Outsider Outdoors

[theoutdoorpursuit]

Lights Out: A Military Technique That Will Have You Well Rested Come Opening Morning Of Deer Season

It’s a battle I’ve fought time and time again. An alarm clock set at a ridiculously early hour somewhere around 3:45 AM. I crawl into bed at 10 PM, closing my eyes and hoping for the best. Unwillingly, my mind begins to count down the hours. “If I fall asleep immediately I’ll get just under 6 hours.” Sadly the tossing and turning begins and I find myself a mere three hours from the horrid sound of an Iphone Alarm chime signaling the day’s brutal beginning.

I’ve been on hunts with as little as 30 minutes of sleep. It’s a cruel form of self torture, not to mention incredibly unsafe as motor skills resemble those of an inebriated state. It’s painful, dangerous, and unethical. After many sleepless nights before an early morning hunt I needed to find a solution to ease the anxiety of quickly falling asleep.

I had tried it all. Melatonin pills, “Sleepy Bedtime Tea” rich with magnesium, reading a book before bed, counting sheep, and meditating yet I still found myself wide awake late at night. After countless google searches I came across a technique used by the military to help soldiers fall quickly asleep in the most difficult settings, from mortar fire to desert hot temperatures, in about two minutes.The US Navy Pre-Flight School published a study stating that, “After six weeks of practice, 96 percent of pilots could fall asleep in two minutes or less. Even after drinking coffee, with machine gunfire being played in the background."

A simple yet effective technique that I began employing with the intent of being sleep ready come Opening Day of deer season. Here’s how it works:

Lying on one’s back begin relaxing muscles in the face. Especially tongue, jaw, and eyelids. Make sure there is zero tension.

Lower shoulders as far down as they will go. Repeat with each individual arm… Right arm then left arm. Upper arm then lower arm.

Deep breath out from the chest. Begin easing tension through the torso followed by legs starting with thighs working down towards the toes. 

Lie for ten seconds with all parts rested and tension free.

Once tension free, use one of three imagery techniques:

Lying in a canoe on a calm lake with nothing but blue skies above

Lying in a black velvet hammock in a pitch-black room

If the first two don’t work, repeat to yourself for ten seconds “Don’t think, don’t think”

I’ve been implementing this technique for three months now and I’ve found success in the process. The first few weeks are not easy. You find yourself in a canoe on a calm lake and then quickly repeating “Don’t think, don’t think” for way longer than ten seconds. With anything, it takes practice and I soon found myself falling asleep before I got to the visualization aspect.

It’s been a nifty hack that signals to your body it's time for bed and the visualization along with the focus on resting each individual body part takes the mind off the anxiety of falling asleep. One in a rhythm, confidence in knowing you CAN fall asleep quick in turn helps one fall asleep quick. 

I used to dread the night before Opening Day. The excitement of deer season was often overshadowed by the fear of a sleep deprived state come Opening Morning. This Fall, I’m confident after months of practice that visualizing myself in a black velvet hammock in a pitch black room will have me well rested come morning in my tree stand. 

If you find yourself counting sheep in the early morning hours prior to a hunt give this technique a shot. If it works for guys under fire, it could certainly help you in your cozy air conditioned room.

Source: https://www.msn.com/en-ph/health/mindandbody/the-military-technique-to-fall-asleep-in-two-minutes/ar-BBQjOxn

[theoutdoorpursuit]

Shred It; Tales of A Mediocre Snowboarder

I write this in physical pain, my body beat to a pulp. I imagine this is Monday morning for an NFL running back, covered in ice bags from head to toe. My ass tender to the touch as I ease into this chair to write to you about my bruises and bumps. Muscles I’ve never used before scream in agony when I make too quick of an adjustment.

I’m broken down, paralyzed in soreness, yet I couldn’t be happier. Why do I yearn to get back on the slopes? Why am I so eager to jump back on the very mountain that just a day ago tossed me around like a rag doll? 

There were many times out on the mountain I questioned why I travel hours to put myself through such misery, but as soon as I exited down the hillside in four-wheel drive through a snowy evening, all I could think about was when I’d return.

I am by no means a proficient snowboarder. I’m a ride the breaks down a black diamond just to say I made it down a black diamond, kind of snowboarder. 

And this is the answer I find as I pop another serving of Ibuprofen. I like it because it’s hard. I like it because I’m terrible at it.

I don’t like to go fast. I’ve never been one for roller coaster rides or water flumes. I’m incredibly risk averse. Simply put, I like to go the speed limit.

However on the mountain, you don’t always get to dictate your speed. Much like I imagine a surfer’s relationships with waves, a snowboarder is passive, taking and leaving what the mountain gives. I’ve quickly found that fighting the mountain leads only to your face in the snow.

Snowboarding is incredibly dangerous. There’s trees to run into, knees to hyperextend, heads to concuss, and hard sheets of ice to bruise one’s body. Concussions are the main concern here, while the light is beaming on the NFL, weekend snowboarders are at very much the same risk. The option of a helmet is in reality protection from another skier with a helmet, acting as a battering ram headed for your noggin. The whiplash that rattles the brain like a sponge in a glass of water, is the silent killer..

As much as I fear ruining my already declining cognitive functions, it's the fear that makes it worthwhile. Living life on the edge. The edge of a snowboard, as they say. “Don’t fall, Don’t fall, Don’t fall.” I find is my mantra scaling down the cliff of an ice covered mountain.

Of course you fall more times than you like, but the edge between in control and out of control is addicting. That’s what adrenaline junkies love some much, toeing the line of control when out of control could mean fatal consequence. While I’m no adrenaline junkie, I’m starting to get it. The feeling of being fully embraced in an activity, the pursuit of trying to get down the mountain without busting your ass. Each time down you ease off the breaks just a little bit more until the mountain reminds you of your skill level.

It’s what I would describe as Flow state. The state where our minds are completely entranced in the activity we’re doing. It’s difficult enough that it requires all our attention while having opportunity to advance, but not so hard that the outcome is hopeless.

Flow state is the ideal frequency for a happy healthy mind yet it's often difficult to attain. Rarely would we find it at our 9-5’s, I know I don’t. I’ve found mine on the mountain when I move from green slopes to blue. When I’m just hanging on to momentum, throwing my arms out in an attempt to keep me on the board.

And that is why I take to the mountain. I’ll take my lumps and my bruises. And I’ll be better for it. I’ll leave the mountain envisioning the day I get to come back and sharpen my skills against her edges. There’s no end goal in sight other than the hopes that I can ease off the breaks just a tad bit more today than I did last week.

[theoutdoorpursuit]

Trails and Tribulations of Self-Filming

Hello there and welcome to the year 2019. It sure is great living in the modern world, isn’t it? Phones in our faces, time spent online, VR so realistic there’s no need to go outside! Not much longer till the robots take over! Can’t wait!

In all seriousness though, you know what really grinds my gears? When you see a fight break out on the internet and everyone in said video takes out their phones to film it. Or, there’s a fiery accident on the highway and people stop traffic to snap a pic for the gram. No one thinks to help or maybe call the paramedics?

In 2018, I’m afraid I became that person. I’m reluctant to admit it, but this Fall I made the executive decision to film my deer hunts after receiving a Nikon DSLR camera as a gift. Not only did it take some cool pics, but the video on it wasn’t too shabby, so I bought a tree arm and threw it in my pack.

What I’d come to find is that it’s not just an arm and a camera in the pack, oh no, that’d be far too simple.

See if you’re serious about filming, which I quickly became, you’re going to need extra batteries, multiple lenses, a GoPro or two to get footage of yourself, extra memory cards, a portable charger, lines for the phone and GoPro to connect to said charger.

When it’s all said and done my hunting bag looked like a camouflage puffer fish bursting at the seams. Which may not be a problem if you live on 50 acres and can park the truck 100 yards away from the stand you’ve already rigged up to film, but my plebeian ass hunts public land with all the other peasants.

Well that’s not entirely true, a couple times a year I am fortunate enough to travel to the neighboring state where my extended family owns some land. It was here in September that I realized I had quite possibly made the biggest mistake of my short hunting career, deciding to self-film.

My cousin has been filming for a few years now. It is my theory that if you hunt long enough, you will eventually graduate to the stage of self-filming. A friend of his has a show on the Outdoor Channel and was kind enough to sell him a massive, TV sized camera with all the bells and whistles. I on the other hand looked like a tourist taking a stroll through the woods.

A tripod and a stiff chair was all I needed. Oh and a GoPro mounted on time lapse. And the batteries. And SD cards. Wires. Binoculars. Bow if I wanted to kill something. Release if I wanted to fire that bow.. Lets just say I carried a lot in there that day.

I was all set up in the ground blind, camera on tripod. The problem was that my dinky little DSLR weighed a fifth of my cousins professional video camera, which the tripod was built for.

After a couple hours taking scenic shots, a group of doe showed up. I was pumped to get an animal on camera, maybe a kill shot if I were lucky. And lucky I was, as a rather large doe appeared, ten yards away, perfect for the first hunt of the year and an empty freezer back home.

I followed her with the camera, but she began to quickly trot. I pointed the camera where I thought she might go and reached for my bow. But before I could even reach, the doe stopped, tensed up, and stuck her nose in the air. She looked around, blew, and of course... took off. I had her at ten yards, broadside. An absolute chip shot, yet there I was fumbling with the camera. “First hunt of the year, they’ll be plenty more opportunities” I reassured myself. Spoiler alert: I didn’t kill a deer the entire season.

I would have one other opportunity that season, this time on a dandy of a buck. This particular morning found us in the heat of the rut, winging it on public land. After pouring over maps, I had a gut feeling about a spot I had never set foot in, a tricky feat to perform in the morning darkness. As you would expect, sunrise slowly crept up as I scrambled for a tree. At the first sign of light, I shot up the nearest tree, a thin shrub with branches that halted my climber’s progress at 14 feet.

The glass was about as half empty as a glass could be as I sulked into my climber. The tree was so thin in fact that the ratchet straps which locked my camera’s tree arm in place would not fasten to the trunk. It simply wouldn’t budge. And with no phone service, I had a nice long sit to think about the mistakes I’d made. When at about 8 in the morning it happened. Two doe burst into the creek bottom followed by a buck. He looked at me, nearly eye level, hesitantly but more confused, when in a matter of seconds his attention was back towards the doe.

I drew back, my top pin behind the front shoulder and let the arrow fly. I smoked him, or so I had thought. I got down after some time had passed, phoned my brother to help me track, only to find no blood... no arrow. We  meticulously scanned the entire area, leaving no leaf unturned. But to no avail. 

To this day, I pray that I missed clean, the arrow buried in the soft mud of the creek bottom. Footage, from an operational camera, of the shot would have come in handy. I’d have more of an idea what happened. I’d have some closure. Technical difficulties all around.

Hunting with a camera brought another realization that loomed in the back of my mind this season. There was no more sugar coating mistakes or missed opportunities. Prior to filming, no one knew the real story other than you and the deer. No one had to know you missed a deer, although your heavy conscience generally pushed the truth to the surface.Yet it was always subjective to your account, exaggerations and all. There were would no longer be any room to wonder if the deer you saw just out of bow range. That ten-point monster is now and forever a border line eight point shooter. Evidence is evidence and cameras don’t lie.

The camera can be an asset, but it’s most certainly a hindrance. I get to the woods earlier and leave the woods late. My non-filming, hunting buddies cruise up trees, ready for action. When my climber makes it up, the fun’s just beginning. Breaking it all out and setting it all up. Pre and Post hunt interviews. Rainy weather that jeopardizes filming equipment.

There’s something addicting about filming hunts and animals. Perhaps it's a product of the modern generation that we all feel the need to share our experiences, but the moment you capture an animal on a device is similar to harvesting the animal without the death. The memory is there for as long as the memory card is operational. 

1.8 million years ago, civilization grew through the stories we told each other, many of those first stories originating as hunting tales. Today, our stories are told through video. It's a powerful medium that I hope, if done properly, might inspire others to get outside to film their own outdoor content.

[theoutdoorpursuit]

Hunters In Camo Eating Lunch: Late Season Desperation and A Burger That Put Me On Injured Reserve

Deer season in November versus deer season in December is like comparing New Years Eve to Valentine’s Day for a single lad like myself. Generally on NYE I’m surrounded by friends and throwing down shots with strangers. However on Valentine’s Day I find myself at home, alone, thinking about how dumb a holiday it is. Similarly in the woods during December, I find myself alone, no animals let alone deer, thinking about how dumb this time of year in a treestand is. 

December had approached and I was unlucky enough to draw a quota hunt on a piece of public land in Farmville, Virginia. That’s right I say unlucky because I had been there three weeks prior on a hunting buddy’s quota hunt where we concluded there were no deer on the property. The Wildlife Management Area was but a hunt club four years prior before being purchased by the state and I have my wonders whether those dog running hoodlums cleaned the place dry. A present-day antler point restriction of four points per side would make me believe that was the case. On the bright side, it was the last day of rifle season, it was a doe day, and Farmville has some dynamite food destinations to gorge oneself close by. So I drug my brother out of bed at a ripe 4:30 a.m. to beat the sun into the woods.

Three weeks prior I had nearly lost in on this land. I hiked so deep in there that the return trip nearly killed me.The shit I had to walk through to get back, in the then warm November afternoon. Knee deep swamps, up and down rolling hills, brush so thick you needed a running start to get through it. I fell to my knees when I reached the truck… “Never again,” I said, “Never again”. But oh how wrong was I. You see in my sleep deprived, physically fatigued stupor, I forgot about the trail camera I had set up months prior in anticipation for my quota hunt. So if we’re being completely honest, I was going to get a $75 trail camera, rifle by my side with a better chance of being mauled by a black bear than laying eyes on a deer.

Oh the joys of public land… I arrived that morning to find a truck parked on the trail head leading to my forsaken trail camera. Not wanting to bust in on the poor sap’s hunt, my brother and I decided to head across the street to a spot unfamiliar to us. Due to the newness of the area we devised a plan to split the piece in two. He would go right and I would go left, that way, God willing, we wouldn’t shoot one another.

The morning went by as they usually do in Farmville… spooked some animals on the walk in and sat on a hillside to watch the stillness of a vacant woods. After an hour or two sitting on the hillside, I decided to give still hunting a go. The off and on rain gave me some cover to move without causing a ruckus. And so the process began, Id take a step, 1 Mississippi… 2 Mississippi… when on the count of 30 I’d ever so gingerly move one foot in front of the other. At an excruciatingly painful pace, I inched through the woods. 

By about 10:30 A.M. I had had enough. I could nearly see the car, however I stubbornly vowed to uphold the still hunting method until I reached the field in which I walked in on. I was in no hurry, I had no plans, most importantly no deer to chase. At this point I was in what one would describe as a meditative, zen state focusing on the counting in my head and the one foot in front of the other when FOOTSTEPS!!

A doe busting over the hill at full speed. I raised my rifle in shock but before my brain could register the rare sight of a deer, she was gone… much like a mirage.

 “What the hell pushed her like that?”

I went to shoot a text to my brother, check in where he was, but before I could unlock the phone, busting over the very same hill the doe had seconds ago surfaced was an orange blob, rifle raised scanning the area. I waved at him.. And waved at him. Unlocked my phone and dialed his number. “Hey what's up I’m on a doe!  Just had my cross hairs on her.” “I know,” I replied “Look down to your left…”

And that was our excitement for the day, an inadvertent deer drive that likely pushed the only deer in Farmville to the next county...

Lucky for us, our morning had been expected. And when you plan for the worst, you finish off a hunt with a burger that numbs any and all pain. And if you’re in Farmville, Virginia, you’ll find that burger at the local Macado’s. With over 20 locations in the fine states of Virginia, Tennessee, and North Carolina, The “Do” perfectly compliments a bustling college town like a cold beer compliments a burger. Macado’s boasts a long list of artfully named sandwiches with all your favorites like the Hindenburg, a sandwich so big it’ll blow you up or the Carpetbagger a delicious “wich” with influences from the North. The list of sandwiches is large enough to capture any stomach’s attention, but about two years ago I flipped the menu over and ordered a burger… And man am I glad I did.

My poison of the day was the Boomer Burger, a half pound patty covered in melted nacho cheese, onions and sauteed jalapenos. Just after it arrived, the waitress turned around with the check. “Strange?” I thought, until I realized the burger had vanished...

I’ve read many articles about the infamous “Flow State.” The optimal frequency which a human functions, where a task causes one to be fully immersed in a project, losing perception of time and space around him or herself. That is how I describe my lunch that day. “What have I done,” I pondered out loud. The waitress was kind enough to fill me in...

I looked down, there was nacho cheese everywhere. Down my arm, on my shirt. The half pound burger had put up a fight but was beat down with the help of two bud lights and an intensity of unrelenting commitment. In a trance, I was pulled in time and time again by the mouth watering bun. A toasted outer shell with a soft, slightly sweet middle, paired with the salty nacho cheese and a hint of spice from the pickled ja-LAP-enos. The burger never stood a chance.

I always leave Macado’s satisfied, whether I’m in Farmville, Harrisonburg, Roanoke, Lexington, etc. Good food, great services.. Yada yada. But here’s something they don’t tell you about Macado’s… If you eat a burger with jalapenos and nacho cheese… Go ahead and clear out your afternoon. My Saturday afternoon was an alternating rotation from the bathroom to the shower and back again.

Looks like you got the last laugh, Boomer Burger. But I’d like to take a moment to thank our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ for college football and the ESPNTV app. Sometimes we all need some love and support on the John.

Between the burgers and deer in Farmville, Virginia. My butt took a beating that day.

[theoutdoorpursuit]

Death And Hunting

Every year we as humans celebrate another birthday, however with every trip around the sun our day of death passes, unbeknownst to us. And while it’s quite possibly the hardest truth for us to acknowledge, we will all one day die.

If a hunters lucky, he will harvest many animals during his lifetime, therefore he will witness many deaths. Death is never easy. It’s a complicated matter with the only explanation being that “it’s just part of life.”

Unfortunately and fortunately death is a central component of hunting. I say unfortunately because it is a necessary evil in order to live. Life, unfortunately, consumes other life.

I say fortunately, because it is a reminder of our own morality. A constant lesson to be grateful not only for the time you have, but also for the food that is spared to keep you alive.

It's a scene I’ll never forget, as my buddy lined up the cross hairs on a 70 yard shot across the pasture from a blind. My adrenaline soared when the rifle erupted. He looked over at me, “what happened, where’d he go?” “You smoked him!” I replied in triumph. At the ripe age of 20, I had never felt such an adrenaline rush… as a bystander, without the gun.

It wasn’t long, when we walked upon the old buck, that the adrenaline escaped us. The buck had yet to expire, his last breaths of air shown by the coldness of the night. Moments prior we were elated, yet here we were dressed in shame as we waited for the buck to expire.

The buck took his last breath minutes later and I soon found that after countless hours sitting vigilant in a blind, the “hard work” was just begging.

It was fascinating to me how intricate, yet simple the process was. Every piece had a purpose. Our mammalian counterparts so closely resembling our own fragile bodies. As the work continued, the feeling of remorse slowly eased into gratitude and relief. This meat would provide many meals. It was mature buck who had passed on its genes. Adrenaline to guilt, sadness to gratitude, where else can one find such a wide array of emotions in the short span of an evening.

The gratitude I felt for the animal was a powerful experience. I was connected to this food. I witnessed it’s death and bloodied my own hands. This meat meant exponentially more to me than something I could purchase. How often does one throw away leftover steak? Ground beef went bad? Toss it in the dumpster. Not this meat, because I knew where it came from and that its cost meant more than dollar value. 

Death is what makes hunting such a complicated and intricate pastime. It’s more than a sport, more than a grocery trip, more than the killing of an animal. Painting over the topic with one stroke of the brush is painting a shallow picture that lacks depth and credibility.

Misconceptions about hunters is no surprise as we as individuals in the modern era have become so increasingly distant to our food sources.

Just a few weeks ago after a successful opening weekend, my friend and I spent the afternoon breaking down a deer’s body. That evening we threw backstraps on the grill and enjoyed the fruits of our harvest. The image of the deer stripped down in my backyard was present on my mind. We spoke about how strange it was that this animal was walking around in the woods a mere 8 hours prior. But what’s strange is how we thought that was strange.

We’ve become accustomed to meat from a grocery store, which is far from fresh. Red meat, like beef, can take up to four weeks or more before it’s laid out on the shelf for purchase. During those four weeks meat is stored with unnatural gases to preserve the rich, red color consumers desire. Chicken can be about a week old and left on the shelf for nine days. Lamb, that largely comes from New Zealand, has traveled nearly 11,000 miles in a span of six weeks or more before arriving to your local supermarket.

When we look at these cuts of steak, we don’t think about the animals. There’s no connection to the death in efforts to appease the consumer. We don’t want the guilt that comes with taking a life, we just want the food and as consumers will pay high dollar to keep our hands clean. About 7 billion of us on this planet eat meat, I’d be curious to know the percentage of those who knew where their meat came from, if they acknowledged that life was taken in order for their lives to continue.

Hunting has taught me a lesson that’s difficult to swallow, a lesson that many of us turn our heads away to ignore. For life to continue, death needs to occur. Death is inevitable and life will continue without us.

We’re terrified of death subjectively because life is all we’ve known, but what we don’t realize subconsciously is that death is our ultimate driving force. We go through our days with little conscious thought about our impending doom while it is the very reason we throw on our work clothes and tell the ones closest to us that we love them.

Death is not entirely negative. It is motivation from the fear that is mortality which builds the tallest skyscrapers, advances science, and builds loving relationships.

It’s the moment I recover an animal, I think of my own death. How will I go? Sooner rather than later? Have I lived a life up until this point that I’d be proud of, if my name was called tomorrow?

Death is difficult to come to terms with, but as it constantly hovers in the distant, it will forever demand gratitude.

[theoutdoorpursuit]

Will Artificial Intelligence Alter The Outdoor World As We Know It?

It is no longer a matter of if anymore, but rather when. Two weeks, a year, ten years?

Artificial Intelligence, Virtual Reality, an Age of Algorithms… seemingly the next technological advancements that will forever change reality as we know it. It was only just yesterday, the advent of the internet, smartphones, and social media, flipped the world on its head.. For better or worse? Hard to say...

Technology has been our ally since the day we discovered fire and invented the wheel, but when does our greatest strength become our greatest weakness? Wouldn’t that be ironic? Our beloved technology we cherish so much. The device we take into the shower, sleep with, knows all our dirty little secrets. We end up investing so much time and energy into making our lives easier and more productive that our very creations eventually render us useless.

Algorithms and robots will eventually do our jobs. They’ll have access to every text you’ve sent, every article you’ve read, song you’ve listened to, and Youtube video you’ve watched. Eventually, they will know you better than you know yourself. So when we don’t have jobs and were sitting on our butts, shoving french fries in our face while trapped in a virtual  world that grants our every pleasure, why wouldn’t the robots look at us as parasites sucking up valuable resources?

Honestly, I’m not qualified to answer such life-altering questions. But rather, I’d like to take a stab at some potential scenarios concerning the natural world. What role will the Outdoors play in this forever changing landscape of the cyber connected Universe?

The Need For Tough Love

A wise man once told me, “a candle must burn in order to emit light.” (If we’re being honest I found that quote online, but it could have been a wise man... or woman)

Well whats hunting and fishing without a little hardship?

I believe at first, virtual realities and AI relationships will garner much attention. Everyone will flock to them like we currently flock to a new Iphone. But, too much happiness and no hurt is not a good thing. Counterintuitive I know right? This “Utopian” effect will prove to have darker flaws, surges of depression and anxiety will arise. Some will continue to run towards sex robots, virtual video games, AI companions, but ultimately this will prove only to make matters worse. Deep in the back of our heads, no matter how realistic the graphics, we will know this is not real. There is no truth to this.

And this is where hunting and fishing will come into play. I think there will be many who stay outdoors because it’s all they’ve known, but I believe after the initial overtake of Artificial Intelligence a second wave of individuals will slowly but surely come crawling back to the woods, begging for something real. Until they completely remap our DNA, we as humans were created in nature and feel at home in nature. It will be used to heal anxiety, relieve depression, and combat stress. The low success rates and long days huffing and puffing will once again return a genuine smile to your face because your butt was kicked and yet you’re still standing.

There will be those who are appalled at the ones who go outside, the ones who risk injury or uncertainty. “Stay inside where it’s safe!” When sadly, their safe space is but an illusion. For we need constant reminders of our mortality and how short our time here is. We need to conquer vast landscapes that humble and remind us how small we truly are.

Still Gotta Eat

Until meat can be made in a laboratory, I believe that hunting and fishing is safe. It’s no secret that wild game is some of the healthiest meat one can ingest being that it’s free of antibiotics, hormones, and god knows what else at the old supermarket. So the argument for the ability to know where our food comes from should stand the test of time...  for the time being.

Now when they are able to artificially produce meat from cells there will be push back towards the hunting and fishing community. They will say you no longer need to kill a living creature for food, but I’d argue that we as individuals should still have the right to prepare our own food for ourselves. No one wants to be force fed some crap the robots are whipping up.

And it's not like all life will once and for all be protected, as long as we continue to develop and expand our impact, as our numbers grow way beyond our carrying capacity, animals will suffer. But you’re worried about me eating the same food our ancestors have for millions of years. Go plug back in to your orgasm food tube and let us worry about our own stomachs.

Speaking of orgasm food tubes, food engineers, at some point, may have developed dishes that hit every receptor of our taste buds. A pill that touches your tongue, instantly sending you into a mouth pleasureful, full body orgasm where you suddenly feel satisfied as if you had finished a Thanksgiving meal… Oh yeah, and it’s zero calories!

Today we know what processed, artificially flavored food does to us, it’s no bueno. Now suppose the engineers have worked out the cancer causing side effects and its completely safe. I’d bring it back to the first example of too much of something good. We’re too prone to adapt to what we surround ourselves with and put in our bodies. But one thing that does stand the test of time is the sensation of something fresh, something that took a little elbow grease and some sweat equity to prepare.

It’s hard to believe, but people would quickly grow tired of a pill and artificially conjured meat. We are creatures of process. The process of gathering, cooking, and waiting is what makes a true dining experiences. We connect, learn, share, and grow over the dinner table and as long as people still like people there will be real food and home cooked meals.

Robot Wives That Let You Go Hunting

It’s been hypothesized that everyone will have a robotic significant other that grants their every wish and never argues. This goes for men and women. Why would I deal with someone else’s rough edges when I can have the girl of my dreams who will cook me venison tacos every night of the week… and...AND!... She can’t tell me not to go hunting! Or else I’ll just hit her off switch. What an incredible relationship.

This will result in a disconnect and tension between the two sexes, not to mention the population would plummet due to the fact everyone's getting it on with robots, not procreating. Which, in foresight, I’d argue isn’t a bad thing! Less people out hunting on public land!

I have a sneaky suspicion that this too will have its problems. Nobody wants to be right all the time unless, of course, you’re a narcissist. Bottom line, nobody likes a kiss ass. I could see new fetishes emerging where people are paid or robots are programmed to yell at you. Why? Because we all need a little adversity! Que long winded discussion about hunting and adversity as seen in paragraph one.

The important take home message here is that everyone will have a robot spouse and you get to go fishing whenever you want. I’m looking at you Brad Paisley! Let that sink in for a moment… Maybe the future isn’t so dark after all.

Escaping the Eye of Big Brother

It’s already become an issue, we’re convinced our Iphones are listening to our conversations based on the advertisements that appear on our apps. There’s cameras at every stop light on the streets. Cameras on our phones and laptops that peer right back at us. Google cars that periodically drive by our houses to capture updated images of our unkempt front lawns. Data collected on every term we’ve searched, website we’ve visited, text we’ve sent. Algorithms are in place to predict our next purchase… what’s not to say they won’t be predicting our very next move in the near future. Privacy as we know it will cease… that is unless you want to escape.

The Outdoors have always been a place to escape. Escape the doldrums of everyday life and leave your first world problems behind. Soon it will provide the only escape from the ever expanding eye of Big Brother.

Now there have been major technological advances in the Outdoor industry from handheld GPS systems to Trail Cameras that send live updates to one’s phone, but I envision that the technological overload in our daily lives will lead to those truly interested in leaving the modern world behind in favor of reconnecting with a rarity that is peace and quiet with a little less supervision.

As a millennial, I thoroughly enjoy escaping to the Outdoors to unplug from social media and texts messages. Some of my greatest outdoor adventures have been the ones with no phone service. I predict as we become more plugged into the mainframe, there will be more of a desire to be able to unplug.

The wilderness and backcountry will be some of the last places where we don’t feel as if someone is looking over our shoulder and as an advocate for privacy, I believe many of us will have the urge and necessity for some time spent alone with our thoughts.

A Whole Lot of Time To Kill

Imagine, in five years you walk into a McDonalds towards the register to find a touch screen, “Hello I’m Siri, how can I take your order?” The same touchscreen in Walmart, Food Lion, 7-11, and more. Fast forward to home, later that day, and a self-driving delivery truck drops off your Amazon dinner, cooked and prepared to your preference. After dinner you head over to your local bar, sit down upon a stool and tap the icon of your favorite beer which is then poured and brought to you by conveyor belt. Two beers later the screen cuts you off based on the dilation of your retinas. You’re tired and teetering towards inebriation which is no longer publicly legal since the state stopped making money off of DUI’s. “Your UberSiri is outside waiting,” announces Bartender Z08139.

You know what’s great about non-human employees. They’re always on time, they don’t need sick days, they have no distractions at home, and they don’t ask for pay raises. What will this mean for the working force, middle-class that no longer has the option to work? Universal Basic Income? Hard to say what that looks like for a country so inherently invested in Capitalism. My only guess would be that’d we have a lot of free time on our hands.

Now I’m not huge on the idea of Utopias or Socialism, history tends to show they don’t inherently work out as planned. Capitalism fuels motivations and productivity, but with the real possibility of a limited job market, I believe people will have the option to chase their passions and hobbies, free of risk. For many of us, that’s hunting and fishing.

We’ve always begged for more free time, and now we might just have it. Time to be creative, adventurous, and free of worry from income because our services have been rendered useless. AI take the wheel.

So when one has no work responsibility, income worries, and a whole lot of free time to kill, what does he do? As the lyrical genius Luke Bryan use to say, “Huntin’, Fishin’, and Lovin’ everyday.”

There will be those who plug into virtual worlds and say good night, but there will also be those who take to the mountains. It’s a great sign for America’s public lands as the government will need somewhere to send all these grown adult children. Much like recess for grade school kids, National Parks and Forests will act as government playgrounds to keep us tired out and in check. Send us to the playgrounds I say! You will have no oppositions here.  

Can you imagine a world where you could hunt five days a week? It’d be a dream come true. Not to mention saving some money on Amazon meals, seeing that income will be tight to begin with. The dream of becoming a professional Outdoorsman could become a true reality for all who dare to venture outside. The only kink I haven’t worked out is how we pay for our bows, treestands, fishing rods, lures and various other equipment. Perhaps universal basic hunting and fishing supplies? Seems only fair that the government gives us something to kill some time with?

The Adversity Effect

Technology is a beautiful thing. It’s here to make our lives easier and what could be wrong with that? Well, when is too much of something good no longer a good thing? When do our lives become so easy that it begins to negatively affect our health and psyche?

Adversity is a often viewed negatively, while I’d argue that’s not necessarily the case. Think back to when you gave your all and succeeded on a task? Hard to rival that feeling. Ever been in a relationship where the other person worshiped the ground you walked? Felt clingy and unattractive right?

As a species we spend a majority of our time looking towards the future. What does it entail? What can we improve? Not nearly enough time is spent learning from our past mistakes.

Either will carry the idea of adversity into the future or will start hitting the dopamine buttons, plugged into our veins, until they no longer work. This is why I believe the Outdoors will always have a place in our world. There will always be wonder, exploration and those precious “sucky” moments in the Wilderness.

I see the Outdoors becoming a popular place for those looking for something genuine and ambitious. Outdoor pursuits may be the last great venue to chase the struggle that leads to lasting gratitude and happiness. One can only accept so many handouts before he or she feels the need to go make something happen on his or her own. Thus the Outdoors will provide.

Photo cred: www.Healthimaging.com

[theoutdoorpursuit]

Hunters In Camo Eating Lunch: The Scouting Days Of Summer and VA BBQ

Hunting and Fishing is hard. Too often we head out to the woods or traverse bodies of water, glowing with optimism and anticipation of the animals we intend to encounter. And too often are we left with nothing to show. Just a bad sunburn and some sleep deprivation. That’s why I adopted the ritual, success or failure, to find a local lunch spot post hunt, to nurse our wounds or celebrate our conquest. Be it a burger, some smokey barbeque, breakfast pizza… You name it. Whatever the local spot’s best dish has to offer. Whether you ended your adventure in victory or defeat here’s an idea for some mouth pleasure indulgement. Bon Appetit.

Finally... Fall is but around the corner and hunting season is so close that I’m already having nightmares about falling out of my treestand.

Everyone knows that its the preparation in the off-season that generates results in October and November. And when one scouts hard, he is rewarded with Barbeque, or at least that’s how I see it.

At the end of the day scouting is work. I wish I was more excited about spending time in the outdoors, but it’s stressful. “The entirety of October maybe even November rests upon this trip,” I foolishly think inside my head. This is of course wrong, I’ve never in my time used a hunting spot I scouted in the Summer throughout the entirety of a season. Generally its a place to start and gain knowledge from. And so, in the dreadful heat of the Summer sun and the buzz of the mosquitos in your ear, you press on through thick vegetation as if your season depended on it.

We set out on I-95 North towards a patch of public land in Central Virginia with a loaded list of possible places of interest thanks to some cyber scouting on my OnX map app.

The heat, the bugs, tall grass and shrubs, all this for a chance to ultimately stumble upon some fresh poop. You hope the currently empty landscape is empty of hunters come opening day. Is the tree big enough for my climber? Would the deer be walking this way or that way? Can we make it back here in time before sunrise?

Often times you leave a scouting trip with more questions than answers and that’s simply the beauty of it. You now have a mental image of your future hunting spot that you can play over and over… and over in your head until opening morning.

Our scouting trips were tough, but promising. We found some signs, some good setups, bumped some deer, and overall I left exhausted, but enthused. While the public land looked promising for deer, the local surroundings lacked an authentic, non-chain restaurant. Fortunately for us, we were a quick 40 minute drive from home, seemingly short for a typical hunting/fishing trip.  We would indulge in a hometown favorite. A little slice of heaven I hadn’t had in ages… Virginia Barbeque.

Virginia Barbeque is but a 10 minute walk from my house so I’ll be honest that I am most definitely biased. There are many incredible BBQ joints in the Richmond area such as the infamous Buz and Neds and the newly emerging Texas joint ZZQ, but if you’re looking for a quick bite and some solid Que, VA BBQ can’t be beat. With multiple locations in Midlothian, Lakeside, and Ashland, if you’re in the greater Richmond area you’re never too far from some succulent bake beans and a mouth watering BBQ sandwich. Virginia Barbeque has all your favorite sauces from tangy North Carolina style, sweet Virginia sauce, and a spicy Texas blend. Southern slaw, St. Louis smoked ribs, baked beans, and cornbread muffins all up for grabs at a reasonable price. And if you’re a regular like myself you might be interested in their combo punch card that results in a free combo after five punches, Tuesdays being double punch days.

While I am enthusiastic about enjoying the local grub after a hunt/scouting/fishing excursion, it’s always nice to grab something close to home that you’ll know from experience will hit the spot. For one you get to change out of your gear in order to avoid the stares from other BBQ dwelling onlookers.

After a long day in the sun I grabbed my usual, a pint of NC style pulled pork barbeque and a side of baked beans. I took it home where I could enjoy the fruits of my labor in setting I’m most comfortable, on my couch in my underwear. Old faithful proved once again to be well..faithful. It never blows my socks off, perhaps because I wasn’t wearing any, but the morale of this story is that I was satisfied like I knew I would be. Overall dining experience 6.3/10.

The take home message today is that sometimes in hunting and in dining, stick to what you know and love. If you go out searching for that elusive hunting spot or the best Barbeque in the state, nine times out of ten you’re left with nothing. Be grateful for what you got. A doe on the ground is better than an empty freezer and a BBQ sandwich is better than no sandwich at all. Don’t go chasing waterfalls as the lyrical poets TLC once taught me.

[theoutdoorpursuit]

Hunters In Camo Eating Lunch: A Pawleys Island Get Away

Hunting and Fishing is hard. Too often we head out to the woods or traverse bodies of water, glowing with optimism and anticipation of the animals we intend to encounter. And too often are we left with nothing to show. Just a bad sunburn and some sleep deprivation. That’s why I adopted the ritual, success or failure, to find a local lunch spot post hunt, to nurse our wounds or celebrate our conquest. Be it a burger, some smokey barbeque, breakfast pizza… You name it. Whatever the local spot’s best dish has to offer. Whether you ended your adventure in victory or defeat here’s an idea for some mouth pleasure indulgement. Bon Appetit.

Labor Day weekend was guaranteed to be one for the books. After weeks of striking out on freshwater, the lads and I switched up species and bodies of water. And, hired a guide who actually knew what he was doing. 6 hours of road time and we arrived Friday afternoon for our weekend excursion in Pawleys Island, South Carolina. The forecast looked exceptional, highs in the mid-80’s and not a drop of rain in sight.

One too many drinks Friday evening made the early rise Saturday morning just a tad bit difficult. Biting the bullet, we made the forty minute drive to the illustrious Georgetown, South Carolina. If you’ve never been to Georgetown, it is perhaps one of the best towns on the east coast for an avid outdoorsman. On the water you’ve got some of the best Red fish and Tarpon fishing on the East Coast and right down the road is the Francis Marion National Forest home to renown turkey hunting, a well managed deer population, and the occasional wild hog. Oh yeah, and its named after the character Mel Gibson played in the movie The Patriot.

The Georgetown sky erupted that morning with cotton candy colors as Captain Steve drove us through the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center out towards the Winyah bay. Once upon a time the land that surrounded the public boat ramp, all the way out to the bay, belonged to Yawkey himself. Owner of the Boston Red Sox from 1933-1976, Yawkey would escape to South Carolina to hunt and fish, often bringing along a ball player or two during the off season. When Yawkey passed away, he donated some 24,000 acres back to the state to be used as public land for people who shared similar outdoor interests.

 It was a straight shot to the Winyah from Yawkey’s Wildlife Center, no more than a fifteen minute boat ride. We anchored along the rocky, jetty formations that dissect the Winyah Bay from the Atlantic Ocean. The jetties were a gold mine for bait fish that used rocks for cover. Find the bait fish and boom... The big fish won’t be far behind.

Off the bat we reeled in a few bonnethead sharks, smaller cousins of the hammerhead. The first shark was fun, by the third it became a hassle. Thankfully, the fourth time that rod tip bent down, a stunning South Carolina Red fish was on the other end. These things get massive in the Winyah and while our first one was way out of the slot limit, it was relatively small for what you generally catch out there.

Just like that we took to turns battling bull Reds, each one seemingly bigger than the last. It was a fun couple of hours, two Red fish, then a shark, two more Red fish, and another shark. You could tell instantly, by the way the fish fought which was on your line. The sharks were nothing but brute force and dead weight, while the Reds took you for a ride with fierce heading shakes and quick bursts of speed.

Towards the end of our morning, the bite had died off. After about forty-five minutes of no action we discussed relocating. We sat there shooting the shit when a rod tip bent and the lined reeled out... hard. Ted grabbed the rod as this monstrous fish, whatever it was, peeled yards of line off the reel. “What is this thing!?” We yelled at Captain Steve as the line took off, now 75 yards from the boat. “Hard to say,” Captain Steve replied in amazement.

A state record Red fish, a tuna, barracuda, wahoo, great white shark?? That's the beauty of saltwater fishing, you never truly know. Our imaginations ran wild as Ted held on for dear life. The fish pulling our boat farther and farther from the rocks.

20 minutes later and the battle was still underway. Ted looked exhausted and amazed all at the same time. Luckily, our boat had caught up with the fish, but now it was using its weight to sit in one place and regain its strength.

Ted pulled and reeled, with every ounce of strength he had left in the tank. He could feel it slowly rising. Just a little further… “Holy Shit!” We all exclaimed in unison as a monstrous shark surfaced on the water. Easily nine feet of pure muscle and a face full of razor sharp teeth. “Should we get him in the boat?” Captain Steve asked. “Really?” we replied somewhat excited, mostly anxious. “Hell No! You kiddin’ me?” Captain Steve laughed.

We tried to get the character from Jaws closer to the boat for a picture, but the animal was simply too strong, the line snapping shortly after he had surfaced. The shark took us for nearly a mile long ride around the Jetty, the line almost certainly had frayed around the rocks. Thankfully we got to see the shark and its sheer mass. Had the line snapped during a fight like that, never knowing what it was… Well I guess that’s how fishing legends begin.

It was an incredible day out on the water. We finished off with a couple more Red fish, the last one of the day sneaking into the slot limit and supplying dinner. “It’s no wonder that bite went quiet for so long,” Captain Steve chuckled. “That badass shark shows up, everything disappears.”

We returned home exhausted, dinner in hand thanks to Captain Steve. A celebration was in order for our success on the open waters and I can tell you, there’s no better place in Pawleys Island  to celebrate a day on the Winyah than a mouthwatering breakfast from the Litchfield Restaurant.

Here’s a hot take for you. Breakfast food is similar to Mexican in that its difficult to screw up. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there’s some places out there that taste horrendous, but for the most part these restaurants are playing with loaded cards simply due to the fact that they’re using fail proof ingredients. This was the mentally I took with me into breakfast that morning. Whenever someone tells me I have to try a breakfast spot, its the best breakfast in town, I’m hesitant, “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

They told me you have to wake up early to get a seat at the Litchfield Restaurant. I didn’t wake up early… A difficult task to do two mornings in a row on vacation. I arrived to the Litchfield Restaurant at 8:45 AM where I was met with a line wrapped around the side of the entrance. The building was rustic and weathered, to the point if you hadn’t heard of the place, you probably weren’t taking a chance on stopping in… A local spot for sure, just the way I like it.

Immediately you could feel the warmth inside of the Litchfield Restaurant when our name was finally called. Everyone seated was all smiles, as if you’d won the lottery just to get in there. I nearly teared up as I browsed over the menu, sipping on what I’d described as your classic diner style black coffee.

Chicken Fried Steak (Country Fried as I had always called it), grits, scrambled eggs, and a biscuit. It was at that very moment when the food hit our table that I realized Belinda Carlisle was right, heaven truly is a place on Earth and its located on route 17 in South Carolina. The steak was perfectly fried, bathed in a sausage gravy that I’d like to bathe in myself. The eggs, expertly scramble. The grits hit all the notes of what’d you’d expect grits to be in the glorious South. My one knock was the biscuit. In a place like South Carolina, you save the biscuit for last. It is the piece de resitance of a Southern Breakfast. While I’ve had better biscuits, it did its job soaking up the leftover sausage gravy that covered my plate. Life would be so much easier if everything was covered in sausage gravy. OVERALL DINING EXPERIENCE 8.1/10.

South Carolina did me right and I’d advise you to check her out if you like massive bull Reds and Southern cuisine that’ll put you in a glorious food coma for three to four hours. South Carolina is a somewhat underrated, perhaps overlooked spot for hunting and fishing. There’s some incredible fishing in towns like Georgetown and I’m determined hunt it come Fall. What more can I say, my labor day weekend is South Carolina was… well... Gravy.

[theoutdoorpursuit]

Hunters In Camo, Eating Lunch: You Can’t Fish Here

Hunting and Fishing is hard. Too often we head out to the woods or traverse bodies of water, glowing with optimism and anticipation of the animals we intend to encounter. And too often are we left with nothing to show. Just a bad sunburn and some sleep deprivation. That’s why I adopted the ritual, success or failure, to find a local lunch spot post hunt, to nurse our wounds or celebrate our conquest. Be it a burger, some smokey barbeque, breakfast pizza… You name it. Whatever the local spot’s best dish has to offer. Whether you ended your adventure in victory or defeat here’s an idea for some mouth pleasure indulgement. Bon Appetit.

The parents were in town this weekend for a wedding, which meant I wouldn’t be fishing Saturday morning. I was happy to oblige, I hadn’t seen my parents in months and the fish weren’t going anywhere. The usual routine of fishing then feasting would have to adapt. And when there’s a BBQ Smoke Off at a local brewery, you get your butt to said brewery.

COTU, or Center of the Universe Brewing in Ashland, Virginia was hosting its second annual Circle of the Wagons BBQ cook off and my favorite BBQ joint growing up, Grandpa Eddie's, would be in attendance.

Grandpa Eddie’s was the place to be for barbeque growing up in my neck of the woods. Their Alabama style ribs and pulled pork were that of legend until one day the restaurant disappeared into thin air. Thankfully they have returned in the shape of a Mobile food truck and I was anxious to see if they still delivered their Virginia State Championship taste.

It was a great crowd at COTU that afternoon. You can’t beat good beer and endless barbeque options. I had an assortment of food beginning with a mind blowing “Redneck Eggroll” from a local spot in Ashland, Jake’s Place. This delectable treat consisted of collard greens and pulled pork, deep fried in an crunchy egg roll. Like I said, mind...blown.

My family was overly eager to once again get our hands on some Grandpa Eddie’s and in our excitement we ordered quite the spread, ribs, BBQ sandwiches, collard greens, and championship wings. The wings stole the show with a delicious dry rubbed smokey flavor that I can still vividly taste as I type these words. Sadly the pulled pork and ribs didn’t measure up to the nostalgic reputation I had built up in my mind. They say never meet your hero and maybe that was the case here. Maybe it was the large quantity of food pumped out of a food truck kitchen, but either way, with a Ray Ray’s Pale Ale, I left the table satisfied. Overall dining experience 6.9/10.

The parents headed off to their wedding and my brother and I once again loaded up the kayaks and fishing poles, which was incredibly hard to do stuffed to the brim with an assortment of meats and craft beer. We were headed to Stafford, Virginia in search of sneakheads, an invasive species known for its aggression and tender, white filets.

We knew we’d face some obstacles heading up 95 North on a Saturday, but we had sneakheads on our mind and lines that needed to be wet.

What would usually take an hour and twenty minutes turned out to be 2 hours of head splitting, stop and go traffic, but this would only be the beginning of a fishing trip from hell.

Have you ever run into a gatekeeper that takes his or her job entirely too seriously? You know all, “You Shall Not Pass” and “Bow down to my badge.”

After fighting hours of traffic we rolled up to Quantico Military Base to fish the Chopawamsic creek. Now I’ve done this a number of times, in fact I was there a few weeks prior. Usually, you go to the Exchange Post Marine Store, buy a year long, ten dollar fishing permit and fish the Chopawamsic at your own leisure. Not today, apparently. Either the gentleman guarding the gate wasn’t aware of the fishing procedures or perhaps he felt the need to flex his authority. After a few minutes desperately trying to explain ourselves, we decided to turn around before this hardo tased us.

We had come all this way, through some of the thickest traffic this side of the Mississippi, now scrambling to find a fishing spot. Googling on our phones we found a community on the opposite side of 95. The gatekeeper kindly let us through to the Marina where we were informed it’d cost $40 dollars to launch our kayaks… and so we googled some more.

20 minutes from our location we found a public kayak launch where a small creek feeds into the Potomac river. Third time’s the charm right? We arrived at 7 PM, daylight was dwindling. As we unstrapped the kayaks a county truck pulled up to our car. “What now,” we audibly groaned. The county worker was extremely polite, probably noting the expressions of defeat on our faces. “Hey, just wanna let you guys know the park closes at 8 and I’ve got to lock this gate. Just wanna give you a heads up because it stays a lot lighter out on the water and people lose track of time.” After a half a mile walk, kayaks in hand, we made it to the water at 7:15 PM. We had about thirty minutes to fish.

No snakeheads, no bass, not even a nibble in our short span on the open water. I had a glimpse of hope that our determination would pay off with the fishing gods, but it just wasn’t our day.

We had the kayaks loaded at 7:58 PM. In our rush, I was nearly decapitated by a falling kayak from the roof of the car. My arm took the blunt of the blow, leaving me with a nice black and blue knot. It was the icing on the cake as we headed down 95 in the dark, at least there was no traffic at this time of night.

I learned that day that Northern Virginia is full of gatekeepers, some reasonable, some not so much. Gaining access to these invasive species is only half the battle, if you’re lucky enough to evade a gatekeeper the fish aren’t exactly hopping in the boat.

Barbecue and beer was had. Lines were wet, if only for a few minutes. Catching a fish is hard enough, but at times finding access can be even harder. That’s the struggle of your weekend hunter and angler, trying to find public access that isn’t completely overrun. And that’s the name of the game folks. Some days you get lucky, sometimes you’re met with a hard, “You can’t fish here.” Hence why I generally save the beer and grub for the end, to ease the pain of a hunter/angler.

Better luck next time I suppose…

[theoutdoorpursuit]

Hunters In Camo, Eating Lunch: One Too Many Margaritas

Hunting and Fishing is hard. Too often we head out to the woods or traverse bodies of water, glowing with optimism and anticipation of the animals we intend to encounter. And too often are we left with nothing to show. Just a bad sunburn and some sleep deprivation. That’s why I adopted the ritual, success or failure, to find a local lunch spot post hunt, to nurse our wounds or celebrate our conquest. Be it a burger, some smokey barbeque, breakfast pizza… You name it. Whatever the local spot’s best dish has to offer. Whether you ended your adventure in victory or defeat here’s an idea for some mouth pleasure indulgement. Bon Appetit.

After a couple weeks of tough fishing, we decided to switch things up a bit. Quantity not quality was the new motto. The Tiger bass proved too elusive for our mediocre fishing skills, but mark my words, as the great Arnold Schwarzenegger so eloquently put it, “I’ll be back.”

Instead of heading Southeast towards some of Virginia’s most notable fisheries, we decided to head West towards Charlottesville. Generally, the closer you get to the mountains, the smaller the largemouth bass. Trout fishing in the Blue Ridge mountains is some of the best on the East Coast, but the bass fishing, in terms of lunker size, not so much. Our objective here was to catch as many fish as possible, big or small. We needed a morale boost, heck we needed to remember what a fish on a line felt like.

We fished a reservoir lake known for numbers and views of the Blue Ridge mountains, including glimpses of Skyline Drive, Virginia’s infamous section of the Appalachian Trail. We knew the drive had been worth it when we stepped out of the car and peered into an overcast morning, watching the clouds sift between the mountainside. It was a relatively cool morning for August and with some sprinkling of rain, it was another perfect day for some kayak bass fishing.

We weren’t the first boats into the lake and we certainly wouldn’t be the last. It was a busy day on the reservoir. Fishermen, recreational kayakers, and a few rowers all accompanied the waters. Overall, a solid day on the lake. A few fish were caught, not nearly as many as we would have hoped, but that’s fishing. At about 1PM our stomachs dictated our next moves, a legendary taco shop in downtown Charlottesville by the name of Brazo Taco.

Kayaks loaded up, we took a 20 minute drive into Charlottesville, a happening place on a Saturday afternoon. What we found was a Virginia Craft Brewery festival that shut off streets leading towards downtown. We tried every angle, but Brazo Taco was not happening on this day.

We made our way towards 64 East, back towards home, keeping our eyes peeled for a restaurant that would mend our broken spirit that had craved a Brazo Taco. Fast food just wouldn’t do, but as we got closer and closer to Richmond, we now know, fast food is the only option off the highway.

In our endless pursuit for the ultimate lunch, we ended up 20 minutes away from home, a decision needed to be made. When eating out, I prefer to eat local, but at 2:30PM the hunger pains were too much to make an rational decisions. Plaza Azteca would have to do.

It was no Brazo Tacos, but I did get a taco. Two beef tacos and chicken quesadilla. Ahh yes, and who goes to Plaza Azteca after a long day catching bass and doesn’t order a Margarita? Not this guy. One medium frozen Marg on the side to ease the pain. By the way, a “medium” is massive and $10 a pop.

Tequila is dangerous, we all know that. A Margarita on an empty stomach, even more dangerous. I slowly sipped the frozen beverage as I waited for our lunch to arrive, nibbling on a chip or two. Mexican food is generally pretty quick, but apparently not that day. I was halfway done with my frozen concoction when our food arrived... and all the way hammered.

The rest of lunch is somewhat fuzzy. I believe the food was decent. Then again it's hard to do Mexican food wrong. The overall Plaza dining experience was about a 5.9/10. The food was cheap, tasted alright, and the Margarita was cold, not to mention potent. But at the the end of the day it wasn’t a Brazo Taco.

You can’t always get what you want, in fishing and in tacos. But if you try sometimes, you get what you need and what I needed was something to eat because I was starving. What I didn’t need was a Margarita that left drunk from about 3 in the afternoon to 7 o'clock at night.

Tacos and fishing, what a life to live. If you ever make it out to Brazo Taco in Charlottesville, VA let me know how it is. If for some reason you can’t make it to the taco shop you always dreamt about, I can honestly say Plaza Azteca is a solid backup plan and their Margaritas will make you forget the taco you really wanted… and where you are.

[theoutdoorpursuit]

Hunters In Camo, Eating Lunch: The Fishin’ Pig

Hunting and Fishing is hard. Too often we head out to the woods or traverse bodies of water, glowing with optimism and anticipation of the animals we intend to encounter. And too often are we left with nothing to show. Just a bad sunburn and some sleep deprivation. That’s why I adopted the ritual, success or failure, to find a local lunch spot post hunt, to nurse our wounds or celebrate our conquest. Be it a burger, some smokey barbeque, breakfast pizza… You name it. Whatever the local spot’s best dish has to offer. Whether you ended your adventure in victory or defeat here’s an idea for some mouth pleasure indulgement. Bon Appetit.

Another Saturday in August means another fishing trip searching bass followed by a delectable feast. This weekend we headed Southwest to Farmville, Virginia. Yes, its a real place, not just a viral Facebook game. Farmville is a quaint little college town nestled in the woods of Central Virginia. Other than the two colleges, Longwood University and Hampden Sydney College, there’s not a whole to boast about, unless you like largemouth bass and Southern BBQ.

Farmville lies host to one of the states most infamous fishing lakes, Briery Creek Lake. This 845 acre lake was dammed in 1986 and stocked with the elusive F1 Tiger Bass from Florida in 1987. Briery Creek is an absolutely breathtaking fishery, but it can also be a nightmare for inexperienced anglers. The timber engulfed by the damming lines the water from all directions, providing ample habitat for bass to lurk below in branches of cover. 

In the 90’s and early 2000’s this ideal habit produced some of the highest largemouth bass numbers in regard to trophy size and aggressive fights. Briery Creek Lake’s reputation quickly garnered the attention of anglers statewide, resulting in high pressure fishing conditions that hinder the bass fishing today. Although it’s not was it was in the early 2000’s, anglers still have a shot a some trophy size fish if they’re willing to battle other anglers and the persistent timber that juts out of every inch of the lake.

As a kid, growing up fishing neighborhood lakes and trespassing onto golf course ponds, I had heard the tales of Briery Creek Lake, but never had the fishing vessel to get me on the water. With our kayaks strapped to the Nissan Xterra we headed down route 360 for another chance at reeling in a trophy size F1 Tiger bass.

We arrived at Briery Creek WMA to find a parking lot full of cars and a lake with a number of anglers already getting after it. It was yet another beautiful fishing day in August, overcast skies with intermittent drizzling rain. The water, a blistering temp nearly reaching 80 degrees.

Our first thought, this lake was one advantageous to the kayaker. Bass boats could rarely venture from the deepest parts of the lake or risk smashing propellers into hidden limbs. The boating anglers cautiously inched there vessels at kayak paddling speeds, weary they’d be sunk like the titanic from an underwater behemoth of a tree. Even on the kayak, branches appeared out of nowhere nearly upending the yak into waters below.

They say you have to risk it to get the biscuit so we tied on weedless rigs and paddle onward.  

Many lures later, we looked at each other puzzled. This place had the making of everything a bass could want. We threw plastics, crankbaits, buzzbaits, swimbaits, you name it. I’m not a professional angler, but I wouldn’t consider myself a scrub by any means. After speaking to a few other anglers on the water, no one was catching anything. Maybe it was a slow day, maybe these fish were just too educated. Either way, we were shit out of luck.

Another tough day on the water could mean but one thing and one thing only, lets get after some barbeque.

Enter The Fishin’ Pig.

Located fifteen minutes from Briery Creek Lake, The Fishin’ Pig is the place to be in Central Virginia for BBQ, Seafood, and Southern Cuisine. Any restaurant that boasts a motto of “Eat like a pig, Drink like a fish” is a must stop in my opinion. The fusion of BBQ and Fresh seafood came about when Matt, a seasoned BBQ smoker from Memphis, met a local Farmville man named Shorty, known around town for his famous seafood and chicken breading as well as coining the term, “Catch n’ Release in the Grease.” After bartending together in the local Farmville scene, the two combined their passions and a beautiful collage of greasy, smokey goodness was born. 

If the cool catch phrases and unique story doesn’t spark your interest, I’m sure the menu will. From appetizers like Bang Bang Shrimp to Fried Green tomatoes. Or entrees like Barbeque sandwiches and Shorty’s famous shrimp tacos. Not too mention Southern sides like Jalapeno cornbread, collard greens, and some of the best baked beans I’ve had in my lifetime. You’re more than likely to find something that’ll entice your palate and nurse your wounds after a tough day fishing.

I myself went with Grady’s pulled pork sandwich topped with coleslaw, collard greens and baked beans on the side. This sandwich was right up my alley as far as BBQ style. Four different sauces were offered from Texas style, Memphis, Carolina, and a Georgia mustard based. Of course I went with the Carolina and was not disappointed. The sandwich hit the spot, the collard greens were on point and the baked beans, as I mentioned, were out of this world. I have no idea how they combined such a smoky flavor with a touch of sweetness at the end, but I’m sure as hell glad they did. Too wash it all down, I chose one of the local craft beers, A Port City lager out of Alexandria, Virginia. Overall dining experience 7.9/10.

I came to Farmville for the fishing, but I found it’s Southern cuisine as the real draw. Don’t get me wrong, Briery Creek Lake is a beautiful venue, but for now she’s a lake too tough to tame, at least at this point in the Summer. But hey, as long as the Fishin’ Pig is in Farmville, I’ll have a reason to visit, and I might as well wet a line while I’m there right?

Image From  www.Fishinpig.com

[theoutdoorpursuit]

Hunters In Camo, Eating Lunch: Pierce’s Pitt Bar-B-Que

Hunting and Fishing is hard. Too often we head out to the woods or traverse bodies of water, glowing with optimism and anticipation of the animals we intend to encounter. And too often are we left with nothing to show. Just a bad sunburn and some sleep deprivation. That’s why I adopted the ritual, success or failure, to find a local lunch spot post hunt, to nurse our wounds or celebrate our conquest. Be it a burger, some smokey barbeque, breakfast pizza… You name it. Whatever the local spot’s best dish has to offer. Whether you ended your adventure in victory or defeat here’s an idea for some mouth pleasure indulgement. Bon Appetit.

Our Saturday began like most Saturdays during the summer. An hour long drive, first thing in the morning, to try out another fishing spot. The spot today was the infamous Chickahominy River, just a few miles outside of Williamsburg, Virginia. The Chickahominy is regarded as one of the prominent areas in the state to catch tidal river largemouth bass. According to the Department of Game and Inland Fisheries, “There’s just no place like it in Virginia right now.”

One of the many reasons the “Chick” is so highly regarded is its population of “F1 Tiger Bass,” introduced in 2005 when a group of concerned anglers raised $25,500 to purchase 114,000 fingerling fish from an Arkansas fish farm. The “F1 Tiger Bass” is a strain of fish from largemouth bass in Florida, known for its combination of trophy size and notorious aggression.

So with F1 Tiger Tidal Bass on our mind, my brother and I set out with the yaks to hook up on a few. It was the perfect late July morning out on the water. Bass boats zoomed up and down the river’s bend as we paddled our way to off shooting creeks, just out of the reach of our fellow boating anglers. The river looked healthy as ever, bright green vegetation, lily pads covering the edges, old cypress trees showing off their powerful roots in the early morning low tide. To say we were excited was an understatement.

We backed into a runoff creek and within five minutes I’m on the board. The first fish of the day was a healthy looking little guy. I didn’t get the best look at him as I went to pull him into the boat when the feisty little bass spit the hook and vanished back to where he came from… must have been an F1 Tiger Bass. Little did I know, that was the only fish I’d catch that day. My brother caught one at nearly the same time, but shortly after, the “Chick’’ had our number.

We casted and casted, throwing everything in the tackle box, including the kitchen sink, to no avail. At high noon, we reluctantly made our way back towards the boat ramp. You never want to leave the water in such a fashion, tails between our legs, however our stomachs had other ideas. The thoughts of mouth watering BBQ to ease our hunger pains was enough to call it quits. Sure that day we weren’t the best anglers the Chickahominy had seen, but we’d always excelled in eating BBQ sandwiches. Stick to what you’re good at kids.

Next stop, a fifteen minute drive to Pierce’s Pitt Bar-B-Que.

If you ever find yourself on interstate 64 headed towards Virginia Beach or back up to Richmond, Pierce’s is a must stop for BBQ enthusiasts. After working in restaurants nearly his whole life, Julius C. “Doc” Pierce decided it was time to open up his own joint. In 1971, “Doc” moved from Tennessee to the restaurant’s current location where he started selling his mother’s soon-to-be famous BBQ sauce right out of his house. Many years and a few thousand smoked pigs later, Pierce’s Pitt Bar-B-Que is perhaps the best spot in Virginia to get a bite of some sweet Memphis style pork.

Now I have to admit, I’m not a Memphis BBQ fanatic, Carolina Vinegar based style is what I grew up on, but I had heard some incredible reviews and I was starving so I sucked up my BBQ pride and ordered the J.C. Special, “The popular "jumbo" sandwich - 5 oz. of famous pulled pork bar-b-que in "doc" pierce's original bar-b-que sauce, layered with homemade slaw. Comes with regular drink, french fries.” Apparently I mistakenly substituted the fries, which I’ve now been told are out of this world, for bake beans because what’s a better combo than Barbeque and baked beans.

The sandwich was delicious, a good sized portion of BBQ and a perfectly textured bun. The sauce was slightly sweet, but not overwhelming. The baked beans were pretty standard with chunks of hot dog and bacon. And I walked away with a souvenir fountain drink cup. Overall meal experience 7.1/10.

The fishing could have been better, it’s hard to say whether if the was the river or the anglers. If I’m being honest, likely the anglers. The Barbeque experience was the highlight of the trip and I intend to use the Chickahominy river as an excuse to visit Piece’s in the future.

And that’s the lesson here folks, when the fishing beats you down, the Barbeque will lift you up.

Until Next time.

Image from Pierce’s Pitt Bar-B-Que Facebook Page

[theoutdoorpursuit]

The Last Cast

Who doesn’t love a day on the water? When the rod tip bends and the line starts to drag, there’s no better feeling.

That being said, the fishing gods can be merciful and they can be merciless. We’ve all had days on the water where it feels like every cast is rewarded with a bass. We’ve also had the days where the only thing caught was a buzz. It’s difficult, but rewarding, and as many seasoned anglers often say, “There’s a reason it's called fishing, not catching.”

No matter the day, good or bad, it always ends with the phrase, “Alright, one more cast.” And typically one last cast means, two, or three, or ten depending on the circumstances and overall morale. We either don’t want the fun to end or our pride won’t let us leave without a fish. “One last cast” is a ritual in fishing and I hope I never see the day where my last cast is actually, well... my last cast.

This past weekend, fishing a local river with my brother, I heard “one last cast” about fifteen times. It was one of those days where the conditions were perfect, but for some ungodly reason the bass just weren’t biting.

Each of us had a bass on the board early, lending us unwarranted optimism. A few casts later and those pesky fishing gods granted me a bird nest that sent my Quantum Team KVD baitcaster into remission. Yet, I agreed to stick around. It was a beautiful day on the water and I obliged to stay busy with my camera taking some photos on the water.

Two hours later, my brother was still empty handed. I was hot, tired, and hungry. I announced to my brother, “Alright, I’m ready when you are.” This was when the “One Last Cast” charade began and lasted for another hour and half.

He agreed, he was hungry too. “Let me hit this creek real quick and then we can go.” Fifteen minutes later... “One last cast and we can go.” Call it determination, call it stubbornness, the man wasn’t going home without a bass.

I paddled ahead to see if he’d follow. Slowly he made his way around the bend, “Let me try these cypress trees real quick, has to be a fish in there.” I watched him cast his lure straight into a hanging limb and fight for ten minutes just to get the lure out. “Come on, I can’t end on that cast.” He throws two more and agrees to paddle forward.

I make it to the boat ramp and begin to unload my yak. “Where the hell is this kid?” I yell out his name to no response, leaving to pull the car up to the ramp. Through my rearview mirror I spy my brother casting into the waters of the boat ramp from his kayak. “Dude, you’re not gonna catch a fish at the boat ramp!”

“You never know,” he reluctantly yells back.

“Seriously, this is the last cast,” I beg.

“Alright, last one.”

My brother caught one fish that day. One tiny, four ounce bass... but dammit did he leave it all on the water. At the time I was frustrated, perhaps a little sunburnt and hangry, but the inner angler had to bow his cap. Had the tables been turned, that could have been me out there casting a watermelon senko worm into oblivion. It’s the hope in fishing that keeps us coming back.

Its the thought that the very next cast will provide the citation fish we’d always dreamed about. 99.8 percent of the time it doesn’t, but man does that log look promising, and that set of lily pads, that cypress tree, that creek point… etc.

Figuratively and literally speaking, we never know when our true, last cast will be, so why not throw one more. As they say, you can’t catch a fish, if you’re not in the water.

And so, will load up our kayaks. Fill our spools with line. Pack our bags with an unnecessary amount of lures that we watched the pros use on Youtube. Will drive out to the local honey hole and cast out lines of hope. Maybe it’ll be the day we fish the river dry. Maybe we won’t catch a damn thing. But what I can guarantee is at some point you’ll hear the words, “Alright, one last cast” and the ritual will once again, commence.

[theoutdoorpursuit]

A Virgin Tip To Alaska

The Last Frontier, a vast wilderness tucked between Mother Russia and our friendly Canadian neighbors up North. It certainly didn’t feel like America, yet they spoke the language and happily accepted all of my American Dollars. To say the 49th state was unique would be a vast understatement, nearly as vast as its endless vistas. I grew up in the Appalachians, hiked the Rockies, yet these were but foothills compared to the monstrous Alaskan peaks. I put my boots on the ground, ate and caught my fair share of halibut, searched for Grizzlies, and soaked in the never ending sunlight. Here are my takeaways from a first-timing Alaskan Tourist:

Float Planes Are A Way of Life

Researching Alaska months prior to my visit, I had every intention of riding a Float Plane through the mountains and landing in one of the endless remote glaciers in Alaska’s wilderness. After an 8 hour flight across country from Atlanta to Anchorage, my desire to leave the earth had left me and it wasn’t because of the lack of access. The hotel we stayed at in Anchorage backed up to the busiest Float Plane lake in Alaska. Non-stop, throughout the day, planes cruised back in and took back off out into Alaska’s unknown. I can only imagine the views and the bumpy ride that entailed on one of these $100 dollar four hour excursions. 

Alaska is a sportsman’s paradise and almost all hunters and brave anglers reach their remote destinations by Float Plane. We learned that on a typical five day hunt, a plane drops off a group and are informed to draw an “X” in the sand if they need an early emergency pickup. A plane would fly by once a day. No phone service. No one else around. It doesn’t get much more primal in today’s world than a backcountry Alaskan hunt by plane.  

The Sun Never Sets

We arrived into Alaska during the first week of June which means one thing, The sun “set” at 11:15 PM and rose at 4:00 AM. But here is the kicker, the sun never truly set. It merely dipped down behind the mountains. It’s always light out in Alaska in June. Our first night in Anchorage we ate dinner at 7:30 PM… 11:30 PM at home. I struggled to keep my eyes open as I nibbled at a halibut burger, while the sun, high in the middle of the sky, taunted me as if to say “We’re just getting started buddy.” One morning, we left for a fishing trip at 3:15 AM and it looked as if the sun had been up for an hour. I’d advise looking into a hotel or cabin that has black out blinds or at least purchase an eye mask because the constant light was quite detrimental to the sleep cycle. I couldn’t help but wonder what the winters were like as they would be the opposite, dark nearly all day long. Talk about intense seasonal depression. I guess the light is better than the dark, but I had never been so excited to see the sun set as the day I returned home and climbed into bed. 

Grizzlies are Tough to Find… Moose are Not

The animal I wanted to see the most… from a distance, the ever elusive Grizzly bear, was not sighted. I saw plenty of black bear, but the majestic beast on every Alaskan postcard was nowhere to be found. I took the bear spray everywhere I went, even on the two mile hike in the backyard of the ski resort, looking like quite the tourist with a camera around my neck and a bear spray canister holstered to my hip. Thankfully, no bear spray was discharged in the making of this trip. 

Now what was surprisingly everywhere was the Alaskan state animal, the Moose. These things are the equivalent to white tail deer on the East Coast. They’re on your hiking trail, in suburban backyards, and terrifyingly close to the roads. The major Alaskan highways are lined with ten foot high fences to deter Moose from coming in contact with a car, which would not be a pretty sight as these beasts can be well over a thousand pounds. We certainly drove with caution as every few hundred yards a Moose crossing sign warned of potential danger. Go for the Grizzly, see a hundred Moose, as they say.

Everything is Far, Hence the Planes

Anchorage, where we stayed the first part of the week, was fairly convenient. It’s a normal, small sized city which has about 300,000 inhabitants, half the population of Alaska. While in Anchorage everything from restaurants to grocery stores was an easy 20 minute drive. Everywhere else in Alaska is a haul. We drove 8 hours total one day from Anchorage to Denali, 2 and a half hours to Kenai, and then a combined 3 hours of driving to our fishing trip in Seward. We put many of miles on the rental car and while normally traveling long distances after you’ve already traveled long distances is devastating, the scenery and roadside wildlife made the road time worth it. It’s no wonder planes are abundant. I saw but a small sliver of the massive state and felt like I drove the distance of my home state of Virginia. If you want to see it all, you’ll have to see it by air.

Pictured Below: While Alaska is vast, one doesn’t have to go far for an adventure. In the heart of downtown Anchorage, anglers can hook on to world class Salmon passing through the states largest city.

It’s Never “Warm” In Alaska

I left the balmy, Southern, 90 degree temps of Virginia, excited for some cooler weather in Alaska, but of course I underpacked on warm clothes. I wore my only sweatshirt every morning. The highs in Alaska during June are in the low 60’s, however the mornings were a chilly 40 something degrees. On our morning drive to our fishing adventure the car’s thermostat read 35 degrees. Nothing says summer vacation like long johns, a winter beanie, long sleeved Under Armour, and a rain jacket over top of a sweatshirt as a desperate attempt to keep in warmth. Again if this is what it was like in the summer, I cringe to even comprehend a cold, dark Alaskan winter. At first thought, conversing with our firstmate who had made the move from Virginia to Alaska, I was jealous, until I remembered this poor sap had to endure the cold for likely 9 months of the year.

Everyone Leaves With A Box of Fish

Enter into the Anchorage Airport and people all around you are hauling their catch in foam coolers. It is a sportsman’s paradise after all. We learned that freezing your catch and checking your cooler as a carry-on for $25 dollars is the most cost efficient method to get your harvest back home. Shipping frozen meat can add up quickly at over $6 a pound. We ended up with close to 40 lbs of halibut and after two days in our cabin freezer it easily made the 10 plus hour journey home in a foam cooler, still mostly frozen when we arrived at our house.

Don’t Drive To Denali Without A Camper And Couple Days to Spare

Mount Denali. “The High One” 20,000 feet of mountain, the tallest in North America. You can’t go to Alaska without seeing Denali right? That was our thought. Four hours there, four hours back. The drive itself may be worth the road time. Following adjacent to the mountains with Denali in the background was a scenic view unlike any other. However when we got there we soon found out that you could only get so far in your own vehicle. Only about 15 miles are available to personal vehicles, the rest of the vast national park has to be seen from a registered camper or tour bus. 

Fun fact: At least a few backcountry backpackers get lost every year in Denali and have to be rescued, searching for the “Magical School Bus” from the popular book and movie Into the Wild. 

“The Magical School Bus” was not in the sights of our day trip so we settled for one of three possible hikes. Albeit limited, the trail we hiked, “The Savage Alpine Trail” was possibly the coolest hike I’ve been on. 1,500 feet of elevation in a four mile hike was a workout, but the views were truly unbelievable. Near the summit we spotted a lone Dall Sheep which paid no attention to us as we climbed within a hundred yards of the rare beast. The hike, accompanied with Caribou and Sheep sighting, made the long day trek worth it, but a return trip to Alaska’s most infamous park will entail a multiple day trip into it’s never ending backcountry.

Everywhere You Look, is A Desktop Background

Since returning home, I’ve had many people ask me to explain what Alaska was like. It’s difficult to put into words how truly breathtaking the country is; you simply have to lay eyes on it. No words, picture, or 4k video would do it justice. From the plane ride into Alaska to driving around Anchorage, the surrounding setting is something unimaginable. The mountains touch the sky, the air tastes pure, its as if your walking around in a National Geographic documentary, constantly. 

I bought a DSLR camera before our vacation, I needed something more than an Iphone to capture this trip. While I got my fair share of solid pics, it became increasingly frustrating throughout the week as every turn on the road provided an image worthy of a Desktop background. You know the picture I’m talking about, pre-loaded on your computer, annoying beautiful to the point you wonder if such a place actually exists. I snapped away and each night I’d fume over which photos to keep. They were all, “Instagrammable.” Bring a camera and several memory cards.

[theoutdoorpursuit]

A Solution for Insufferable Millenials; Hunting

“Ugh Millennials, they’re so entitled, so wrapped up in themselves, lazy, not to mention they completely lack an attention span.” Simply put, “They’re the worst.”

Maybe there’s some truth to the above statement, or maybe it’s only normal that the older generations blame the younger generation for the world’s current problems.

A Millenial myself, at the ripe age of 26, I have to admit I do see some of the stereotypical, Millennial attributes in my co-workers, friends, acquaintances, and of course, myself.

But certainly it can’t be our fault, right? We grew up watching Disney movies that told us we could be anything we wanted. We always got a trophy… Shout out to the YMCA for never keeping score. We devoured technology like a drug when smartphones, tablets, and social media burst onto the scene, you’re welcome Mom, Dad, and Grandma for teaching you how to “Facebook.” We are but products of our environment and in this screen dependant world maybe it's time to step outside our online, comfort zones and rewire our software. Time to log off and reboot.

So what’s this out of the box approach to solve all Millenial problems, you ask? Well how about a time machine, one that involves no use of technology, but rather the world around us. I’m talking about digging far back to one of our most ancestral generations, lets talk Pleistocene era or more commonly known as Post Ice Age. That’s right, how bout a little hunting and gathering for these tablet toting, avocado toast eating, sons of baby boomers.

“Surely you can’t mean hunting”? What would the liberal media say!?! “I’m so offended! Run and hide! Play the victim card!” It’s time for a little tough love and nothing spells tough love like hunting. I can’t guarantee that hunting will save your life, but what I can guarantee is it will make you a better person and here’s why:

No Handouts In Hunting

Right off the bat, I can tell you there are no handouts in hunting. It requires tireless patience and a wealth of sweat equity before a hunt can be successful. Even if you do everything right, put in the hours scouting, researching google maps, practice every situation for an ethical shot, these are wild animals that are unpredictable. One of the many common misconceptions of non-hunters is the stereotype of Joe hunter grabbing a six pack of beer on his way to the woods, climbs up a tree and shoots a deer fifteen minutes later. This couldn’t be farther from the truth. The average success rate is somewhere along the lines of 10%, perhaps less depending on the skill of the hunter and access to decent land. And that’s doing everything right as well as getting a little bit lucky. Sports fans boast about the difficulty of baseball, if you get three hits out of ten at-bats, you’re doing well. In hunting, if you get a deer in a season, I’d argue that’s a damn good season, especially for the sorry saps like myself hunting public land. That being said, there is no score being kept. If you can’t enjoy the ups and downs of a hunt and relish in the process, you won’t make it very long. As an “entitled Millennial” I can truthfully say that hunting has been nothing short of humbling.

The Ultimate Test Of Patience

To play off the difficulty of hunting, it’s the ultimate test of patience. I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve sat in the woods anticipating an animals arrival only to be left with my thoughts and the sweet sounds of nothingness. A good hunter is patient. No matter if you’re sitting in a treestand or glassing from a mountainside out West. You’re on Mother Nature’s time which is relative only to the sunrise, sunset, and weather patterns. For a generation that’s been raised in an instant gratification society, a step outside into the wilderness would quickly, pun intended, put things into perspective. Again if you can find gratification in the hunt itself, that’s the ticket. Soak in some sunlight, take a deep breath of mountain air, and most importantly, unplug and appreciate being in the present. It’s something that's lost on many into today’s culture, we all want the end result. The expensive, fleeting pleasures, however most of us don’t want to endure the time and dedication it takes to achieve such things. And for those that have achieved such riches, often tell you that they’re really not that gratifying in the end. They only leave you wanting more. As with hunting, in a successful hunt the end result is merely the conclusion, it’s the hours leading up to the shot that make the story.

Hang Up and Hang Out

Here’s the obvious. We are incredibly screen dependant. We spend the majority of our time inside, at a desk or streaming content on our devices. Now I’d be lying if I said I never checked an update or a football score in the treestand, but the best hunts come in wilderness where phone service is non-existent. A long day in the wilderness acts as a reset or reboot for the human mind. No updates, alerts, no to-dos. You’re senses are your notifications, but in a manner that isn’t tested during everyday, modern life. Your eyes are scanning endless vistas instead of a screen in front of your face. You’re listening to the soft subtle sounds of the wind through the trees, the crack of a stick that sends chills up your spine. Smelling the array of fresh, green growth that inhabit the untouched wilderness. And if you’re lucky, you’ll taste some truly organic, grass fed wild game. Ultimately, its back to the basics. It's obvious from the growing epidemic of anxiety, depression, and sedentary related disease that our bodies have not adapted to our modern world and thus a hunt in the wilderness can act not only as a time machine into the past, but perhaps a system reboot with regards to our overall health and well-being.

Mother Nature Doesn’t Care About Your Entitlement

There’s no politics in the outdoor world, perhaps in the industry, but certainly not in the wild. The landscape, weather, animals, none of them care how much money you made, whether you’re offended or feel like a victim. Out there, it’s all too real. Life eats life and its comes down to a simple yet harsh reality of survival. You could own three businesses, have thousands of instagram followers, drive a fancy car, but in the wild you’re nothing but another creature toeing the line between life and death. Tell a grizzly bear how much money you made last year and see if he cares. Food doesn’t just fall into your lap, success isn’t handed to you as a birthright, it’s go out and eat, or risk being eaten. Millenials are constantly stereotyped for their air of entitlement. Every case is different, but I know when I entered the workforce I was shocked that I had to start at the bottom. I know, I was young, dumb, and arrogant. “You mean I don’t get to call the shots? Did you hear what my GPA was? Did I show you my overpiced college degree?!” Hunting is but another reminder that no ones owes you shit and the landscape, weather, and animals couldn’t care less if you feel like a victim.

I’ve been hunting for a little over six years now and while I’m nowhere near an experienced hunter, I can say that my hunting experiences have taught me many lessons. While the world we know today is vastly different than our hunter gathering ancestors, some of life’s truest lessons are learned through the same activity. Life eats Life, yes I’m talking about the Lion King’s “circle of life” however with much more grotesque realism. Patience is a virtue. Often times in life you will fail twice as much, or more, than you succeed. Hunting is a teacher. Hunting is humbling. Hunting puts food on your plate. And whether you’d like to admit it, all little bit of hunting and some fresh air could do you good. 

Now all that being said, I must go check all my social media feeds for useless information and finish my green tea. 

Singed,

A Millenial Hunter

[theoutdoorpursuit]

Outsider Outdoors: About

I didn’t grow up in the Outdoors.

In fact, my first experience hunting and holding a firearm occurred on the same day, my sophomore year in college on a roommate's farm in Southwest Virginia. From an outside perspective my view on hunting was that of watching paint dry, but to my surprise boredom was something I never felt. My imagination ran wild the entire morning with excitement and anticipation. Aside from a squirrel or two I saw zilch, nothing, nada, yet that morning completely changed my outlook on the Outdoor world forever.

Sure I had explored the woods in my suburban development as a kid, but other than trees between two houses my concept of the Outside world was comprised of recreational team sports like football, basketball, and baseball.

Today however, I’m part of a growing trend in the Outdoor Industry, a member of a new wave of first generation hunters, fishermen, backcountry hikers, skiers, mountain bikers, and so on.

 “Why this new trend?  

At a glance, the world we live in has become technologically obsessed. Glued to our screens, fixated on our online, virtual lives. On one hand it’s an incredibly valuable resource, but too much of a good thing can result in a paralyzing crutch. By no means am I against technology, that would be hypocritical as I type on my computer, but like most things in life there’s a balancing act.

 And with balance comes our first generation Outdoorsmen. Those who desire a breath of fresh air, warm rays of Vitamin D, adventure, adrenaline, a little slice of "real." Those who still dare to push the boundaries of the Outside world.

 That’s why I’m here. To escape from the hectic, anxious, over-stimulated world of the 21st century.

Without a doubt, too many of us spend far too much time of the day at our desks. We waste our valuable free time vicariously living through a Netflix series. We live in overcrowded, traffic-jammed, concrete jungles and neglect to ever visit the vast countryside and it’s restorative sounds of nothingness.

I believe we could all use a little more of the Outside world in our lives. With anxiety, depression, and poor nutritional health at all time highs, I believe our bodies are begging us to unplug and sign off. It could be a walk in the woods, eating an organic grass-fed backstrap, time spent on a lake catching fish and some sun. There’s a whole world out there waiting to be explored. With millions of acres of public land in the U.S., set aside for the people, there’s really no excuse not to.

And that's what we're about here, inspiring like minded individuals to get Outside and use these recreational, therapeutic properties to enhance one's life.

That being said, the Outdoors can have a steep learning curve, like most things worth doing. So I invite you to watch us fail, watch us learn, and maybe, just maybe watch the occasional success story. I hope you ultimately learn from our mistakes, successes, research and so on, but most importantly I hope it encourages you to get out of your comfort zone and experience something difficult but at the same time something real.

 I’m not an expert woodsman. I’ve been hunting, fishing, hiking, etc. for a handful of years now, but I’ve grown to truly cherish these Outdoor Experiences. Whether you're an avid fly-fisherman, a backcountry snowboarder, an archery elk hunter, a mountain biker, trail-runner, etc. We hope our content inspires you to stay Outside, either doing what you love or trying out a new adventure.

Life's too short not to spend all your time…

 #GetOutThere

[theoutdoorpursuit]

What’s A Hunter To Do?

Just like New Year’s Day… it’s here, and then it’s gone. I knew hunting season would go by fast, but what I hadn’t realized is the void it would leave when it ended. From a sweat-dripping Opening day in October to the bitter cold of December, every weekend was spent chasing whitetail deer. My work days largely spent daydreaming of antlers and strategizing for upcoming hunts.

An incredible season it was. There were more lows than highs sure, but the highs were that much more enjoyable because of it. I harvested my first deer, a doe with a compound bow. My first buck a month later with a rifle. I have meat in the freezer and memories that will last a lifetime. But what now…

No one enjoys January or February. The holidays that distracted us from winter’s cold are over. The days still short, the nights still long.

I could hike, but after traversing the mountain sides with my rifle, it just wouldn’t be the same. I’m sure I’d see deer. Out to taunt the weaponless hippie, aimlessly following a dirt trail.

Turkey season, thankfully, is on the horizon. But not nearly close enough.

All a man can do this time of year is wait. Drink heavily, and wait. For warmer weather. For an invitation back into the wild.

So here’s a cheers to all my fellow hunters flipping through pictures of the fall. Replaying “woulda shoulda” scenarios in their heads. Our day will come again. Like Christmas morning we’ll run to our trees. And all will be right again in the world.