Who is going out? One thing I love about early bow season for moose is the woods aren't as crowded. Even though I know that moose are still in their summertime mode and hunting is not as productive, I like having the woods cleared out for a change. I also feel less pressure in the archery early season. When I am gun hunting I always feel pressured like if I don't see a legal bull right away, the season will be over soon. When I am out with my bow it is just for fun. Pressure is off. No worries. Just my stick and my string, and the chance at one legal animal. It reminds me of why I love hunting so much. Here is a poem I read once by an anonymous archer. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did the first time I read it.
Well... between a delightful old man conjuring up memories of long ago hunts and a boy's first bow, we find an unpredictable creature called a bowhunter. Bowhunters come in assorted sizes, but they all have the same creed: to spend as much time as possible outdoors.
Bowhunters are found nearly everywhere, stalking around swamps, sneaking through briar patches, and scouting deer tracks a month before the season opens. Mothers love them; sweethearts can't understand them; the boss envies them; and heaven protects them.
When you are busy working, a bowhunter is thinking of lonely trails and a countryside painted with autumn leaves. When you want him to make a good impression all he can talk about is fletching an arrow and his favorite bow.
A bowhunter is a funny guy...in the woods he will happily eat last year's candy bar and drink from any mountain stream, but at home his wife pampers his stomach. He likes long weekends, buckskin jackets, old apple orchards, logging roads, unposted land and questionable companions who are also hunters. Without thought of race, creed, or color, he like people who hunt with arrows three months a year and talk about it twelve.
Nobody else is so early to rise or so late to dinner. Nobody else can cram into one pocket an extra bowstring, waterproof matches, insect repellant, a bottle of buck lure, a faulty compass, a can opener, a red handkerchief, and two chocolate bars.
A bowhunter is an instinctive creature. You know where he is in the spring and summer, but he's hard to find in the fall...when he's overcome by that primitive urge to roam free in the foothills and swamps with the hope of just one clear shot...to chase game with the ghosts of other hunters...from other times. That's all he really asks.