“If you consider an unsuccessful hunt to be a waste of time, then the true meaning of the chase eludes you all together.” -Fred Bear 

​As bowhunters we all want an epic story, rich in history with that specific, elusive whitetail deer.  It’s the deer that you “know” and have “passed” numerous times, you’ve found his sheds, and know where he beds. The intimate details of his daily and even seasonal routines are documented in a library of trail camera photos.

To be honest I don’t think of my style of hunting to be defined as run and gun. I feel like it is more than that. It is the evolution of the savage and predatory instinct that drives me to be a hunter and to harvest prey.  We all see it these days in the social media driven, “Look at me” world we live in. Everyone is a big buck expert. No one hunts deer anymore; they grow them, feed them and have 24-hour surveillance on them with the finest technologically, advanced gear, and gadgets on the market!

I found him in a giant brush pile not 30 yds from me over a ridge just to the south. He wasn’t a big, but he was a big deal. I dressed him quickly, dragged him downhill to the shoreline, and boated him to the ramp smiling and fist pumping and thanking God the entire way across the lake.

I tested the Perch first. Rock solid. I felt like I could stand on this thing all day if I had to. I wanted to try climbing as well, but didn’t have time. Instead I just left all the Stepps deployed in my trees, because the ropes need to stretch overnight before their first real use. At 4:15 the next morning, I snatched a Stepp and the Perch from a tree and drove to my hunting spot. In the early dark I climbed 25 feet up a rope, easily set the platform, and waited for daylight and my first saddle hunt.

I've lived in CT my whole life and this past year my family and I moved out to Ashford CT which happens to be right down the street from 700 acres of Yale forest. In my 17 years of hunting 2022 was the first time I applied for a state lottery and won.

I set up for an afternoon hunt on day 1 in Ohio about 2/3 the way to the top of the ridge on a small parcel of land. I used six stepps, a battlement platform, and the berserker, put my face to the wind and hunkered in. As soon as the squirrels accepted my arrival and the woods returned to life, I began a short, blind call sequence of doe bleats and grunts.

Lots of people dream of going on out-of-state hunts; it’s probably one of the top five things my hunting buddies and I discuss. The problem is heading off in pursuit of bear, elk or a lot of times even deer in other states can become fairly expensive pretty quickly. Factoring in care for the animal once you’re successful can bring in a host of other logistical challenges into the mix…

First off...Let's dispel the absolute lie that the liberal Hollywood media has put out there that this activity is cruel and that the animal is "in pain." Those who are ignorant of the actual facts because they've never participated in the activity are easily misled by those who wish to "humanize" or personify animals to the point where they have feelings akin to people. And… yes, I chose the word “ignorant” carefully.

If you’re on social media as much as I am, you inevitably notice new trends. One of my favorites that started popping up in my feed this past fall was a series of memes which started with the phrase “I don’t know who needs to hear this, but…” Usually they were supportive, uplifting and encouraging words that were intended to raise the spirts of someone who might be undergoing a challenging situation of their own.

So far this season, I’ve regaled you with a collection of stories about my outdoors experiences… most of those have been singular in nature – meaning, each story has been about one topic, i.e., turkey hunting, or growing up in the outdoors, or chasing public-land bucks. I thought I’d change it up this time and throw out a hodgepodge of tips and tricks for you guys to consider. Take them or leave them as you need!

“Hey, I’m hunting over here,” called out the voice from above. I stopped and quickly scanned the skyline before spotting the figure perched atop the platform in the tree.

The icon alerting me that I had an instant message waiting to be read lit up as innocently as all the other times it ever had when someone messaged me through Facebook. I stole another glance to my left and identified the squirrel shuffling through the crisp November leaves, periodically burying his nose deep enough to hide his eyes from the still morning air.

Three simple words ended a three-year quest. Of course, even those couldn’t be that simple. Three years earlier, I accompanied the man who had moved in next door to my family to Colorado for his 34th straight trip to the Rocky Mountains. I had met Larry Pierce at what we affectionately called “Crappie Camp”, where a few friends of mine had a cabin on one of the local lakes.

It was eerily quiet… yet another morning offering little hope of success. I stared out into the murky grayness of the sky as my surroundings were caught somewhere between darkness and daylight. I should have heard something by now if it was going to happen. Out west, they would have been hammering for a good 20 minutes now...

“I grew up hunting. I bowhunt. I’m going to have mounted animals in my house. I’m not saying this relationship will ever get to that point…” I trailed off. Then I picked back up again, diving full-steam ahead. No sense in stopping now. “But if it ever does,” I began again, “Is that going to be a problem?”

It wasn’t an unexpected question really, I guess… I mean, I knew her parents and they weren’t outdoors-people. Actually, I had taught both of them in my English 101 class when they were freshmen in college and I was a graduate assistant finishing out my master’s in English. Even though they came from a town of less than 15,000 people, neither was raised by hunting or fishing parents. Now here was their daughter, continuing on the family legacy of not understanding why we hunters do what we do.

That sounded like him: always so darn pessimistic. But I wasn’t so sure. I focused in on the fiery lights glowing back at us and didn’t allow my gaze to waver. Dad was starting to swing the light back to the side of the ditch, obviously neglecting the object of my attention.

Welcome to the very first Tactical Tuesday from Wild Edge Inc. Here’s what you can expect…Tuesday evenings at 8:00 PM EST, a representative from the WEI team will host an Instagram live video.