Alright, gather 'round folks, let me spill the beans about this year's muzzleloader escapade in the Arizona mountains. So there I was, season wrapped up, and yours truly walks out with the tag still warming my pocket. What a wild ride, I tell ya! Think freezing your tail off in the crisp 30-degree mornings, then getting slapped by a gust of wind that could knock over a cactus, only to end up sweating bullets in the scorching 80-degree afternoons.
Conversations with the Wind: The Hunter's Soliloquy
Now, if you ever want to see a grown woman talk to the wind—and not in a poetic way—just stick her on a mountainside during hunting season. Those mornings, I'm perched on a hillside like some statue, waiting for that sliver of sunlight to hit just right so I can start glassing. And wouldn’t you know it, the sun climbs up, and there are deer, sure as the sky is blue, but they’re either sporting no antlers or just rocking these little nubs, like they're trying out antlers for the first time.
The Hunter's Strategy: Plotting the Approach
Now, remember, I'm out there with a tag burning a hole for a big antlered deer, so the ladies and the young'uns ain't on my dance card. I'd spot the occasional stud of a buck, lounging way out yonder—so far out my muzzleloader might as well be a pea shooter. So what's a hunter to do? Well, I’d get down to business, plotting and scheming a way to get within that sweet spot of 300 yards.
Cue the action sequence: me, darting over hills, ducking under branches, getting all cozy with cat claw bushes and scrub oaks, all for the love of the game. I'd finally get to where I need to be, heave up the old binoculars and... poof! Those bucks are nowhere. Tell you what, that's when I'd be wishing for a rifle tag something fierce.
But hey, I'm a muzzleloader gal this season, so I keep on trudging. You wouldn’t believe how many times I found myself in that same pickle. Sure, I had my fair share of close calls with the young bucks, but I had my eye on the prize, even if it meant heading home with just stories and no venison.
Sunset Reflections: More Than Just a Hunt
Through all the miles, the tumbles, the scratches, and the bruises, it was all part of the grand adventure. Spending a week out there with nothing but the wilderness, God's finest shows at dawn and dusk, and just being downright thankful for the chance to be in it—that's the good stuff. So, no trophy buck to brag about this year, but I'll tell you what, the memories? They're gold.
