Baseball and Bowhunting Part 1

I am not sure my coach is always convinced my bowhunting addiction makes me a better baseball player.  Actually, I don’t think any of my teammates believe me for one second when I tell them that.   However, despite our polar opposite differences  in how and what  we think makes athletes better, I have always had a hard time finding people more driven to succeed in life in general than serious hard core outdoorsmen.  I believe it is a culmination of raw elements in outdoors we face which forges men and women alike. In-turn we end up resembling much of the same character traits of the land and animals we chase.

 

So where do I find baseball and bowhunting to share common ground and where do I find my weather beaten skills as an outdoorsmen to be invaluable  on the diamond?  In this post I will lay out a few example of where mental and physical toughness bleeds  over from the wilderness to my game.

 

We have all heard that baseball is 90% mental and in order to succeed one must be able to  master emotions and thoughts. I’ll argue that being a bowhunting is also a very mentally demanding and requirers even more mental concentration and drive than most other things including baseball. We have all heard and been preached at about mental toughness but we hear that all the time now days, do we really know what it means?

 

We are told that patience is a virtue,  for me, patience has been learned through countless hours of self subjected motionless sits in the deer woods.  You learn really fast just how bad you want to succeed and how long and far you are willing to go when sitting for deer.  In baseball, I have seen many people  blowup in anger, at themselves, teammates umpires.  Their anger and frustration never get the team anywhere but down it seems.  Bowhunting has taught me how to deal with frustration in a carefully controlled manor that makes me stronger in the end.  Believe me, anyone who has ever tried to bow-hunt can attest to the endless frustrations of the hunt.

As a small disclaimer though, just because I have learned to deal with frustrations in a very controlled way does not mean  I do not care any less about the situation.  I hate watching teammates and even my own coach become a fuming mess of emotion  because this tells me one thing,  they are caught up on a past event they cannot change.  Likewise I have learned that during the hunt is not the best time to beat yourself up about a blown chance or missed opportunity.  Leave that for after dark, stay focused create a game plan and move on, fast.

My second point of mental fortitude as forged by the wilderness is that of an indomitable will. I’ve been in way to many instances where we as a team just gave up because the game got tough.  Attitudes slip, moral drops and soon the game is out of our hands.  What the mountains have instilled in me the mental ability to grind on and spit in the face of the conditions despite them.  This indomitable will is beyond a no quitters no whining allowed type attitude.  This will to succeed is greater than the fear of failure, it is the focus on the end result in the face of uncertainty that will drive my legs forward.

 

Point three of my bowhunting mindset that makes for a good baseball mindset is my  no complaining attitude.  If you could see what I put myself through to get ready for bowhunting, what I go through and have gone through while bowhunting, you will understand why I am a bit calloused to inconveniences and difficult situations.

Baseball is full of inconveniences and difficulties, baseball is a grind but so is bowhunting.

 

Point four- Pressure

My coach always preaches the importance of being able to handle pressure situations.  Let me tell you, in bow hunting there are no shortage of dealing with pressure situations.     Learning to control the incredible surges of adrenalin racing headlong through your veins with an animal  about to enter bow range in one lesson I learned very quickly at a young age and have become very comfortable and familiar with over the years.  Hell I actually love dealing with pressure situations in both baseball and bowhunting, you get a small witness at who you really are with the comforts of life striped away for a time.

Honestly the way I deal with pressure is very simple.  Through my hunting trecks I’ve learned to basically go to a primitive state of focus.  I will focus on one point of the animal’s body so hard, the world around me becomes obsolete, tunnel vision.  Same goes for baseball.  I’ve stood in the batters box many a pressure packed at bats and this primal focus comes back to me, its just me and the pitcher and   usually end up watching the laces spin on the ball.

 

All in all baseball is a chess match and bowhunting is a chess match. In baseball you are trying to outsmart the opponent from a strategic standpoint, with bowhunting you are trying to outwit an animal on their home turf.   Both are games of finesse, wit and the uncanny ability to  control ones emotions and channel them into perseverance.

 

Where Eagles Dare, PWL.

Jason

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Deep Country Doe

The distress in Austin’s voice was something I was not used to hearing.  My friend Austin Groff is by far one of the best and most skilled woodsman I have ever had the privilege of sharing the wilderness with.   Hearing his distinct souther PA Lancaster county voice distressed over the phone catapulted my weary body from bed. I had been recuperating from my own long deer-less day of muzzleloading when Austin had called informing me he had trailed  sparse blood from a well arrowed doe nearly three quarters of a mile into a deep pitch black ravine.  His flashlight was nearly dead.

Its hard to find real friends in this world.  Since my sophomore year of college, Austin Groff has been one of my closest and truest friends.  He embodies the meaning of a true friend with every fiber in his body and I cannot thank him enough.  Getting to know Austin has been nothing short of awesome. Both of us share the same deep passion for adventure and the raw unforgiving realities of the wilderness not many have.  Even while balancing studies and sports, the two of us know when one calls, the other will answer with no hesitation regardless of the circumstances.   We think so alike it can be scary.  Like animals communicating though seeming thoughts, so we also communicate  through what is unspoken.  However, stories of the intricate workings of our friendship and the hilarity which ensues are stories for another time.

Austin is one of the best archers I have ever met. He is unorthodox but gets the job done over and over.  I predominately use tree stands, rubber boots, scent blocking clothing and scent, drags, food plots etc.  Austin wears his dad’s old cameo, leather hiking boots and sits on the ground usually with no blind, just next to a tree.  He has killed four deer off the ground in the last two years with his bow, I haven’t killed a deer with a bow since 2009  We often debate each other over tactics and teqniques but the fact remains, he gets in front of deer with his seemingly unorthodox ways.  So many times he busts my chops for lugging my climber and heavy rubber boots clanking around as he weaves his dinky 5’7 ,118 pound frame silently in an out of the brush often being able to sneak within bow range of whitetails. Earlier this season he had a trophy buck breathing on him from no more than three yards away.    After watching him work over the last 2 years I am beginning to question some of the things we are told make us good deer hunters.

Reaching the trail head, I grabbed my elk pack, a few garbage bags, clicked my headlamp on high plunging into the darkness of the chilled mountain woodland.  With the wind picking up, it began to drive sleet sideways into my face as I reached our pre-set  meeting point.  Seeking shelter from the oncoming storm, I stood in the midst of a grove of pines when my phone lit up.

Austin- “Dude, I’m lost, I don’t know where I am, I lost the deer, its so dark.”

Me- Well yea duh its dark, wait what do you mean you lost the deer?”

Austin- I tried to walk out to meet you but I am turned around, my flashlight is dying…….. dude I can see the road…………”

Me- Holy smokes, the main road?…….. Dude you went the absolute wrong direction, what the heck, your above my other stand.”

Austin-  ok I found the trail, give me a few minutes.”

Me- Ok great, hold on what do you mean you lost the deer…..Austin……Austin!

Austin-  ……….

Me- Crap…..

In all honesty not twenty minutes ago I had been wrapped up in my blankets ready to pass out, now I was alone in the dark huddled under a pine tree bracing myself against the ripping sleet. ” Just fantastic”, I thought to myself, this just seems too funny, he lost the deer I cant believe it.”

This is where some of you may had either seen on my Facebook and Twitter pages, comments on this impromptu adventure.

After nearly 15 minutes Austin finally showed up, out of breath with a semi relieved look on his face to see me.  I was relieved to see that he was ok but became confused when Austin did not have his bow, or any of his gear on him.  I face palmed hard, laughing when he told me we really did have to find his gear in the dark then re-track the deer.  Such is our friendship.

Now there is something I need to explain about Austin that makes me laugh.  His flashlight is horrible and he knows it too.  There are  no justifications, the light beam is about the size of a quarter and shines all of  four feet ahead of you.    In one sweeping flick of my Black Diamond Icon, the woods lit up like a rock show illuminating even the smallest specks of blood.  I love that headlamp and is one of my favorite pieces of equipment in my bag.  Now without fail every time we track a deer in the dark, Austin nabs it from my head forcing me to use wither his weak little flashlight or to use my phone light burning the battery.    I kid you not this has happened four separate times in the last two years and every time I get to tease him about his equipment, such is our friendship.

The majority of the bleeding was internal due to the nature of the shot.  Yes a straight on shot with a bow is risky but I have to give Austin props, he drilled this deer.  After re-trailing this doe through the dark and the sleet, we finally re-found her on the backside of a deep ravine about 8 pm.

I have been hunting since I was two years old and in the last 18 years I’ve seen many many deer.  My eyes grew wide in disbelief,This was hands down was the largest doe I have ever seen.  A true matriarch of the woods we estimated her to weigh between 160 and 170 pounds.  With her thick neck, long nose and incredible body, I asked two question, where are the antlers, and are we sure this isn’t a baby elk?  The celebration began with high fives and pictures.  This was Austin’s 9th or 10th doe and his largest by far.   The grim reaper expandable destroyed her vitals poking itself into her back ham.  For the angle he had I was proud of the shot he made.  Not advisable but he got it done.

Austin wanted to drag this thing out but I put my foot down on that very quickly.  Here’s the deal, we were far enough back to be considered the whitetail back country.  To any western hunter we were not in the the so called “backcountry”  but for us, at least a mile from the trucks, in a ravine of pine trees and scrub brush, yes we were in the whitetail back country.  Using the bit of rope and a pine brand as our hanger, we managed to lift only her hindquarters off the ground.  As the night wore on, the air  on the backside of that mountain had become as cold as the darkness which drowned us.  The only thing saving our fingers was the temperature of the fresh meat.

About an hour later we successfully wrapped up two garbage bags of fresh steaming venison shoving them into our backpacks.  The extra weight of the venison felt strangely good.   Some call it a twisted sense enjoying the strain of a dead animal in my pack, but the small strain produced by the weight of the meat was like greeting an old friend.  That small weight brought back to my mind visions of elk country.  I turned to Austin and said,

“Ya know, this isn’t even half the weight of an elk ham.  Someday…….someday  thats what we’ll be packing out.” My voice trailing out and a starry look in my eye.

“Ya buddy.” Austin said grinning ear to ear as we fist pounded, flicked my headlamp on, and hiked exhilarated into the darkness out of the deep ravine.

Where Eagles Dare,Pushing the Wild Limits.

Jason

What Has Been Missing

My morning had not begun promising.  It started with hitting an old piece of metal  on the dirt road which punched a monster gash in my back right tire.  To my brain still in the process of warming up, the sudden appearance of the tire pressure monitor  did not register until the unfamiliar rattling of the rim caused me to stop. As if my season could not get any more difficult.  Now I really can’t complain to much, this tire was more of an aggravation than anything else.  I could have been in a much worse situation.   Thankfully My father and brother were with me for the day making the idea of changing a tire a whole lot more comforting.  None the less,  this just added to the obstacles I’ve been hurtling all season.  Yet this blow tire mixed with my strange encounter with some Jehovahs Whitenesses the day before reaffirmed the lesson, always expect the unexpected in the wild.

Tossing aside the worries of the tire climbed into a stand for a few hours which proved to be painfully uneventful.  My body was screaming from painful fatigue even as my mind told it to shut up.     Does that ever happen to you?  Up to this point in the season I had been putting way to much access pressure on myself to kill a deer.  I had been pressuring myself for the wrong reasons and I finally dropped that pressure from my psyche.

9:30 we decided to start doing some small drives.  I am not a huge fan of drives, I would rather let the deer move naturally.  However, at this point of the gun season, the deer are really not moving all that much on their own and I was beyond caring in what form or fashion put a deer in front of me.  Team work drives became the order of the day.

Our second drive stationed my father and me guarding the upper half of the hill as my younger brother pushed the bottom.  Overlooking thick saplings and browse, two  heads popped up behind a log.  The two doe were scurrying   directly in front of me forty yards away.  I honed in on one deer in particular and my eyes never left her.  Turning away she exposed her rib cage to my crosshairs.   Standing on the steep wooded  northern facing  hill side, my mind acted like a true predator. Nothing extra, just decisive thoughts blended into one swift calm action.   I felt no recoil as I touched the trigger.   flame jumped from the barrel and the sound of my rifle echoed across the hill side causing my ear to pop.  In slow motion I watched the doe collapse in classic fashion. She did not move an inch, quick, painless and humane.

Feeling like a boss the way I ejected the shell out of the chamber, then reality sped up and  hit me like a brick.  A huge smile flashed immediately across my face as I fell backwards into the damp leaves. Throwing my hands to heaven I soaked up every moment of emotion.  This satisfaction can only be found at the end of a successful hunt, and only those who have experienced it will understand what I am talking about.

I became a mess of smiles and prayers upon walking to the deer.  In usual fashion I laid my gun down, took a knee, placed a hand on the warm body and started praying.  Every deer I kill I find it only fitting to take a few minutes and really pour out my thankfulness to the Lord not just for the kill but for the life of the animal, the nourishment it will provide, the hunt, family, and the opportunity.

I hesitated to show the reaction video since I act fairly corny due to all the emotions and excitement surging through my veins.  yet as slightly embarrassing as it may be I think it is good for others to see what hunters really feel and act like after a kill.  You cant’ say that hunters are out for just blood after watching my reaction.

This is a view into one of the most  intimate moments on this planet, Hunter and prey joined together through the presence of the Creator.   The outside world really never sees this, even on professional television its usually about showcasing the animals and the products used to in the hunt.  This is what everyone does not see.

Sorry for the fern and No I wasn’t crying.

Where Eagles Dare, PWL,

Jason

One Too Many Limbs

Thanksgiving week in the past has been my golden week.  My two largest bucks have been taken two days on either side of Thanksgiving .  Although I entered the week still deer-less, my hopes for scoring a big agricultural buck under the overcast skies of my childhood turf teetered with high anticipation, hoping history would repeat itself.

So much for a break from school, I woke every morning at five o’clock  to greet the grey dawn  and ghost like woods.  Now I understand a few things about where I live, the pressure and its effects on the deer.  That is another post which I shall write later.   However; I really thought that hunting some of my favorite corn fields and brush lots would produce a little more than two button bucks.  As gray daylight faded to blue dusk I stared blankly out the window in my living room Saturday night.  Extended family were gathered in harmonious conversation, but my mind was running at a million miles an hour brewing a plan.  My father knew by just looking at the calm frustration  gleaning from my emotionless face, what I was thinking.

The plan was simple.  I would wake up early on Sunday November,25  eat breakfast with my family, say goodbye then put the peddle to the metal to reach my cabin two hours away  on the New York Pensilvania boarder.  Rain gradually gave away to blowing snow as I left the warmer lake effect zone and pointed my truck into the hills of my beloved Allegheny mountains

Figuring on the moon phase, which was rapidly approaching a full moon, plus the fresh four inches of snow and the bitter cold temperatures, these deer  would be bedded tight  in a thick stand of briars  which have taken over a large North facing section of the mountain.    The interesting contrast of the landscape made me stop for a second to take it in.  Low gray skies  hovering above the  gray cold leafless trees which then slammed into the harsh contrast of the freshly laden snow.  Although  archery is my favorite which it is, there is something I love about walking amongst this  barren scenery with a gun cradled in my arms.

There was one exception to this hunt.  I was hunting solo on the back side of the toughest section on the property.   If I actually did kill something, I was hanging the animal in a tree, deboning the meat right there and packing the it out western elk hunter style.

Grabbing my trusted western Nimrod elk  pack I filled it with a long piece of rope and  one large black contractor trash back for the meat along with, food, water, and my knife.

One crucial part of my plan was missing though, I left my binoculars back home in my dad’s truck.  This proved to make scouring brush from a distance much more difficult.  Kicking myself for forgetting  them, I put it out of my mind and headed west down a long solemn logging road.  The open coldness of the woods truly revealed its lonely vastness. Know I was the only one around for miles was a humbling thought.

Not five minutes into the woods I bumped two doe from a high ridge sending them scrambling into the endless abyss of briars below.  Well that happened faster than I had expected but none the less it was a positive start to my afternoon Figuring that the doe duo hadn’t gone more than 200 yards before they bedded down again, I hiked to where I last saw them disappear over a ridge and sat down.  I was really wishing for my binoculars forty-five minutes later the wind shifted  and from below the ridge 200 yards away, the duo busted running full tilt heading the east deeper into the briar jungle.  Part of my original plan was to hunt  the eastern part of the briar jungle anyway.  hanging high closer to the top rim of the mountain looking down I snuck my way east hoping to spot the duo bedded below.

The heart break.

although I was working my way along slowly, the  sheer angle of the terrain  reminded me of my trip to elk country, than that of hunting eastern whitetails.  My Muck boots continued to slip in the soft snow, struggling to keep my balance at times I reached an area of recent logging. This meant one thing, intense underbrush.  The briars and saplings  of this logged section of the mountain  make the rest of the mountain look freshly shaven.    Dodging limbs and dancing over downed limbs as quietly as possible something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention.  A big brown log  with fur put my senses on high alert however, I did not panic.  slowly stopping and turning calmly I was staring at a bedded whitetail less than forty yards away.  I could not believe that this deer had let me get that close, then, I realized why.  Slowly from in between the mess of bramble I saw two big main beams stretching past his ears extending upward ten or twelve inches. “Holy smokes”, I thought, THIS was the buck I had been waiting for.    Big  bucks are not just smart, they own a cunning edge which they rely on to keep them alive.  This buck was trying to outsmart me by waiting on the danger to pass.  I pulled my rifle up but was met with no clear shot.  The saplings and bramble were just to thick, there was not even a tiny hole to slip my bullet through.  I shoot a .270 in this unit and did not want to risk my bullet glancing off a branch or even worse wounding this magnificent beast.  I am completely confident in my gun  but I knew that there was no way it would bust through all that mess of brush.   My mind was not quite panicking  yet but I could not believe that he was still bedded there. Realizing there was no shot I tried to salvage this chance by relying on a trick I learned out west  while chasing elk.  I turned away nonchalant put my head down and walked a few feet to my right hoping he would think I had not seen him.  I knew time was limited and shouldered my gun once again, still no shot.  The brute busted  back towards where I came from revealing his  full glory disappearing in the timber.  Watching what could have been run away wrenched my heart but thus is the story of my season, close but no cigar.  I am used to dealing with disappointment, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

In an attempt to salvage the rest of my afternoon I turned on the burners and hiked  to the very other side of the property to check our food plots.  With the  recent snow and dipping temperatures I figured it could be a good bet.

Lets say that after blowing  a second chance in two hours I sat on the edge  of a corn field exhausted, distraught and fighting back tears of disappointment wanting to well in my eyes.  Feeling despair over a deer seems pathetic, but the strain of the season had me in its grip.  This sadness instantaneously  turned to into a fierce and fiery determination as I gave myself one heck of pep talk walking in the blue dusk back to my truck. It was more intense  than any coach or boss has ever given me.  I am my own worst critic.   I had  to keep trying and grinding and decided right then and there I was skipping classes on Tuesday and Thursday and any other day I deemed necessary despite approaching finals, to complete my goals.  And I did, yet still killed nothing.

Only other outdoorsmen can understand the thinking behind these decisions.  Although every adult will has told me to not skip classes I know deep down they would do the same.