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.