It’s 4:43am on Friday. I’m a day late on this post — sorry about that. It’s because I spent most of yesterday sitting in a climber stand, which is a strange contraption that affixes a seat and footrest to a tree. I shimmied the while thing up an ash tree, then sat for hours, waiting for deer.

Deer hunting isn’t my favorite. I would must rather be on the move than sitting, and I prefer any kind of hunting that involves a dog over those types that don’t. A week from now, Crosby and I will wake up in a rundown motel in South Dakota, where we’ll be chasing pheasants. But between now and then: deer.

This is my inaugural season hunting with a bow, and today is the last day I’ll hunt with that weapon before switching to a rifle tomorrow. I bought the bow used from my buddy, Timo. He’d had it stolen, along with his truck, last year; insurance bought him a new one; then the cops found his old bow at a pawn shop. After I took ownership of it, I brought it to a bow shop — which is a thing — and had it adjusted for my draw length and strength. All summer, I practiced, until I felt proficient at 30 yards, which a couple experienced bow hunters told me is a good limit for my first year.

Over the last two months, I’ve sat at least a dozen times, for at least a couple hours each time. And I’ve seen lots of deer, most of which would have been an easy shot with a rifle, but not within my self-imposed 30-yard perimeter. Once, a group of five did get within shooting distance, but when I drew back my bow, one saw me and they all ran — if you’ve seen a whitetail deer run, you know where we get the phrase, “they high-tailed it out of there.” That’s exactly what they did. Neighbor Steve, who’s been mentoring me at bow hunting, said, “It’s tough to avoid five sets of eyeballs.”

So I’m learning, which is good. That’s something I’ve written about here before, how committed I am to learning new things, even in my late fifties. Flyfishing and bow hunting and fiction writing are the top three at this point, each of which benefits from my age and … patience?

When I complain about the patience involved in bow hunting, Courtney invariably says, “That’s a good challenge for your personality,” or “As an Enneagram 8, it’s hard for you not to make something happen.” And while I can sometimes trick a duck into landing in my decoys or point Crosby in the direction of a pheasant, I cannot make a deer stroll to within 30 yards of me. She said something along those lines as we FaceTimed last night and I bemoaned the fact that I neglected to bring earbuds, so I can’t even listen to an audiobook while I sit. “Maybe you should meditate,” she said. Grrrrrr.

So I’m sitting in the cabin, next to a fire in the fireplace, with a warm cup of coffee, trying to psych myself up to go out for one more morning, to sit and wait and see if a deer walks close enough for me to draw my bow, to see if I can do that stealthily enough so as not to be seen by said deer, to release an arrow that might find its mark.

All so that we can meat in the freezer. That’s why deer hunt, both as an act of conservation (we have too many deer in this part of Minnesota), and as a source of healthy, lean, wild meat.

Speaking of venison, Courtney and I helped our friends Seth and Tony put on a wild game dinner a couple weeks ago, a celebration of the first season of their very cool North Shore project, Field.Store.House. (At the bottom of the Why page, you can support their efforts.)

Chef Tony took the entire hindquarters of a deer that I gave him (that had been given to me) and smoked them slowly over embers all day. The result was as perfect a slice of venison as I’ve ever tasted.

I got to man that carving station, and thus take credit when diner after diner said, “That’s the best venison I’ve ever tasted.”

Alright, it’s 5:30. Sunrise today is at 7:05, which means legal shooting is 6:35, which means I need to be in stand around 6:00, which means I need to get going. The intention of writing this post was to motivate me to get out there, and it has — especially that last photo.

Wish me luck.