Instagram – @Gal_HunterMidlife)

People who are opposed to hunting, have clearly never been hunting (with the exception of those few who felled a deer on their first try and have had survivor’s guilt since). Besides the obvious, which is hunting for the sake of food or sport, it is, to me, a ritual; part meditation, part prayer, part skill, and part attunement.

Tonight, for example, I got home from work and then set about preparation for my hunt. I first had to shower to wash away the bacteria and smells of the day, then I meticulously got dressed in clothes especially chosen and prepared for the evening, and when I had everything I needed I headed off into nature. Once at my hunting spot, after leaving an “offering” of sweet corn and freshly cut apples for the deer to graze upon at their leisure, I set up my camo fishing stool (now a hunting stool) and sat silently. I listened and observed G-d’s creation all around me; a grasshopper flitting from plant to plant until it finally stopped and watched me awhile, a red-headed woodpecker who flew from tree to tree singing and pecking for food; a raccoon who slipped out of the forest to sip water from the pond; a bullfrog who sang to the crappie as they leapt for their insect dinner; crickets that chirped in unison; and birds that sang from every tree. For an hour and a half I sat silently attuned to the abundance of life and thriving and blessing around me.

Of the 28.5 hours I have spent hunting since I first started one month ago, most of my time has been spent in awe of my little corner of G-d’s world. Sometime about 6:30 PM, however, I saw two deer step out of the forest and into the clearing. They were both female, and I empowered my patience on this evening and remained still and silent. In fact, the larger doe of the two spied me, but because I remained absolutely motionless, and lightened my breathing, she did not know what to make of me, so, after some time, went about her business. It was then that I set her in my sights, took aim, and for the first time in my life, squeezed the trigger with the intent of tagging my first deer.

I’ve been told by those with far more experience than I have, that shooting a live target is far different from shooting a stationary one. The truth hadn’t resonated with me until I took the shot. When I target practice with my Parker Challenger crossbow at Godfreys Indoor Range, I hit every target pretty much where I’ve aimed. And given I’m busy yacking away in my own head, I never noticed the release sound the crossbow makes as it shoots the arrow at the target. Tonight, however, in the stillness of the dusk, the arrow leaving the crossbow made the loudest “thwack” I have ever heard; possibly that the doe had ever heard also, because the second the arrow was released toward the target, the doe responded with an about-face, running into the forest. Her companion ran in the other direction, but they met up somewhere with the bigger doe screaming non-stop!

At that point, I was uncertain if I had hit my target or not. I wasn’t sure if her screaming was a very long warning to her herd, or if I’d been successful. My adrenaline was pumping so heavily I could hardly control my index finger to text my friend John about the incident. His favorite part of my text was my quote, “My adrenaline is off the f’ing (expletive spelled out) chain!” John came out to search with me for a blood trail or my arrow. It turns out we found my arrow where I had swiftly tagged the berm. But that was okay, because after 52 years and finally 28.5 hours of hunting, I let my arrow fly. Hitting the mark would have been ideal, but it was another lesson in life, offered by the hunt; we will not hit every goal we aspire for and aim at. As my parents taught me when I was just a child, “If at first you don’t succeed; try, try again (how far we have fallen as a society from that pithy truth).

Fortunately, opportunity awaits again tomorrow night….

(This essay was originally published October 17, 2014 on Facebook by Sara Crusade – GalHunterMidlife)

Anyone who knows something about the zodiac, particularly the sun sign Leo, knows that the number one lesson a Leo must learn is the virtue of Patience. Associated with the mentality of a teenager, the Leo wants what she wants, and wants it now! I determined, while hunting this weekend, that the number one gift of hunting is the lesson of patience. After 26.5 hours over several weekends, I have twice spotted deer and gotten zero shots off.

By the way, of the two deer sightings; I would hazard a guess the total time with eye to eye deer contact has been at most 15-20 minutes… out of 26.5 hours. If that doesn’t require patience to endure, I’m at a loss as to what does.

My first deer sighting was two Fridays ago (or maybe three) when I saw the young buck I did not shoot. I was mesmerized by him and studied his psychology instead. I felt like he and I had a meaningful, albeit brief, relationship before he high-tailed it back into the forest after pawing the ground and snorting at me. I didn’t mind letting him go, at that time, because he was young, and I was awestruck. I decided later that, should our paths meet again, young or not, he would be mine.

Once I realized I had suffered a severe (by my standards) rash on my buttocks from urushiol oil, the by-product of poison sumac, poison ivy and poison oak, I determined I would get that young buck for leaving me up in a treestand, sitting on poison sumac for over 15 hours without another shot. I also learned another lesson on patience, regarding the healing time of an urushiol oil rash, and a secondary lesson in the poison sumac plant. Prior to sitting on its pretty autumn colored leaves for hours at a time, I knew nothing about it, and had never heard of it. That’s when my supervisor at work mentioned it and I looked it up; and low and behold, there it was! What I learned; is that the oil stays on any surface it’s touched for two to five years if not cleaned. I also learned it’s almost impossible to fathom all the places and things I touched with the oil on my clothes and my hands. Next time you come home, do what you normally do, and then in five minutes stop and recount all the surfaces you may have come in contact with since you left work, from door knobs to keys, to car seats (on the way home) and recliners (once you got home). This has been my penance for hunting; doing laundry over and over, and washing each surface I can imagine touching; placing a garbage bag on my recliner and in my truck to sit on until I can get a steam cleaner. Somewhere, the oil has remained, hopefully no more, as I have continued to add rash spots on my arms and legs even while not hunting.

Sighting number two came last night; a herd of does. I did not realize that at the time, however. In order to avoid my friend’s treestand, like the plague, I brought a camo fishing stool and sat in a natural tree blind. It was a great cover, except for the lack of shoot-ability. My plan was for any deer that showed up to mosey over to the sweet deer corn and apples I had been laying out over several weeks; a little incentive to return (hopefully while I was hunting), so I had placed myself strategically in line with the food. My next lesson was that deer do not get as excited by free food as I do. I thought I saw a young buck and his doe enter the clearing en route to the pond so I bleated, to get them to follow the sound and catch a whiff of the food. But the doe I spied stayed put. Had I not been stuck behind a tree I would have had a perfect, clear shot, even at dusk. I know I was not seen, because she remained, slowly walking closer to the pond. Then I saw another doe walking alongside the pond. I thought that if I could just turn, I could get off a shot, and I bleated a again. Somewhere along the line, however, the deer got spooked, and suddenly I saw five or more white tails flipped up and leaping back into the forest with one of the does screaming bloody murder!

Because it was dusk, I hadn’t seen the others. Because of the tree and how I placed myself, I couldn’t get a shot off. And because I lacked the patience to allow them time to just meander, I bleated on my deer call and alerted them to the presence of something in the tree blind (me). Another opportunity to learn more patience; because sitting on a stool for three hours was not, by itself, enough of a lesson on patience.

My friend John, whose property I have been squatting on, said he’d seen a buck and his doe Saturday morning where I normally park my truck to go to the pond area, so I decided to move to that location this morning in hopes of another chance. Alas, I saw no deer. I did, however, see at least two skunks; one which trotted into the natural forest blind I was in, and one that sat at my target location chomping down on the apples I had placed there to entice the deer. He ate for quite some time, and if I had any idea how one de-stinks a skunk and cooks it, I may have taken him down, for he (or she) was surely fattened by the time dawn came. I also learned to be very still, more still that I have managed up to this point. It is one thing to endeavor stillness when the deer are coming, so as not to spook them; quite another to remain motionless so as not to scare a skunk who may spray if spooked.

My intention was to return the pond area tonight; however I suspect that the deer I saw last night will avoid the area for a bit. It appears to me that deer are somewhat migratory; travelling around their territory over the course of days and returning when they start over (so to speak). I haven’t seen the young buck again, so figure he either fell to another hunter, or our paths just don’t cross. Instead of hunting again tonight, I may just wait until next Friday night; give myself a break, give my knees and back a break, spend some quality time with Daisy (who has to be crated while I hunt), and continue working on prepping my apartment for Thanksgiving. I may also switch to domestic diva mode and bake another pumpkin pie… sort of like a loser’s ribbon to recognize a resolute, if unsuccessful, effort.

It would have been wonderful had my father, while I was growing up, introduced me to hunting as he did to fishing and love of nature. It has been my goal for years to hunt, and as far back as 2009 (which really isn’t that far) I was a member of Women in the Outdoors (WITO, a sub-group of the National Wild Turkey Federation) with a hog hunt planned in Florida. Loss of employment and a move required I cancel my hunt, and I have subscribed to hunting magazines ever since, in the hopes of manifesting an opportunity. Hunting for the first time isn’t like fishing… field dressing a deer is nothing like gutting a one pound trout; and to my knowledge, no one has ever been accidentally killed when one fisherman inadvertently hooks another. Hunting is one of those sports that I believe requires guidance at least, mentoring at best. The NRA Hunter Services are big proponents of teaching youth to hunt, but no one markets specifically to middle aged women… “Take an older woman hunting, and pass it on.” Sadly, WITO doesn’t ever seem to be faring well in the states I consider joining, although it’s an excellent program for teaching women outdoors sportsmanship at a really reasonable cost. Some NRA hunts cost more than my truck (which may not be saying much since it’s a 1990). But since my friend John and I found each other, he has been awesome at availing the hunting opportunity to me on his private land, where I have peace of mind that I can hunt safely, and once I do (finally) get that deer (whichever deer….) he will be there to teach me how to gut it, do a cursory field dressing, and show me where to take it for processing – plus he’ll carry it, something I would struggle with, given my disability.

I shall carry on, however. I will not quit until I get my deer during bow season, and my turkey for Thanksgiving. Perhaps, once the rut begins, my luck will turn, and I can earn my novice hunting badge (if one exists). You’re never too old to start hunting….

(This was first published 12 October 2014 on Facebook by Sara Crusade – GalHunterMidlife)