Lessons from the Stand

When I moved back to Texas, I wanted to find something to do that could fulfill my passion for surfing while living inland.

One of my favorite things about surfing was the waiting, eyes scanning, looking for the perfect wave. I sat for hours doing so, choosing my waves, quality over quantity was my preference. This practice was good for my hypervigilant nature. After sitting out at sea for long enough, it became less dangerous to me as I felt the power of being apart of it - one with God's creation. In rythym, in sync.

I thought perhaps hunting would at least offer me the same experience, sitting, watching, waiting, in silence, stillness, phone on DND.

The first time I sat in a stand, I was happy to just be there. I had never shot a cross bow and I wanted to just be a passenger on my uncle's hunt, the first day of the rut.

We went out in the dark and settled into the stand, just as the sun started to come up. Watching the birds, rabbits, and squirrels wake up with the day was magical. They played, ate and chatted while we watched deer slowly walk through the trees - too little to take or does.

I kept wanting to stick my head out the small window my uncle had open, just enough space for an arrow to shoot out of. He repeatedly told me not to, the deer would see me or smell me before I could see them.

I sat there, seeing the world from this tiny little window. It stressed me out greatly the first day we sat there. What if something walked up from behind and we missed it? Wouldn't it be better to prepare if we saw it coming?

I thought this through, argued with myself for a while, and then felt the Holy Spirit telling me "this is all you need."

On day 3, my buck came over the hill from behind the stand right at last light. I didn't see him until he was walking right to the corn feeder. My uncle, the expert, had spotted him, signaled to me which direction he was coming from and I had to trust him, too nervous to move and scare him away.

The buck stood there munching, my uncle affirmed that he was old enough to take a shot at, and I lined up the bow. I don't remember pulling the trigger and I don't remember the next 15 minutes. My heart was pounding from adrenaline and I mostly blacked out. Oh yeah, that's my other favorite part of surfing - adrenaline.

He went 10 yards away, and laid down. I wanted to run and see right away, but my uncle said we had to wait at least 45 minutes. Let him peacefully go without stressing him out, even though he was sure it was a clean shot and there was no suffering. I thought that was beautiful, to let him lie peacefully. I wonder what deer see before they die?

We climbed down, using flash lights to inspect my first hunt. The perfect shot - no suffering, no ruined meat. My uncle left to get the truck and I stayed there. I said an oli (a chant or prayer) I learned in Hawai'i. The prayer was thanking nature and living things for sustaining us, nourishing us, a reminder of our responsibility to steward them. A promise that this life wasn't taken in vain.

God gives us blinders for a reason. The greatest hunter only sees what's right in front of them, and that's more than enough.