I am fat from vacation. I am lazy. I am always hot, and do not feel like moving much at press time. As a person naturally predisposed to grumpiness… I’ve got it bad as of press time.
It’s inarguable that much of the malaise that I experience during the summer is a byproduct of the environment; the Mojave Desert is not known for its extreme hospitality to living things during the hottest months of the year, where temperatures can climb to over 115 degrees. This year wasn’t too bad — we dodged most of the bullet — but still… it wears on a man.
It’s been months since I could run the dog. I visited one of my favorite trout spots around, which is also one of the only trout spots around, only to find that it somehow had been erased off the map (a story for later, perhaps). It’s been so hot that even I haven’t had any inclination to drive out to the desert and blast some steel to let off steam. I have guns that need to be sighted in and loads that need to be tested, and they have been champing at the bit for some time. Memories of a wonderful week in the mountains on this year’s spring bear hunt are distant, and fading fast.
In short — morale is low.
My hunts are all late this year — a borderlands coues tag in Arizona and then a home-state cow hunt in December. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to make the Arizona hunt at this point. It’s not looking great.
It’s easy to languish in the doldrums of every day life, especially in the hottest days of summer where everything I enjoy doing with my life is essentially precluded. Giving in is easy, although not the correct tack to take. The I hear the wind on the horizon, working its way to my sails.
Now is the time to dot your Ts and cross your Is. Now is the time to replace busted suspension components on your truck, change your oil, and rotate your tires in preparation for a few months of hard living and hard driving. It’s the time to finally clean all the grease and stuff off your camp stove (you know you need to), patch holes in your tents, break in that new pair of boots, and — in general — put your life in order before your spouse becomes a hunting widow.
Throughout the year, I keep a running list of things that I’d like to pick up to make the next season easier or more enjoyable. These can be anything — gear for the truck, clothes, cooking supplies, ballistic-related supplies, anything. The advantage of keeping a running list to evaluate in the off-season is that it helps avoid the mindless consumerism so prevalent in this space, and instead channels everyone’s limited funds towards things that you already know you need.
For most of my life, I’ve been a “safety third” kind of guy, but this has changed in recent years. To that effect, I’ll be building out my first aid supplies and emergency kit in the dog vest and in the truck. I care far more about my dog’s well-being in the field than my own, and it’s impossible to anticipate exactly what trouble they will get themselves in during the upcoming season… so it’s important to be prepared for anything.
We’re going to try to smack an elk with a .30-30 this year, and I have a box of ammo loaded with Barnes 150gr TSXs to chrono. As backup, I’ll also be bringing the old .300 Weatherby, also loaded with Barnes bullets (LRXs). Scope mounts on all platforms are subject to change and rifles will need to be re-zeroed accordingly.
Ball joints and miscellaneous suspension components in the old 4Runner have been refreshed. Oil has been changed and tires have been aligned. Sleeping bags have been washed (before you accuse me of going soft… it’s been five years). A couple great new base layers have been picked up. Maps are pored over. Excitement builds.
An advantage of a lineup of all-late big game hunts means that I have a month or two of chukar hunting to get back down to fighting weight and bring your cardio up to how you idealize it having been. These first hunts are going to be brutal. Still hot down here, and, well… it’s chukar hunting. It remains to be proven if people actually enjoy the act of hunting chukar, or simply revert to it every autumn out of some primal compulsion — some desire for revenge born from the first time they hit the sidehills under the impression that this thing would be fun.
The bird dog, too, needs to get back into shape after a languid summer… too hot to run, too hot to do anything else except putt around the pool in the desert sun.
Each season is, to some degree, a phoenix; rebirth at the lowest levels of one’s mentality and physicality. The outdoorsman that you left behind in February remains still, but encased in Parian marble that could hold something great once again. Or not. I’ll hear the laughing of the devil birds, and my response to them will be the barometer of what I’ll accomplish this year. The more I put in, the more I’ll take away. The cycle will repeat itself, and I’ll likely end the season in that same familiar burnout and empty checking account that comes with long drives to hit it hard on public land every weekend.
The overarching objective for the season? Adventure of the highest achievable order.
Specifically? Another elk in the freezer, for sure. Other than that, I’m not certain. A new species of upland bird in the bag, perhaps. Some reason to break out of the familiar and continue to make progress… whatever that means. Perhaps I’ll experiment a bit with the “Hell Yeah or No” heuristic to whatever propositions come my way.
In any case, things are almost settled. Some of you Montanans are already in the field, and the pre-season is almost completely behind us.
The days shorten and the arc of the sun drops in the sky. I’ve never been so excited to be completely exhausted.
