The Tension mounts...
I didn't sleep.
I tried to sleep, but the heat in our bedroom was suffocating. The sheets were rough. The pillows were hard as rocks. The audio book we listen to every night droned on and on and on. I could hear my hair growing.
You notice the craziest things when you are trying to take your thoughts to something other than the coming hunt. It wasn't hot, the sheets we have are soft as silk, the pillows, the hair, and the book are just fine. But I swear no matter what I manufactured between midnight last night and whenever it was I did manage to fall asleep only served to fuel my fire.
We had that problem in Texas too. Not so much in Amarillo, when we stayed with my sister, but in Mexia it seemed as if I could have built 4D all over again in that night.
I sat the sidelines all of last year. I read many posts and threads regarding people setting this and that up. They were checking cameras. Planting this here, but that there. I watched as the first successful trips started to trickle in, then more and more stories surfaced. Those hunters whose seasons start earlier allowed others to live vicariously through their exploits, churn the juices, and prime the pump so to speak. Then as the seasons wound down, the victories of the latter seasons rekindled the memories of the early birds. On and on the wheel turns.
I read many posts that recounted everything about the hunt down to the smallest of details. Some were summed up in photos, or a few short sentences. Every victory was celebrated. I wanted to be a part of that.
Now I am. I've purchased all that can be purchased. I've studied all that can be absorbed by one who's played too much football without a helmet. I shot my bow with such frequency that in under a year I've needed to replace the string and cable. I shot from standing, sitting, kneeling postions. I've even toyed with the idea of a prone attempt. I've watched multiple videos, movies, and clips on the subject of Mule Deer and their ways. All that is left is to sit and watch the clock drag on.
Work is work. The callers change, but the theme remains constant. The market climbs and falls. I thank God with every point change that my income does not soley depend on a positive move, but on the other hand, I might welcome the distraction presented by bounding gains and "rock in a well" losses. Ultimately, I fear the digits would only serve to drive my attention back to the number of days until we head out.
All that is really left for us to do, aside from examining the pivotal role of the corn flake in 17th century art, is pack the van. Considering that endeavor would realistically only eliminate 25 minutes at best from our self-imposed sentence, I can hardly justify the notion. Still, I will have to find a way to stem the tide of my obsession with something...
Maybe I'll try for a coyote...
Last edited by Colorado Rick; 09-19-2008 at 05:12 PM.