The Suburban Sportsman

“Ugh,” I sighed to myself, staring at the half-empty Nalgene bottle inside my blind. “Why did I have to drink all that so quickly?” My mental-rationing never functions properly while hunting. Thanks to this ineptitude, my bladder was now waging a war of attrition against whatever part of my brain controls will power (a tough battle to fight when the skies are empty and you’ve got nothing else on your mind). Inevitably, I concede.

“Well, I gotta pee,” I announce, making my capitulation known to my hunting buddies. What happens next, defies conventional wisdom. While I’m busy stripping off layers of camouflage, the others retract into their blinds, stop talking and start scanning the skies. This is because, without fail, birds will start working our decoys when someone has to urinate.

At first I thought this was an isolated phenomenon, but over the years many hunters and fishermen have detailed similar experiences to me. Deer approaching the stand while texting, fish only striking top-water baits while your head is turned and ducks locking-in while you’re picking up your spread. Apparently fish and game are masters of surprise. Forget about the “watched pot never boils,” cliche. In the outdoors, the un-watched pot instantly evaporates.

These occurrences are so common, that often I will intentionally look away from lures during a retrieve or strike up a conversation when the geese aren’t cooperating. The scary thing is, it works.

So watch for my next post, How to Shoot Accurately With Your Fly Down While Checking E-mail and Picking up Decoys.

“God doesn’t want me to kill, or catch things,” Jake stated flatly between halfhearted casts towards Lake Monona’s jungle-like weedline.

Out of context, this comment may seem like merely a recital of commandment. But for Jake, these words go deeper than a Judea-Christian doctrine. They represent extreme frustration, manifested from years of ardous hunting and fishing excursions. Prior to this point, Jake had responded to countless empty livewells and pick-up beds with the old adages, “Well, at least we got to spend time outside,” or “Any day of fishing [or hunting] beats a day at work.” However, today it seemed that one more fishless trip could banish Jake into eternal pessimism.

I began to mull his words over in my head, seeing as the Madison muskie weren’t cooperating, and I can fish on auto-pilot in pretty much any situation. Was Jake’s inadequacy divinely ordained? Surely he’d done some things that might offend various deities, but nothing to deserve eternal outdoor damnation. So that wasn’t the answer.

Then it hit me. Jake’s perceived failure’s were MY FAULT.

I accompanied Jake on almost all his excursions and would inevitably narrate stories of 100 fish days and endless limits of geese. These tales took place in near-perfect locations, and Jake was using them as a frame of reference for our success. His mindset was due to overly-lofty expectations, instilled by me, and our other companions. Jake was hoping for a Bentley, but the dealers we were frequenting only offered Acuras.

Unfortunately We Can’t All Hunt Land Like This

This is how Jake became my inspiration for this blog. He embodies the sportsman whose success is limited not by talent, but by the land (or water) he hunts and fishes. Outdoor shows and publications paint pictures of pristine waters and bountiful harvests, when in reality we are faced with Jet Skis and small fields. Thus, in this blog I’ll provide stories and share tactics that focus on the functional, not the normative, that will hopefully add to the experience and success of suburban sportsmen everywhere.