Much to my abject joy, and dare I say utter surprise, my arrow once again
sailed squarely into the lovely crease on the unsuspecting herbivore yonder for
yet another perfect kill on another perfect hunt for another perfect load of
Don't think for one minute I will ever take such luck for granted, and this
killing spree stuff could become addictive if this keeps up. I'm sure gonna try with all I've got, that's for sure.
I have spent my entire 64 years busting my ass in a relentless pursuit to be
the best marksman I can be. Like every shooter and every hunter I know, it is
our deep, heart and soul desire and dream to be a killer "aim small, miss
small" sniper with guns, bows, slingshots, spears, knives, tomahawks, daggers,
balls, spitballs, dirtballs, peashooters, rubberbands,
rocks, and every other imaginable projectile we can fling, whip, shoot, throw,
toss, blow, lob, or sail yonder. Projectile management is clearly in our manly
Now, mind you, there is proof positive that we learned our painful and
embarrassing lessons well from the unregulated commercial slaughter of game
back in the 1800s, and with strong "err on the side of caution" self-imposed
modern hunting restrictions based on sustain yield science, there is no danger
of that crazy decimation ever happening again. We will make damn sure of that.
For many, many years now, our annual game harvest approach of erring on the
side of caution has paid off big-time, with most states offering increased bag
limits and expanded seasons over the years, so those of us who really like to
hunt a lot can really have the time of our lives each fall and winter.
Growing up as a gung-ho hunter in the 1950s and 60s, we were allowed to only
kill one deer a year. I admit I rarely did, but after that one kill and a long
season ahead of us, what the heck were die-hard deer hunters supposed to do
then? Go shopping? I don't think so.
I always dreamed of hunting those states with liberal bag limits in hopes of
extending my intense love of the hunt. I bought a lot of chicken and beef in
those days and it wasn't much fun.
Now Hunts Hundreds Of Days
So nowadays, as I gear up for the fall, my mind races with gleeful visions of
hundreds of days hunting with a serious flow of backstraps
pretty much a sure thing. I cannot begin to adequately express how incredibly
happy that makes this old deer hunter.
So with stacks of tags and long seasons to enjoy, we literally whack 'em and stack 'em, maximizing the
sheer joys of hunting with the rewards of balanced herds and tons of pure protein
for our families, friends, neighbors, and charities galore where the gift of
pure venison is appreciated beyond belief.
Of course, with the ever present lunatic fringe of ignorant people out
there, (they have a president for not so goodness sakes) there will always be
the squawkers and denial goons complaining of "game hogs" and "serial animal
killers." You know; hippies and dopers on parade, clueless to the reality of
game populations and the responsible and intelligent harvest necessary to bring
about balance every natural season of harvest. Little things like that. I
suppose you don't have to smoke dope to be a dope, but it sure helps.
It's actually fun to fan the flames of ignorance, as it brings a little
humor and extra joy to the whole hunting, killing, sharing procedure. If you're
not upsetting goofballs, you are probably a goofball.
I can close my eyes anytime and relive each and every arrow, each and every
encounter, each and every critter, each and every challenge of getting to full
draw, and each and every smile for a job well done. A
glowing Lumenok disappearing into that sweet spot is
without a doubt one of life's greatest joys. More greatest
joys are better than fewer greatest joys, and I'm going all out to smile myself
to death someday. Now that's life! Less is not more. Don't kid yourself.
All that non-stop hardcore practice is truly paying off for this old killer
and I'm keeping it up. Arrow-after-arrow is finding its way home more and more
often these days, and I am so very happy to report that the cleansing rages on,
the balancing is damn near perfect, the bloodtrails
short, the happiness thick, the backstraps ultra
yummy and the Nugent's and many hungry Americans are dining on God's finest
Thank You Lord. I truly love Your renewable resource thing. Godbless renewable resources and lots of them.
Shop The Sportsman's Guide for a fine assortment of Deer Hunting Gear.
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Ted Nugent is best known for his musical career where the "Motor City Madman" recorded 29 albums between 1967-1997, selling over 30 million copies. Ted has hunted for more than 40 years and will share his love of the sport in this column. "The future of the shooting sports in this country is in the hands of tomorrow's outdoorsmen and women," Ted says. "The youth of America must be educated in the wholesome and valued world of hunting and conservation ... because rock 'n roll plays such a pivotal role in a young person's life, I will share my wonderful lifestyle and experience with them." Ted writes two columns a month for sportsmansguide.com.