Well, its about a third of a mile of fields to cross and then a creek. After that its mix of swamp grass and willows. Now in my mind this was perfect. A good distance off the road, lots of cover, no one usually goes back there because its a good distance.
Now in my mind I was a kid again. Thinking I would walk in and go until I found the trails I knew so well from so l-o-n-g ago.
By the time I got to the edge of the swamp I was sweating badly. My shoulders were killing me from carrying the bow and low and behold a little four pointer jumps up and runs off laughing at me.
That was enough to keep me going. I struggled maybe a 100 yards through the high canary grass and found a trail that cross the creek. I sat my sorry butt in a clump of willows until sunset and headed out. I did not see or hear a thing. The ducks and geese and various birds kept me entertained till the hunt was over.
I dragged my butt home, SLOWLY. I was greeted by my wife who help me take my sweat soaked clothes off so I could hit the shower before supper. Lost one arrow off my quiver on the way out.
Gone are the days of flying home from work to run back to that swamp in back of the house to hunt that last hour of the hunt. Would climb at least one tree in the process so everything would be just right.
Like I said (Hunting in the cobwebs of my mind). Boy, did reality hit me fast. Today, I thought I'd share my hunt with you because I'm to sore to do much of anything else. Lesson learned. Old age sucks!
