I didn’t want to go, I won’t deny that. It was cold for South Carolina – mid 40s, raining with a NE wind blowing a steady 15 mph – and I had already decided to sit on the couch and watch TV the rest of the afternoon. A nap was definitely in order.

Then I got the call.

“I forgot you had that blind, let’s go hunting.”

I dreaded it. I even tried to talk him out of it. But, in the end, I went. And I’m glad I did.

I’d been inviting the landowner of the new place I’m hunting to join me all season. And each time I asked, he was either out of town, had family commitments or just couldn’t make it. So when he called Sunday, I knew he was anxious to go. Heck, you’d have to be hardcore to want to hunt in that kind of weather, even if you are in a blind.

So, reluctantly, I drove the 20 minutes to his house. We loaded up – in the rain – and headed out to a new spot – in the rain – and set up – in the rain. We were definitely early enough. By the time we got settled, it was about 3 p.m.

After we got set up, the rain stopped and my spirits lifted. I actually found myself getting excited until the rain started again – harder than before – and dampened my hopes yet again. But it was worth it. Listening to the sound of the rain on the roof of the blind, laughing at stupid jokes and merely spending time outdoors with a good friend is some of the best therapy there is.

Of course we didn’t see a thing, but it didn’t matter, we had fun. And that’s what it’s supposed to be about, right? Not about antler size or the great shot. It’s about fun. I get caught up in all the hoopla surrounding hunting too much to enjoy it sometimes. When someone tells me they killed a deer, the first words out of my mouth are typically “Congratulations, what’ll he score?”

That’s not the way it used to be, at least for me. When I first started hunting, no matter what time it was or what the weather was doing, if I wanted to go hunting during deer season, Dad would take me. And, when I inevitably wanted to leave 30 minutes before dark because I was too cold or hungry or just plain bored, he never said a word other than “OK, let’s go.” And he always said it with a smile. Sometimes we’d see deer, most times, though, we didn’t. And that was OK. If we hunted in separate stands and I saw or killed a deer, he never asked, “What’ll he score,” he would just smile and be happy that I saw something, period. Why? Not just because he was my dad, but also because he was a fellow hunter and a friend.

Of course, I would never discredit the rush you get when you finally get a deer in range and put the perfect shot on it; that’s a feeling you never shake and it’s why we sit in a stand for countless hours. Heck, I’m still hunting for the big boy, too. But, in the end, really, isn’t it about the fun you have and the people you meet?

Think about it: If you couldn’t talk strategy or share stories or commiserate with someone because you made a terrible shot, would you still hunt? I guess I might, but it definitely wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.

So, fellow hunters, the next time you feel yourself obsessed (see My Obsession Revealed) or burned out or whatever, take a minute to reflect on why you hunt and ask yourself “Why do I hunt?”

I can just about guarantee that “What’ll he score?” won’t rank among your top three.

Taking some liberty with the title of Mossy Oak’s TV show by the same title, Obsession Revealed, I thought I would let you in on what has seemingly become an obsession of mine this season.

As I’ve said previously, I got permission to hunt a new piece of property this year. By all accounts and signs, it’s a great spot. There’s only one problem: I’ve seen a total of 1 –yes 1 – deer on this place so far. What I thought was going to be a slam dunk on every hunt based on the amount of sign I saw when I scouted has become an obsession to get even a single deer in bow range.

The thing is, I have permission to hunt another spot that’s loaded with deer. Actually, good friend and NWTF Public Relations Manager, Brian Dowler, killed a nice buck there recently. And, the owner of the property has been nice enough to let me hunt pretty much when and where I want to, but I have yet to set foot on the place this deer season.

Why? Because I’m obsessed with the new place. At least, that’s the only reason I can figure.

At first, it was the newness of the spot; I was excited every time I got to hunt. I liken it to when you first started dating the hot girl in high school. All you wanted to do was spend all your free time with her. You talked on the phone way past curfew, made plans for the weekend and dropped anything and everything to spend your time with her.

From there my budding obsession progressed into the “I-can’t-believe-I’m-not-seeing-anything” phase. I would leave each hunt scratching my head and calling my hunting buddies with new theories as to what the deer were doing – or not doing in this case. (Ask Dowler and Mr. BG, they’ll tell you they’re sick of hearing about it.)

Now it’s at the begging stage. I sit in the stand or blind and try to connect with the deer through mental telepathy – I told you I was obsessed. I beg for just the sight of a deer. Heck, I’d take seeing the hind leg of one at 60 yards at this point. But alas, it hasn’t happened…yet.

So, since my wife and boys have been out of town, I’ve been hunting as much as possible. Anyone care to guess where I went?

After consulting with fellow hunters, and given my own miss last week, it’s time to update the MBBA Executive Staff. If you need a refresher on what the MBBA is, see the post titled “The MBBA – You’re Already a Member.”

Since a more recent miss trumps an older miss in our inverted system, I have moved up the food chain to the office of VP. I also know MBBA member Bob missed not once, but twice on a recent hunt, so he takes over the office of El Presidente.

Last names have been left out to protect the ones who missed from more scrutiny than they’ve already endured. Of course, if you know the offenders, please feel free to contact them with a congratulatory laugh.

The new standings are below:

El Presidente: Bob. Bob took some tail feathers off a turkey, missing the vitals, and gave a buck a haircut on a recent hunt, thus lofting him to the office of El Presidente. (+6)

Vice President: Yours truly. I missed a doe at 15 yards, broadside. I’d like to say I barely missed, but the fact remains that I completely shot over her. No idea on that one. (+3)

Secretary: Shannon. Shannon missed a doe with her compound while on an Illinois hunt a couple weeks ago. (+3)

Secretary: Lang. Lang missed a nice buck with trad equipment recently. (+1)

Have people you know who should be on the Executive Staff? Post a comment below and I’ll add them to the list.

I’ll be the first to admit it: I was certain I’d see a nice 140-class buck walk broadside at 15 yards on my recent Kentucky hunt. And, I’m also certain you know what happened – or didn’t happen as the case may be. While I saw plenty of deer, there was no 140-class buck. There were does – lots and lots of does – and two or three young bucks hanging around the area, but no big boys.

I did manage to connect on a young doe the first morning, putting the perfect shot on her and watched her fall 50 yards away from my stand. Then there was the older doe I missed at 15 yards, broadside the second night of the hunt. (You’re now reading the writings of the Vice President of the MBBA.)

But, all is not lost. I still have a Kentucky buck tag and although I may not have connected on the monster I was after on this trip, the season stays in until after the first of the year. Chances are, I’ll be back in the stand before season’s end and hopefully won’t be eating tag soup this spring.

I’ve actually sat in my stand here in S.C. and dreamt about this week all season. This week, you see, I am headed to western Kentucky for a hunt with my dad. After many long discussions with my dad and others, I chose this week because it’s typically during the rut. So hopefully, come Friday, I’ll be drawing on a nice KY whitetail that’s “rut stupid.” I figure the bucks have to be stupid for me to get a shot, so this will put that theory to the test.

Field reports from the stand I will be hunting are very encouraging to say the least. Dad saw a nice buck the other night from my stand, but unfortunately (fortunately for me, perhaps?) didn’t get the buck to come in range. Regardless, western Kentucky is known for trophy-class deer and there have been several killed from the particular property I will be hunting. Wish me luck.

All this thinking about hunting in Kentucky jogged my memory of a hunt when I was quite a bit younger. A psychologist would probably call it a “suppressed ” or “repressed” memory, but I choose to believe it’s just something I would rather forget.

Growing up in Oldham County, about 45 minutes east of Louisville, I was lucky enough to have ample agricultural land to hunt and one hunt in particular stands out.

It was circa 1990 and I was in the neighborhood of 15 years old and was hunting with Dad’s Marlin .30-30 lever action on a piece of farmland near our house. I set up on a trail against a huge boulder and not long after setting up I caught movement to my right on the trail. As the deer came into view, I realized it was a nice 10-point not 20 yards from my position. This was by far the best buck I’d ever seen, much less shot at.

He would probably go 150 easy. Granted, this buck – like me – seems to grow an inch or two every year, the only difference being I grow more in the waistline. Anyway, I took aim off the iron sights of the Marlin and proceeded to miss this buck not once, not twice, but three times!

Wait, it gets better.

Thinking my poor marksmanship was because I didn’t have a proper rest, I got up, moved around to the backside of the boulder, took a rest – I know it seems crazy, but I promise this buck didn’t move – and missed not once, but twice more. For those of you keeping track at home, that’s five missed broadside shots from 20 yards with a .30-30. (If there was an organization like the MBBA for rifle hunters, I think I’d have a bronze likeness of me on the wall in their headquarters.)

Luckily, I carry six arrows in my quiver so, hopefully, the sixth shot will be the one that connects. I’ll keep you posted on my successes and will surely have some more interesting posts from the field come next week.