Draw, anchor, peep, pin, target, feel the knurling on the barrel of the release on that familiar pad of your thumb, pull, pull, pull. The arrow flies true, impacting into the ten ring of a foam elk target. Visualization is key to success, and I saw that arrow going there the whole time. Next arrow comes out of the quiver, spin it so the vanes align and listen for the click onto the string, range, reach for the dial and give it a twist, 84, release on the string, draw, anchor, peep, pin. We live for this.
The alarm rings the same old tune, 6:30am comes, all too early on a Monday in January. Breakfast, coffee, start the truck, off to join the others in the lackluster parade to our 9-5. Quitting time comes eventually, home we go, one by one, brake, accelerate, brake, accelerate, pull into the good spot near the door. Dinner time brings meat harvested last fall. The memory of climbing the steep hill out of that canyon, calves burning, a smile permanently affixed on your sweat-drenched face, the sense of accomplishment and attachment that comes from eating something you have procured by your own doing is immeasurable. We live for this.
Eyes affixed to the small screen on your lap, emerald green basins, some camo-clad stranger sits upon a ridge, gazing into the distance, living the life that you yearn for. It isn’t jealousy that you’re feeling, but interest in his story, in his experience for the simple fact that it will bring you closer to the experiences you lived what seems like an eternity ago, September. We live for this.
The arrow flies, only to fall short of its mark, a plume of dust rises as to taunt you for missing the target. It was far, and the wind blew at the perfect time to test your patience, test failed, trigger punched, arrow ruined. Two vanes hang on by a thread as the strength of the glue was exceeded by the power of the bow and unforgiving hand of the earth it had struck. The click of the light switch illuminates your work station, your laboratory. What would the outcome be if these vanes would have been shorter, or longer, or helical? A cotton swab prepares the new vane for attachment, a wire-thin bead of glue flows along its underbelly. Clamp, hold, remove, good to go. We live for this.
Unlock phone screen, open maps, scroll to that pin you placed to investigate. North slope, flattens out, looks like that creek runs right through there. I bet that meadow to the east would be a great feeding feature. The wind usually comes out of the west, planning continues. We live for this.
Alarm sounds and the darkness engulfs the hollow space around you, humidity coats the walls of the tent. Dawn is an hour away, your gear sits just outside. Sixty minutes to lift off, the electric green basin awaits below you, anticipation and excitement prevented you from sleeping even a little bit. Opening day is here. WE LIVE FOR THIS!
