The smell of oil was definitely in the air, as we entered the city known as Battle Creek.  It was definitely apparent that we were approaching the Kalamazoo River – which passes through the southern portion of the city – because the smell increased the farther south we went.   As we approached the river, we could see that we were entering the “oil spill zone”:  men and women in brightly colored uniforms were abundant, and you couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting someone who was rubber-necking.  I guess that’s only human nature, though.

The wife, Abby and I weren’t sight-seeing, though.  We were heading to the local mall in Battle Creek, because I had managed to ruin a couple pair of work pants in the previous weeks, and going to work without clothes would probably be frowned upon.  And in order to get there, we had to pass over the Kalamazoo River – it’s unavoidable.  Honestly, after witnessing the whole mess, I would have rather stayed home.

It was depressing.

Then, on Saturday night, though the wedding was a great time and the weather was perfect, we had to pass “ground zero” of the spill in order to get there.  Workers were again abundant, as well as a few nice firemen – sitting in lawn chairs on the corner – to let you know that the area was off limits.

After that start to the weekend, and witnessing such a wildlife catastrophe somewhat first hand, I was ready for outdoor activity of any kind that didn’t involve oil – and that is where Sunday came in.

The morning sun rose and greeted Jeff and I as we slowly drifted through the morning fog.  We were in search of a keeper largemouth bass or northern pike.  The fog was incredible, though, and as we managed to put a few fish in the boat, and as I managed to put the oil spill dull drums behind me, the fog was surrounding us.  At times the fog was so thick that it appeared as though we were in some abyss; or that the ghost ship would appear at any moment.  It was eerie and awesome at the same time – a perfect start to a Sunday morning.  Fishing ended up, as always, being a great time – Jeff and I both managed to put some fish in the boat, including one keeper – but the highlight of the day would come later.

The afternoon was spent at Jeff’s house – we rode quads, took care of some food plot maintenance, trained one of Jeff’s labs how to track deer, and had a great time.  Then, and much to my sanity and my soul’s delight, we busted out the bows and did some target shooting.  Shooting a bow really does something for me.  It honestly makes me feel complete and helps to put me at ease.  It’s therapeutic.  If felt awesome, and it had been way too long since we last shot.

And, though I didn’t think life could get much better, it did when a moment that I’ve dreamed of for many years finally came to fruition:  the moment when I would help one of my kids to draw a bow, take aim, and send an arrow towards its mark.

Abby’s attention span didn’t really last too long – she only made it through two shots, and then headed onto bigger and better almost two year old things – but it is a moment which will stay with me forever.  It was a moment frozen in time; a moment which I will never forget.

And may it be a moment that continues into her adult life.

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When you think of Jimi Hendrix’s Fender Stratocaster, Jimmy Paige’s Gibson Les Paul, or John Bonham’s Ludwig drums, what comes to your mind?  For me, I think of pure, raw talent.  All of these individuals made their instruments extensions of themselves; they made them a part of who they were – and that was very, very evident when they played.

Since I was kid, and still to this day, I’ve always had a strong love of music.  And, also, right along with that, I’ve always wished I could play an instrument.  But even if I wanted to learn an instrument, and started tomorrow, I don’t think it would be possible to replicate what Paige, Hendrix, or Bonham could do with their instruments of choice.  When they played it was awe-inspiring; they made it hard to see where the human ended and the instrument began.  The instrument became a part of them, and through it they conveyed emotion and feeling that was second to none.

While I realize that I will never be able to play the guitar like Paige, and will never be able to play the drums like Bonham, I do have a few things that I consider an extension of myself:  my gun, and especially my bow.

The closest I will ever come to the blending of instrument and human – the kind of blending that happened on a Led Zeppelin stage – happens when I draw my bow.  At that moment in time tool (instrument) and human become one.  And while the bow isn’t physically attached to me, like the guitar wasn’t attached to Paige, it definitely feels as though it is.  At full draw I feel as though the bow is a part of me and that the arrow is an extensive of myself; that I project my emotions, feelings, discipline, heart, and soul through it.  Much the same as Paige and Bonham projected their soul through a mean guitar riff and a solid drum groove.

When they played it was a release – a way to relieve stress while experiencing joy.  And, for me, the bow provides the same benefits.  I can come to full draw and feel the pressures of life disperse.  At that moment all that matters is me, the bow – the extension of myself – and the target downrange.

Shooting the bow doesn’t affect as large an audience as Paige’s guitar did – and still does.  And it surely will not produce as much sound as a Bonham’s bass drum.  But it does provide an outlet for those of us who prefer a different means of expressing ourselves with a mystical and timeless instrument…………..even if it’s only for a single audience.

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It could be the way the grip feels in the hand – like an extensive of the arm, or a good old friend. Or it could simply be the way the steel feels, and the powerful feeling associated with accurately sending projectiles downrange with extreme accuracy.  Or maybe it’s how the mind feels when trying to align with a target downrange in order to deliver a small yet powerful payload; or the way the pistol barks and responds to your exact pressure on the trigger.

Whatever it is, it’s simply addicting and I miss it.

I haven’t shot the pistol since last year, and this year – and I truly mean it this time – I’m shooting it as much as I can.  I love the discipline and skill that is required to shoot a pistol accurately, and I truly have no idea why I haven’t done it more in the past couple of years.

I hope to put many rounds through it this year, and I hope to get more accurate with it, especially at longer ranges.

What more could one want out of an afternoon?  And who wouldn’t want to burn through some lead when given the opportunity?

I definitely need to keep my promise this year, because I have an itchy trigger finger.

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I recently stumbled across an article on Mlive.com, from the Grand Rapids Press, that contained some startling information.  Apparently, up to this point, Michigan hunters are really taking advantage of the new crossbow regulations in the state.  I had a feeling that allowing crossbows to be used by more of the hunting population would get more hunters in the woods, but I honestly had no idea that the DNR would issue 45,000 crossbow stamps in the first year.

I honestly consider this a win in two ways, though:  It allows for more hunters to get back into hunting – who maybe didn’t have the desire before – which increases our hunting population (a good thing in today’s hunting downtrend); and it allows our local sporting goods stores to make a little money while riding the crossbow bandwagon – Bob’s Gun and Tackle in Hastings has sold more than 250 already this year.

The big question I still have, though, and one of the questions that prominently featured in the crossbow debate, is whether allowing crossbows significantly increased the number of deer harvested during the archery season.  Many hunters were apprehensive about crossbows being used, because they felt it would increase the number of hunters in the woods, and thus increase the number of deer being killed.  With the deer population we have in Zone 3, though, I figure killing a few more deer in that area was a good thing.  Only time will tell, though, if these particular hunters’ fears were warranted, and that allowing more hunters in the woods actually transpired into a significantly larger number of deer being killed.

I will be scouring over the deer harvest reports once the end of the hunting season is upon us, and I will be checking to see if the deer harvest numbers have significantly increased from 2008.  I honestly have a feeling that we won’t see much change in the deer harvest numbers.  The only thing that will have increased is the amount of hunters in the woods.

I realize that many Michigan hunters don’t want to see an increase in hunting numbers – we already have about 7 hunters per square mile.  But I’m the type of guy who wants to see our hunting heritage stick around for years to come, and if crossbows encourage more people to get out and hunt, I’m all for it.

For now, we’ll just have to wait and see if the 45,000 crossbow permits issued up to this point were detrimental to the deer population.  I have a feeling that that is not the case.

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I know, I know, here it is bowhunting season and I’m writing about shotguns.  I honestly couldn’t help myself, though, after reading this post.  When you mention a Remington 870, I just start to get all mushy inside.  I forget about my bow, forget about deer hunting, and think about all the experiences the 870 and I have been through.

I’ve owned my Remington 870 12ga. for about 10 years.  I didn’t have my own shotgun – I always borrowed guns from family – and I decided that it was about time I bought a gun.  After some research, and after talking with a few family members and friends, I decided that the 870 was probably my best choice – an excellent all purpose shotgun that would fair well against multiple game species.

And that it did.

The 870 and I have pushed through thickets in search of rabbits;  it helped me kill my first deer with a firearm; it was instrumental in helping me knock down my first pheasant; and I had it in tow when I killed my first turkey this season.  I have obliterated multiple clay targets with it, and shot many a slug through it as well.  It is just a good all around gun.

Honestly, I have only owned one other shotgun – a single-shot New England 12ga. – because I just never needed another firearm to get the job done.  The 870 has allowed me to hunt multiple animal species and has never failed me once.  And if we’re being fair, I probably didn’t  take care of the gun as well as I should in it’s early years, and yet it still has never failed me; the gun is scratched, gouged, and has plenty of character marks on it.  But I don’t consider that a negative thing, because each one of those marks tells a story about past hunts.

My 870, that I affectionately call my “trench” gun, has been there through thick and thin and has provided a variety of different table fare for me and my family.

Remington definitely got it right when they made this gun, and apparently people can’t get enough of a good thing, because Remington recently built their ten millionth 870.

Apparently a lot of people have the same love affair with the gun that I do, and like to hang out in the “trenches”.

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