What fall brings

It is that time of year again.
The time when the camouflage clothing comes out of its hiding place, and is inspected. Each pair pants, gloves, jacket, shirt, vest, and balaclava, are carefully searched for rips and tears which are repaired by me and my sewing machine, or is just replaced with the latests and greatest new stuff. Then washed in de- scenting, phosphate eliminating, freaking expensive laundry soap. It is carefully hung outside to dry, not put into the dryer, and repacked in a rubber maid tub with outdoor scent discs, bark, pine needles and tree branches. The branches, leaves and needles are selected so as not to create any moisture and thus leave a mildew smell behind. But only that of the outdoors.

Limited entry draws that were purchased and sent away, months ago in hopes of receiving a chance for an exclusive hunt, are now published on the web with the results. All is needed is a hunters number to confirm a win or loss. A hard copy is also received in the mail. The hunting license is renewed and tags are purchased in accordance with the entry results and a few others just in case.
The compound bow is brought from its case and lovingly polished. Time is spent at the local gun range, sighting in the bow after work and on weekends. Broken arrows from the previous season are re tipped and once again practiced with.The binoculars, spotting scope, and tripod are found and tested to endure accuracy or replaced if necessary. The optics are polished and the legs of the tripod are tested for stability. Knives, and scalpels find their way out of sheathes and pouches to be sharpened with care., then packed alongside the rest of the hunting gear.
Cow calls, and bull calls are purchased and used with much fervor and passion as to annoy the neighbors as much as it is to practice the appropriate calls.
The 2007-08 Hunting Synopsis is memorized, then time is spent on Google earth mapping out possible areas of hunting, and my desktop image looses the smiling faces of my girls and becomes that of a large, bugling, trophy elk. Time is spent looking at the calender booking weekends after the full moon , before the full moon, and in between family commitments to spend time out hunting.
Red bull, canned soup, some fruit, tail mix, granola bars, bread, coffee, bratwurst sausages and a small camp stove are packed for a hunting trip.The first aid kit is replenished, and other necessities are packed, along with sleeping bags, and extra clothing.
Time is taken off work to leave early and drive 6 hours to prime elk country, and still only arrive at1 am. Then hours and hours are spent from light until dark on horseback and foot trudging through the bush, over mountains, old cut blocks, small valleys, searching for sign of a herd of elk. Surviving on camp food, long naps on the forest floor, and a strong adrenaline rush, (that I admit, I will never fully understand) in the hopes of tracking and shooting a trophy, and thus filling our freezer with meat. That in itself, is the major reason Carpenter hunts.
Now, I know that my Carpenter needs his time away to be with other men in the out doors, hunting and camping. And I know that he loves it. There is a gleam in his eye that only happens during this time of year, from when the season opens, to when the season closes. Weather he is successful or not, it doesn't matter, it is the being out there in the wilderness that counts- or so he says.
If I ever sat down and took the time to add up his hobby, I think I know the outcome. If I added up the dollars spent on hunting paraphernalia; Then put a price on the hours spent cleaning, practicing, packing, and driving; Added wages lost due to leaving early; Plus the cost of fuel to drive, and calculated the wear and tear on the vehicle, then added the cost of the food eaten; The cost of cutting and wrapping the meat, if a success occurs; Then I would have to conclude, beyond a reasonable doubt, that any elk my husband bags, has to be the most FREAKING EXPENSIVE meat, bar none, that I will ever have the privilege to serve my family at the supper table. And for that, I am grateful.