Category Archives: Hunting

You know those moments in your life where everything just seems to come together?

The moments where training, preparation, and vision combine to deliver nearly everything you had in mind leading up to the event?

Well, this is as close to one of those stories as I think I will ever get.

And like many good stories, this one starts with winning the lottery… the tag lottery.

For the first time in my hunting career I drew an early season controlled tag, one that carried about a 11% chance of drawing in the state of Idaho. Not terrible odds, but in the past six years of being an Idaho resident, I had yet to draw any tag that I had applied for. To say that I was happy and surprised is an understatement. Not only did I draw, but I drew a tag that was on my home turf… one that I could use to hunt in an area that I trap year round.

Planning for this hunt commenced immediately with my two closest hunting partners agreeing to hit the ground with me on opening day. All three of us are fathers of young kids and we all had the chore of convincing our wives that the prestigiousness of this tag warranted us a 4-day window to go and try our damndest to find, harvest, and bring home a backcountry mule deer buck that was still in velvet.

In the lead up, myself and my two amigos did our best to sync gear lists, and ensure that we had everything we needed for a deep backcountry jaunt, but largely each of us were left to our own devices to make sure we were prepared. Personally, my bag was still packed from the last bear hunt I had in June, which gave me a level of complacency that would come back to bite me in the ass in little nagging ways.

The day before season opener, we headed out from our domesticated city lodgings to make the 4-hour drive to the rural trail head. With 50+ pound packs consisting of a hodgepodge collection of various shit, we slipped our socks and boots on and prepped for the hike in, which is where I made my first critical early season error.

In a rush leaving the house, I grabbed a pair of boot socks. Socks that looked like wool, but in fact, were very much not wool. Now mind you… I have been wearing the same pair of wonderful, overpriced, and sturdy kennetrek boots for the past two seasons with absolutely zero issue. In fact, I always sing the praises of these boots to any chump who gets caught alone with me at a wedding or dinner party… but in the past, these boots have always been paired with the wonderful wool fiber that all hunters should be wearing. But, in this instance, as I slipped on my thin synthetic devil socks, I was bliss(ter)fully unaware of what was about to come by this simple mistake.

At departure, we sent our spouses a last in-reach message as we started the late evening 6+ mile hike into our hunting area. With 2500’ of elevation gain and deadfall to overcome, this hike has historically taken me 4+ hours under equal conditions. Impressively, this go-round only took us a shade over 3, (only being slowed down by one stubborn trail badger and a few quick water breaks) which got us to our campsite at just past 10 pm. In the pitch black, we used the light from our headlamps to pitch our tent, lay out sleeping bags, and get a bit of sleep before our alarms rang at 4:30 am.

What happened next was a bit of a masterclass in mule deer hunting. We got up, did our camp dance, and made it up an adjacent ridge line to start glassing back toward the east facing slopes. (This is also when I first realized that my synthetic socks had rubbed holes in the back of my heels, too, which required the first of many rounds of moleskin and duct tape)

In short order one of my hunting partners spotted a nice little buck bandying about with a doe at a touch over 600 yards away. We patiently watched as this buck acted more like a dog than deer harassing the doe, stealing her bed, and peeing on just about everything he saw. With a limited time window to hunt, we were certainly not going to be size queens, so we locked in and decided we would pursue this deer and glassed him until he disappeared into an adjoining drainage.

Instead of chasing him we decided to let him go to bed during the heat of the day, which even at our high altitude was going to hit the mid 80s. Following suit, we spent the next few hours laying low in camp. At 4 pm, I re-wrapped my now bloody heels, and we packed up to hike to the bottom of the drainage our deer had picked as a napping spot. We set up in a sea of burned and dead-fall trees and picked apart every shadow for the next 3.5 hours. At about 7:30 pm, one of my buddies hollered out “I got him!”

After a bit of observation, we realized that our deer was quite content at the very tippy-top of a stupidly high, scree covered, hillside, which was about 700-800 vertical feet above where we were glassing. Without wanting to miss out on an opening day opportunity, me and one of my buddies decided to make a downwind play up an adjacent ridge line.

Rifle and shooting sticks in tow, we made the 500-ish vertical foot climb with my heels screaming with every step. On the way up, we managed to dust up a rogue doe who blew at us, but after a longer than expected standoff she ran the opposite direction of our target quarry. With a bit more scrambling we were able to get within 325 yards for a rim-to-rim shot. After setting up, adjusting turrets and parallax, all I had to do was wait for our deer to turn broadside. A quick forty seconds later, he did just that and I sent a perfect shot through his side and dropped him.

After a few high-fives and a massive cortisol spike, we ventured back down the drainage to collect our other hunting partner, drop unnecessary gear, and then sprint up the scree field to try and locate our deer before it got completely dark.

Thankfully, my pals were a little more mobile than ol’ bloody heels Hanson, and made quick work getting to the top, but in what seems to be a recurring-hunting-theme for me… they were having trouble finding the deer.

By the time I reached the top, I already had my headlight on. With only a five foot radial circle of light to work with the panic began to set in about the potentiality of not finding my deer. I began to replay my shot sequence, think too much about the pain in my heels, and worried about meat spoilage if we had to come back in the morning.

In a fit of desperation, I stopped what I was doing and said a quick prayer out loud to the big Man to give us some sign that the deer was actually hit. Then, I shit you not, I looked down at my feet and right there on a white rock was a large splotch of blood. At that moment I couldn’t help but laugh and give a hat tip to the man upstairs before hollering to the other guys that I was on blood.

In short order, we found the deer.

With some congratulatory whoops and hugs we came up on a scene that looked like something out of a still life magazine shoot. The deer had fallen perfectly into a small crevasse of deadfall wedged between timber, a rock, and some buckbrush. The result was a setup you couldn’t recreate if you had wanted to.

Being at such an incline though, we had to move the deer to a rock several yards below us to begin the butchering process. Once relocated, we all went at the deer in an uncoordinated and extended three-stooges bit. I, myself, started to skin-out the head, Kyle began to remove the front quarters, and Eric began at the ass-end. At times, we each needed to manipulate the animal in different directions and we all were struggling more than we cared to admit. It felt like a fighter shaking off ring rust by taking one or two shots to the chin that would normally be slipped. Nonetheless, after about an hour and a half worth of uncoordinated work, we had bagged up most of the meat, leaving only a macabre Jackson Pollack-esque blood painting on the rock.

The feeling of bounding down the side of a hill where mountain goats live, in the pitch black night, and loaded down with extra pounds of meat would typically induce a level of caution and fear. Yet, when it comes at the tail end of a successful day long hunt, there is none of that. We rode the rock elevator down with joy, laughter, and conversation. Each step saw us descend three feet while trying to stabilize ourselves with walking sticks or bracing ourselves against deadfall. With only a few navigational errors in the dark, we were back at our cached gear and ready to make the final push back to camp.

Just after midnight, we were back.

Exhausted, we loaded the meat into contractor bags (Editorial Side Note: always make sure there are no holes in said contractor bags if you plan to do this…) and placed all of our meat into the shallow creek right beside our camp to cool off.

With no fanfare, we stripped down to our skivvies and crawled into our sleeping bags gossiping like middle school girls. Then, mid-conversation recounting the epicness of the day, my buddy Kyle passed out… and I expected that I would be doing the same shortly.

However, for some reason I had a huge feeling of unease. I tossed and turned for what felt like an hour before I, too, joined the upside down of the unconscious. That quick dip into REM-sleep didn’t last long though as I was soon met with an unbearable stench of sulfur. I shot up to look across at my tent mate wondering if a day’s worth of freeze dried meals had turned his stomach. With no signs of movement from him, I began to question my own bowels before lifting up the tent’s edge to see if the smell was coming from outside. We were relatively close to some natural hot springs, which could have been the source, but when I lifted the fabric, I was met with a waft of fresh mountain air… which was both a relief to my sinus cavity as much as it was an addition to the mystery of the smells origin.

Shaking it off, I fell back asleep.

Hours later we all wrestled our snooze buttons at around 6 am. When the battle was finally won, I let out a big stretch before reaching for my sleeping bag’s zipper. With one long stroke I released myself from my cocoon only to be hit by a God-awful stench. I remember nearly gagging and expressing to my tent mate that I knew I reeked from the day’s prior activity, but I didn’t realize I smelled like a dog that had rolled in something dead. Somewhat impressed by how terribly I stunk, I crawled out of the tent obsessively sniffing everywhere my nose could reach to try and find the source.

In a bit of shock, I looked back at my sleeping bag to have my eyes catch a splotch of red and black. Getting closer, it became apparent that I had enjoyed the company of a bed mate. On hands and knees, I finally was able to make out that a small mouse had made its way into my bag for some warmth, before ultimately meeting its demise under the crushing pressure of my spine. The blood, internal organs, and poop had been worked into a near paste as if I were using a molcajete to make a thick salsa.

The brutality of my second kill of the night sent an instantaneous shiver through my body and stood the hairs of my extremities upright as I stripped myself of my clothes, placed them in a plastic bag, and then began to shake out my sleeping bag. A few hantavirus jokes later, we were over the ordeal and got down to the business of packing our camp for the long and slow descent back toward the trail head.

Thirty-one hours after starting our pack-in, we were officially on our way back home with our quarry on our backs. As a relatively new hunter in the grand scheme of space and time, I always find myself in sheer amazement when I bring something home to feed myself, family, and friends. It’s a bit of disbelief covered with a sprinkle of growing self-reliance that seems to expand with each passing season and one that is best served with a side of friendship.

PS: Don’t forget to go purchase a copy of my new book The Trade Gap

PPS: All photo credit to the amazingly talented Eric Becker

Making Bows in the Bitterroots

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Interview with Jim Neaves of Centaur Archery

Tucked into Montana’s Bitterroot Mountains, master bowyer Jim Neaves has been shaping wood, fiberglass, and carbon into lightning-fast longbows and recurves for nearly 30 years. Just shy of 50, Jim has already left a mark on the traditional archery world with home-based shop, Centaur Archery. What began as a teenager’s fascination with arrows in flight has grown into a lifelong craft — blending art, engineering, and a deep respect for the hunt.

Figure 01: A beautifully preserved Osage selfbow that Jim made in 2010.

Matthew: You’re not even 50, yet you’ve been making bows for nearly three decades. How did that begin?

Jim: I was born and raised here in Montana, and the Bitterroots have always been home. Like most kids in their early teens, I whittled little sapling bows and arrows, and became fascinated by watching an arrow in flight. It’s mesmerizing — like staring at a campfire.

By the time I was 19, I was researching how to build real hunting-weight bows and started out with selfbows. I still dabble in those, but I soon moved into laminated longbows. Along the way, I had some great mentors: Gordy Mickens of Selway Archery, Darryl Forslund who taught me limb lamination, and many Montana bowyers who inspired me. Howard Hill Archery was once based here, Neil Jacobson of Bear Paw Bows worked up near Flathead Lake, the late Dale Dye made fine recurves, and Dwayne Jessup of Thunder Horn Archery is practically a neighbor. Even Dick Robertson hailed from this area.

Figure 02: Jim Neaves working on an osage stave with an antique draw knife. I am not sure if the hoochie daddy shorts are part of his daily uniform, but they do not seem OSHA approved.

Matthew: It sounds like Montana has been a hotbed of bowyers.

Jim: Absolutely. If you sat down with all of us, it’d be an encyclopedia’s worth of stories. I’d probably do as much listening as talking — most of those guys are older, and they’ve all been great sounding boards over the years.

Matthew: How did you land on the name Centaur Archery?

Jim: It comes from my astrological sign, Sagittarius — the centaur with a bow. It’s always been a meaningful symbol to me. In 2000 I decided to make it official, and Centaur Archery has been my full-time work ever since.

Matthew: Your bows have a very distinct aesthetic. I’ve seen only a handful in person, but they’re instantly recognizable. Where did that style come from?

Jim: The profile actually traces back to one of my very first designs. Over time I’ve refined it, but the silhouette was inspired by a manta ray. Picture one swimming away with its wings rising on the upstroke — that’s the shape you’ll see in my bows.

For me, bowmaking has always been an artistic outlet as much as a craft. I loved art as a kid, and this work lets me bring beauty and function together in every piece.

Figure 03: Right handed 58” 40# @ 28” one piece, glass model longbow. The handle is royal Jacaranda Dymalux with a thumb rest, small stippling, engraved cross and elk antler fingerboard.

Matthew: I’ve thought about making bows full time, but I’m afraid it would lose its joy and feel like just a job. How do you keep it balanced?

Jim: There’s definitely pressure. I have a family to provide for, and production is always on my mind. But the work remains therapeutic because no two bows are identical. Each one feeds the creative side of my brain.

When I approach it as art — a chance to create beauty and function — it stops feeling like a hustle. The shop becomes a place where I disconnect from stress and reconnect with the values that first drew me to archery.

Figure 04: Left-handed 58“ 32# @ 24” one piece, Super Curve. The carbon fiber limbs are backed with a diamondback rattlesnake.

Matthew: Spoken like a true artist and craftsman. What bow are you hunting with this year?

Jim: My personal bow is a 58-inch Super Curve, a 49-pound takedown model with a dark matter rise with lime green accents. This particular formula provides phenomenal performance for my shorter, 25-inch draw length. Its a fairly compact, super fast, and quiet bow that is just fun to shoot.

Matthew: I wish you the best of luck chasing deer and elk this fall in the Bitterroots and river bottoms. How should folks contact you to order a Centaur Archery bow?

Jim: All of our order forms and contact information can be found at www.centaurarchery.com, and most of our photos dwell on our Facebook page under the same name. I want to provide customer experience, rather than just customer service. Give me a call so that we can discuss exactly what you’re looking for in a bow – both in design and application. We’ll ensure you come away with the right tool for the job.

Find Centaur Archery at:

www.centaurarchery.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CentaurArchery

Instagram: @centaurarchery

Author’s Note: I was lucky enough to shoot a Centaur Super Curve at this year’s Eastern Traditional Archery Rendezvous (ETAR) – that I saw hanging on a pal’s vendor wall. After I put about ten arrows through that bow I knew I needed one. I’ve since put down my deposit on a Centaur Archery Super Curve (takedown) and hope to put it to use in Spring 2025 chasing bears.

About the Author: Matthew Morris is a long-time hunter, aspiring bowyer, and family man. He is the host of the Bowyer Podcast, where he chats with masters of their craft to uncover the deeper “why” behind reviving the old ways in a modern world.

The Archery Artisan: Correy Hawk and the Organic Archery Bowmaking School

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The Bowyer’s Bench

In a fast-moving digital world, ancient crafts are often left behind. Yet, one man—Correy Hawk, better known as The Organic Archer—has not only revived the time-honored art of bow making but also built a thriving community around it. Through his renowned Organic Archery Bowmaking School, Correy welcomes newcomers and seasoned bowyers alike to slow down, shape wood with their hands, and rediscover an ancient connection between nature, craftsmanship, and self.

Figure 1: Correy harvested a dandy whitetail doe with self-made bow and arrows.

Origin Story

Correy’s story begins in the American heartland, where hunting and traditional archery were woven into his upbringing. But it wasn’t until after his service in the United States Marine Corps that bow making became a refuge—and ultimately, a calling.

Seeking solace and creativity after military life, Correy began by crafting wooden arrows. He soon transitioned to bows, building dozens by hand, gifting many to friends, and only selling them when he felt the work had truly earned the value of another’s hard-earned money. Through late nights, trial, error, and endless research, and a call to entrepreneurship Organic Archery was born.

Figure 02: Osage selfbow, arrows, and quiver made by hand.

So You Want to be a Bowyer?

Figure 04: Correy outlines the fine detail of limb design with students of the Bowmaking 101 Course.

In 2018, Correy made a bold leap—leaving full-time work to focus solely on his bow-making passion. He opened the Organic Archery Bowmaking School with a mission to share knowledge, foster connection, and preserve tradition.

The school offers workshops for all levels—from complete novices to skilled craftspeople. Each class is filled with warmth, purpose, and personal instruction, reflecting Correy’s deep love for the craft.

“I like nothing more than teaching this to other people,” says Correy. “Bringing in people from all walks of life—from across the country and even other countries—and showing them this ancient art of bow making.”

In 2024, he introduced an advanced course, giving students the opportunity to design and build more complex bows from Osage orange wood. While the introductory workshop is a three-day experience using whitewood—ideal for first-timers—the advanced course allows for more customization, from short Native American horse bows to tall English war bows. The only requirement? A passion to learn.

Author’s Note: I personally attended the Bowmaking 101 workshop, walking in with zero experience and walking out with a hunting-weight hackberry longbow. The experience put my life on a different path—one that values simplicity, mindfulness, and the ancient pursuit of wild game with a stick and a string. This October, I’ll return to build a heavy-draw, Comanche-inspired shortbow in the advanced course.

Reverence for History

Beyond teaching, Correy immerses himself in the history of archery, recreating historical bows from cultures around the globe. His specialty lies in authentic, smooth shooting, wooden bows, each crafted in the spirit of ancient traditions. Correy is a lifelong learner, and has spent over a decade diving into the literature of ancient bowyers, artisans, and warriors.

Figure 05: Eastern Woodlands inspired replica.

Work-Life Balance on the Homestead

Despite his growing success, Correy remains deeply grounded. A family man and homesteader, his days are structured with balance in mind: mornings and evenings are for family and farm work, while the midday hours are reserved for deep focus in the workshop.

He credits much of his well-being to this intentional rhythm, support from his wonderful wife, Holly, and emphasizes that adaptability—especially for entrepreneurs—is essential.

Parting Thoughts

Whether you dream of building your own bow, hunting your own food, or simply stepping away from the noise, Correy’s journey is a powerful reminder that ancient crafts can still shape modern lives.

Registration for Correy’s upcoming workshops is now open, including both foundational and advanced courses. Visit Organic Archery’s website to learn more, reserve your spot, or explore his custom bows and educational resources.

About the Author: Matthew Morris is a long-time hunter, aspiring bowyer, and family man. He is the host of the Bowyer Podcast, where he chats with masters of their craft to uncover the deeper “why” behind reviving the old ways in a modern world.

Legislative Study on Sandhill Cranes Announced in Wisconsin

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On August 1st, Wisconsin Waterfowl Association announced the formation of a bipartisan Legislative Council Study Committee on Sandhill Cranes. This committee, which includes state legislators and representatives from agricultural, birding, and hunting communities, is set to address the burgeoning sandhill crane population in Wisconsin and its associated issues, including as crop damage. The committee’s first meeting took place on August 1 at the Horicon Marsh Education Center.

Bruce Ross, Executive Director of the Wisconsin Waterfowl Association (WWA), praised the establishment of this committee, emphasizing the need for a management plan for the state’s increasing sandhill crane population. He advocated for science-based solutions to manage the population and mitigate crop damage.

State Representative Paul Tittl (R – Manitowoc) chairs the committee, which includes public members like Todd Schaller, Vice President of WWA and former Chief Warden of the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources (DNR). Schaller’s appointment underscores the committee’s commitment to using scientific data to inform wildlife management decisions.

The sandhill crane population in Wisconsin has seen significant growth since the early 1900s, when federal protection was established through the international treaty on migratory birds. The population has doubled in the past decade, surpassing the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service’s upper population goals by nearly 100%. This rapid growth has resulted in increased agricultural damage, estimated at over $1.6 million in 2022, with more than 1200 cranes destroyed under federal kill permits.

Farmers have been using the chemical deterrent AVIPEL™ to mitigate crop damage, costing approximately $2 million in 2020 for application on 200,000 acres. The potential area affected could expand to 3,000,000 acres with the crane population’s continued growth. There is currently no financial relief for farmers dealing with crane-caused crop depredation or for the use of AVIPEL™.

In addition to agricultural impacts, the growing crane population poses other challenges. Negative human interactions, like those experienced with increasing Canada goose populations, are expected to rise as cranes become more prevalent across Wisconsin.

Currently, Sandhill cranes are hunted in 17 states and 3 provinces, managed by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service based on annual population counts and scientific research.

The Wisconsin Waterfowl Association is a state-based non-profit conservation organization dedicated to the conservation of Wisconsin’s waterfowl and wetland resources. Since 1984, WWA has worked to restore critical habitat in Wisconsin, educate the next generation of waterfowl hunters, and advocate for policies that protect Wisconsin’s resources and the rights of citizens to hunt.

Am I a Hunter Now?

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By Matthew Morris

“How many more days until we go pig hunting, Dad?” Waylon asked.

“Oh, we have a couple of more weeks Buddy. Are you getting excited?” I inquired, already knowing the answer.

“I cannot wait! Did you really see dozens of pigs when you were there last time?”

“I sure did, and we’ll see just as many on our trip.”

This had been an ongoing discussion with my ten-year-old son, Waylon, particularly after I confirmed that I had booked a father-son pig hunting trip in central Florida. For several weeks we watched videos on YouTube of hunters stalking and harvesting wild pigs in the swamps and agricultural lands of the Sunshine State. I had completed a very similar trip in April 2024, as I attended a work conference in Orlando; but, managed to sneak in a day of pig hunting and surf fishing at the tail-end of the trip. While the fish did not cooperate, I did manage to bag three healthy pigs with my hand-made longbow. Our family of four has been happily enjoying meals of wild pork since the spring.

For our father-son trip, I leveraged the expertise of Matt Cates and his guides at Triple M Outfitters, based out of Palm Bay, FL. Triple M runs a well-organized operation, which involves riding around on eight foot tall swamp buggies where hunters glass for pigs, and follow-up with a well strategized stalk to their quarry. This was a repeat visit, as I hunted with Triple M in the spring and knew they’d provide the ideal environment for a family trip. To make the adventure more wholesome, my 72-year-old father-in-law also decided to join us on the trip.

Waylon and I arrived at the Orlando International Airport on a Thursday, and acquired a rental vehicle after collecting our luggage. During the short walk to our SUV we commented on how hot and humid the day was. “It’s sure ‘human’ out here eh buddy?” I razzed my not-so-little man.

“Dad, I know the word is ‘humid’ not human. I’ve not said it wrong for a million years,” he retorted.

My father in law, Jay, met us at the hotel in Melbourne Beach. We all enjoyed a nice seafood meal at a local restaurant, and shared enthusiasm for the next day’s adventure. Our Friday agenda involved a fishing trip with a local charter where we intended to spend 4-6 hours shark fishing off the coast of Melbourne Beach.

While we attempted to rally at the dock by 7:00 AM, we managed to arrive a smidge before 7:20. I swear, I don’t know who’s more difficult to shuffle out the door, my 10 year old son, or my older (ahem, wiser) father-in-law. Our captain, Jim, was very relaxed and told me not to sweat it. We spent the next four hours trying our best to catch one of those toothy creatures, but all we managed to catch was a good tan. Jim, though, was quick witted and grabbed an ultralight with small hooks so that Waylon could occupy his time catching small bait fish, which we all celebrated with great enthusiasm with each landed fish. No doubt that Jim knows his stuff, it just was not a great day for the fish bite. For lunch we dined at a local restaurant on the water and heard murmurs of equally unimpressive fish reports from the day among the patrons. But hey, we had a good platter of shrimp and fish tacos.

That evening we talked about the next day’s plans and how we hoped it was going to be more bountiful than today’s fishing trip. I informed Jay and Waylon that the last time I hunted with Triple M we probably saw 150+ pigs, and all in one day! This got everyone’s excitement up, and I think perhaps incited some evening jitters for Waylon as he could not fall asleep until late.

The following morning Waylon, Jay, and I rolled out of our rental vehicle at a ranch that Triple M manages. We greeted Matt and climbed up on the swamp buggies, which we rode a mere ten minutes or so around agricultural lands before we spotted our first hog on the run. The pig was a smallish, all black blur who disappeared into the bush in mere seconds. While the terrain was flat, and we could see for probably a mile or more, the grass was waist high in places which made it difficult to glass up pigs from distance. The fields were pocketed with thick scrub brush, which provide shade for the feral swine during the heat of the day, but also dense cover for hiding from predators (i.e. the three of us).

I commented that the grass was much higher than it was in April, and Matt advised that its quite a bit tougher to see the wild swine compared to the cooler months. He was confident, however, that we would see a pile of them today.

Matt told me that his clients have still been hitting the hogs pretty hard either over bait or via spotting and stalking from the swamp buggy. He also noted that in the hotter months, the majority of the hunters target alligators in the ponds, canals, and waterways that Triple M leases in the area. Waylon of course shared his enthusiasm for wanting to hunt an alligator someday.

At the beginning of the hunt Matt advised me to sit in wait at a watering hole where pigs often frequent before bedding down during the heat of the day. I invited Waylon to come along, and Jay joined Matt on swamp buggy safari.

When I think of Florida, I definitely think of swarms of mosquitoes, especially near water. In this case, the mosquitos were not as bad as expected, but the gnats were otherworldly! I had no less than two-hundred of those annoying little devils glued to my clothes, and probably half that buzzing in my ears, nose, and eyes. Waylon ended up stuffing his whole face inside of his shirt for a bit of reprieve. He did, however, risk the insects flying into his nose holes after I told him to check out the pair of pigs that were trotting our way.

While this pair decided to carry on seventy or eighty yards out, well beyond stickbow range, it was still entertaining for Waylon and I. Like any activity you want to immerse your children into, you have to find ways to keep it entertaining. This can be a book, word puzzles, telling each other stories, drawing in the dirt, the dreaded smart devices (lame), or if you’re lucky you’ll have the opportunity to showcase them a vibrant world of flora and fauna. I try my best to incorporate the latter most frequently.

After about forty-five minutes of waiting in our ambush site, I heard a rustling in the grass behind us. As I peeked up I could just see three nice sized pigs working their way to us, and they were already within bow range! I told Waylon to sit tight, and readjusted my position to a stable kneel. After a moment, I identified the pig I had appeared to be the largest of the trio. He was a 100 pound-plus boar with a patchy black and brown hide. I drew back my bow, picked a spot, and released. Thwack! I saw the arrow penetrate just behind the shoulder and knew I made a good shot. However, as the pig trotted off I noticed well over three-quarters of the arrow was sticking out. I assumed that the broadhead had hit the offside shoulder and pushed the arrow back out the entrance hole.

I radioed Matt to alert him that we had arrowed a nice pig, and I thought we would find him piled up 50-100 yards away. We searched for probably 45 minutes and had not discovered more than a few drops of blood. I was confident that I had made a lethal shot on the boar, and that he would have expired within seconds. I was sick to my stomach thinking that I had just wounded an animal, and in front of my son also.

Matt could see my distress, and insisted that we’d probably kick the pig up later in the morning, as he likely bedded in the tall grass somewhere. “For now, lets get that young man on a pig,” he enthused. The excitement was evident on Waylon’s face, and I quickly pushed this morning’s mishap to the back of my brain … mostly. The four of us rode around in the swamp buggy, binoculars to our faces, calling out pigs in the distance. Jay was really enjoying himself also, as he observed his grandson having a wonderful time despite the bugs and the heat. We viewed dozens of feral pigs, from large 150-pound boar hogs, to little groups of “bacon bits” scrambling to keep up with the mother sows. Colors ranged from all black, to brown, to a cinnamon-blonde color, an plenty of patchy mixtures in between.

As the buggy plowed through the waist high grass we would often see little black and brown blobs shoot out only a few feet away from the massive tires. The pigs were very confident in their refuge, and seemed convinced that if they remained still that we would not spot them. Oftentimes this was true as we kicked more than a few up from the grass with less than an arm’s length between us. The excitement was enjoyed by all, and we marveled at how fast the little porkers could run out of sight. Around 10:00am, we spotted a sounder of 8-10 pigs fifty yards away, which would provide a perfect shot for Waylon. The grass in this part of the property was inches tall, rather than feet, and the hogs were in the wide open. Instead of a longbow, we had borrowed Triple M’s suppressed Ruger American chambered in .223, a perfect setup for young ones or adults who are a bit recoil shy. I helped Waylon get into position with the rifle, and oriented him with the optic and the landscape. By the time we were dialed into the pigs, they were nearly 100 yards away, but paid us little attention. I alerted Waylon to a heavy, all black boar on the far left of the sounder and instructed him to place the crosshairs just behind the pig’s shoulder. Once he said he was stable and ready to shoot, I took the weapon off safe and told him to fire when he felt comfortable.

Pop! The weapon snapped barely louder than a mouse fart with the suppressed muzzle. “Miss. Shot right above him,” Matt told us. The boar continued to browse while we put the weapon on safe and chambered another round. Waylon took deep, calm breaths just as he had been taught. Once again he told me he was “ready to shoot.” I slid the button to take the rifle off safe, and instructed my son to shoot when he felt that he had a clean, broadside shot and the pig had stopped walking.

A split second after my ears registered the audible of the discharged weapon I saw the pig drop in its tracks! “Hit!” Matt exclaimed. I put the rifle on safe and placed it in the seat so that I could embrace my son. “You did it Buddy, good job. I am so so proud of you!” I whispered in his ear.

“Way to go Way-way!” Waylon’s grandfather shouted.

“Did I really get him?” He asked.

“Let’s go take a look.” I told him.

There was no tracking to be done. No blood trail to follow, and certainly no stress of searching for a wounded animal. Instead, Waylon and I were able to calmly walk right up to our bounty and embrace the joy in the moment, with ‘Pop-pop’ Jay observing with noticeable pride in his boys. The first thing we ever do when we get an animal in my family is we kneel down and we pray. We pray over the animal, we thank God for the bounty, and we thank the animal for the sacrifice. As I asked Waylon to kneel with me, he whispered that there was something wrong because his whole body was shaking like Jell-O. I couldn’t help but chuckle a bit when I told him that we hunters, a club that he was now indoctrinated with, call this feeling “buck fever.” Even veterans of the hunt, of all ages, and all game still get buck fever at times.

We knelt down, we prayed, and we thanked God for our blessings. Waylon caressed the handsome boar and told him thank you for the food that he will provide our family. We then continued our tradition of finding the softest greenery around and placed it in the deceased animal’s mouth. This is to provide a tasty meal as the beast makes its journey into the afterlife.

After we loaded the hundred-plus pound boar onto the buggy, we commenced searching for the animal that I had shot earlier in the morning. We did see a glimpse of the pig from a distance and went to see if I could make another stalk. When I got closer, I was initially delighted in finding the broken arrow that I had shot the pig with. However, my delight was soon crushed when I realized there had been no more than three to four inches of penetration. I was nearly sick to my stomach from wounding the pig, but after glassing it a final time some 200 yards away we concluded that while the shot placement was good, the pig had not sustained a fatal wound. In fact, the chunky swine was still pretty swift as he ran away out of sight.

I admit, the dark cloud that resulted from this mishap was significant. For a solid hour or more I let that feeling overshadow the success that Waylon had just had. The animal deserves near-perfect shot placement, as well as a quick and ethical death. Instead I had managed to wound this beast and was not able to find another opportunity for a follow up shot. I’ll need to re-evaluate my arrow set-up when I get home to ensure that penetration is dialed in, I concluded.

But alas, I shook myself off the instant Waylon asked if we were going to eat his pig tonight! That made me chuckle so loudly with sincere joy. In part it was because I was happy that my eldest son truly relished the day he had. Also in part because his innocence was able to snap me back to the importance of the day, and not my own selfish feelings and focus on failure. I do not want to understate how upset I was by the pig’s wounding, but the day was not about me. This day was about my son, and the milestone event that he had accomplished with his father and grandfather in observation. This day was pure magic…for all three of us.

We may not have eaten feral pig that evening, but we no doubt ate about every sort of ocean animal we could find on the menu at a local seafood joint. By the time we returned to the hotel we were fat and happy and had acquired lots of great stories to tell the ladies when we returned home. As we laid down for bed Waylon said to me, “Dad, am I a hunter now?”

Yeah buddy, you sure are.

Author’s Note: Our family has enjoyed many meals of wild pork in recent weeks, and Waylon is quick to remind everyone that this meal came from his pig.

By: Matthew Morris

Can Hunters and Tree-huggers Be Friends?

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By PJ DelHomme

Why yes, we absolutely can be friends, but it’s going to take work on the part of big bad hunters to get us holding hands and singing “We Are the World” around the campfire.

I used to be adamantly opposed to hunting and even cutting down trees. I’m better now, though. I make my own meat, and I understand that toilet paper doesn’t come from Costco.

I didn’t grow up hunting, and I think that gives me a perspective that many in the hunting community don’t have. I’ve lived in both worlds, and I understand why some people are adamantly opposed to hunting and resource extraction. Namely, they’ve never lived it. They’ve never been exposed to sustainable hunting. They’ve never cruised timber. And they never will. Perhaps I’m naive, but I still think most people respond to reason, which is why I write things like this.

Why We Need to Get Along

A 2023 survey showed that 77 percent of the U.S. population approves of legal hunting. Seventy-nine percent of those surveyed said they were fine with hunting “for conservation of healthy wildlife populations,” and 74 percent were cool with hunting for meat. That approval rating drops to 24 percent when a “trophy” is the main reason for hunting. Just 32 percent of respondents were okay with hunters seeking a challenge.

Who cares what those non-hunters think, right? What do they know? Hunters don’t need their approval. That mentality is the best way to see hunting go away forever. All hunters should care what they think. More and more, those non-hunters, and even those opposed to hunting, are serving on state wildlife commissions and being hired to work in state game agencies. Like it or not, they are making the rules for hunting and fishing. So, yeah, their opinion matters.

So, what can we do to help the non-hunting, even anti-hunting public, understand that hunting is absolutely necessary to wildlife management and an integral part of a hunter’s life and livelihood? It’s not that hunting is a major tool for conservation and land managers or that hunting is part of our heritage. They don’t care about that. Here are just a couple of ways we can help convince our friends that hunting isn’t all Elmer Fudd and Bambi.

Above All Else, Talk Food

Everyone needs to eat. The first step to winning over non-hunters is through their stomach. Forget about trying to reason with them, at least initially. Help them understand that your hamburger was never wrapped in cellophane. Celebrate your harvest. Invite them over for dinner, but don’t tell them what’s on the menu until they get there. Be sure they’re not vegetarian, though. Once they arrive, focus solely on how you prepared the game. Don’t talk about the shot. Don’t talk about the blood pouring out of its exit wound. Drop subtle hints about the pack out. Talk about the secret to aging wild game. What did you use for the marinade? If they ask questions, embrace each one. And above all else, make it taste good. Go with a recipe that you know is a winner. Don’t get cute and try out a new kidney recipe. Brush up on your deer meat facts. Talk about how venison is a lean, healthy source of protein.

Teach, Don’t Preach

Let’s say that your dinner party was a success. Now your neighbor wants to come hunting with you. Jackpot! In the field, show them what you do. Point out things only hunters would notice. Note the tracks, the poop, the rubs. Get off the trail and be willing to answer any question they have. And if you don’t know the answer, just say you don’t know. It’s okay. Resist the urge to get on a high horse and talk about how hunters brought wildlife back from the brink of extinction. Don’t talk about how much you love elk, while at the same time you try to put an arrow through its ribcage. It’s a complex, antithetical argument that has to evolve over time. First-time hunters have enough to think about.

Image is Everything

Hunters don’t do ourselves any favors when it comes to improving our image. All it takes is a few raving lunatics on social media to give us all a bad rap. From arguing online (FYI, no one wins) to posting gruesome kill shot videos, we can control our image. So what can we do? First, be an ambassador. When you represent hunters or hunting, take the high road at a public meeting, on a bar stool, or on social media. And don’t be afraid to form your own opinion on the issues. I don’t think all hunters have to support each other in every way. I respond honestly if a non-hunter asks me what I think about an issue. Second, always lend a hand. If someone isn’t hunting and they have a flat on an old logging road, offer to help. Small steps leave a big impact.

Protect Access

When I hear the word access, I immediately think about access to land. Of course, we need access to places to hunt, and the word has finally gotten out that hunters need more room to roam. Just look at Wyoming’s corner-crossing saga, which is still making national headlines. At the same time, we need access to other things like mentors, shooting ranges, and wildlife commission meetings. It makes my head spin to think of all the ways access to hunting can be made more difficult by taking away things that we take for granted. It never hurts to show up at public meetings, non-profit fund-raising banquets, and fence pulls.

Being patient and understanding with those who energetically and enthusiastically try to eliminate hunting is ridiculously difficult. Then again, the percentage of those who are unwavering in their ideological convictions against hunting is relatively low. Maybe I’m naive, but as a former anti-hunter, I know that reason might actually prevail.

Confessions of a Tree-hugging Anti-hunter

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How an anti-hunter was converted to a lifetime hunter

By PJ DelHomme

Before making a career out of writing about hunting and conservation, I was adamantly opposed to the idea of hunting. In part one of this two-part series, I step into the confessional to explain why I never wanted to eat Bambi or cut down a tree.

When I was a freshman in college in Mobile, Alabama, I remember my dad telling me in a rambling conversation that two duck hunters had gone missing in Mobile Bay. “Chalk two up for the ducks,” I said. It was a heartless comment that illustrated my flippant attitude toward human life and my feelings about hunting.

After my freshman year, I moved to Montana for a summer to work. The West set its hook in me hard, and I promptly dropped out of school to figure out life away from humidity, gumbo, and sweet tea. I immersed myself in the world of natural resources. I worked on Forest Service crews with guys who hunted elk with a bow and arrow. I hiked through timber stands, marking trees for removal. I lived in a small town where people hung their deer and elk from a sturdy tree in the backyard when the weather was cool. All the while, I was just smart enough to keep my mind open and my mouth mostly shut.

Hunting isn’t an afterthought in Montana. It’s ingrained in the culture. It’s just what people do to put meat in the freezer. I was intrigued 20 years ago, and I still am today.

Back in Alabama, one had to belong to a hunting club to hunt. We had little to no public land where I grew up. In Montana, people just park the truck and start walking. My mind was, and continues to be, blown. I liked to hike, and I liked to eat meat. It made sense that I would try to make my own meat, but how? I started by learning from the inside out.

One fall, I got a job working at a wild game processor in Bozeman. I slung all kinds of meat for 10 hours a day: elk, bison, pronghorn, deer, moose, and bear. One time, a guy brought in a llama and thought it was an elk, but that’s a story for another time. I spoke to the hunters, and most seemed like good people. They were tired but happy. Most had respect for the animals they brought us because the carcasses were fresh and clean.

After learning how to break down an animal into chops, steaks, and burger, I borrowed a .30-06 and took to the hills. It took me a few years and a mentor from my Forest Service days to figure out the hunting thing. It was an evolution that I could not have done on my own. There are real barriers to hunting and making new hunters. I was/am what they call an adult-onset hunter, and I overcame the bias I carried for hunting before I moved to the promised land. I’ve thought a lot about why I didn’t like hunting as a kid. I do not doubt that if I still lived in Alabama, I would be slapping a Sierra Club sticker on a Prius before chaining myself to a feller buncher somewhere in protest. Here are a few reasons that might help explain why I was an anti-hunter.

Non-hunting Family

Hunting isn’t like baseba,ll where a few friends get together and play a game. You need a weapon. You need habitat. You need a mentor to show you what to do if you kill something. My dad showed me how to do things, but hunting was not one of them. Hunting simply was not part of who we were as a family. And that’s fine. I found hunting on my own, but I wasn’t exposed to it through an uncle or grandparent. As a result, I formed my own opinion on it because of societal labels, and that’s a problem. See #2.

Hunting’s Image

I grew up on Looney Tunes, which included Elmer Fudd chasing that wascally wabbit. Even though I knew it was a cartoon, it validated my preconceived notions about hunters. I still remember seeing Bambi in theaters as a seven-year-old. You think that scarred me? Hell, yes, it did. But it wasn’t just when I was a child.

When I was in my teens, hunting shows started going mainstream. I recall sitting at a friend’s house flipping channels, and we landed on an unsuspecting turkey strutting around. Cool, we thought, a nature show. There was a BOOM, and the turkey’s head exploded. Two camo-clad and face-painted hunters emerged from the bushes, high-fiving and yucking it up with a Southern drawl that put mine to shame. We looked at one another in horror. With few exceptions, hunting shows have not evolved. They still suck.

Access to Land

As a high school kid, I desperately wanted to be outdoors. You can go outside in the South, but you better know how to play football. I remember driving to a state park in nowhere Mississippi just to find a place to hike, but we never found the trailhead. We went to New Orleans that day instead. My folks didn’t have the money or contacts to belong to a hunting club, which means you don’t hunt. Because I had limited access to public land, I had developed an unrealistic ideal that all land should be pristine, never hunted and never harvested. Just let nature take its course, I thought. Only after I moved to Montana did I learn first-hand that natural resources can be used wisely to last generations.

In part two, I’ll examine how hunters can help tree-hugging anti-hunters understand that hunting is not evil. We can do a few things to tell the world that we’re not all Elmer Fudd wannabes. In fact, there is a whole lot that Americans (even hunters) don’t know about hunting and its contributions to the greater good. Stay tuned.

The Great Trail Camera Debate

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Why Some Say They Give Hunters an Unfair Advantage

Let’s say a hunter has a network of cellular trail cameras placed in the woods where she can monitor the activities of wildlife, such as whitetail deer, passing by. She chooses the locations of these trail cameras based on what she knows about whitetail deer patterns and preferences to optimize the amount of images she will capture. Her cameras pick up regular deer patterns, and she notices a nice shooter buck passing by the same hardwood-lined runway around dusk every few days. She plans to hunt that area on her day off, which she does, and she harvests that target buck. Is this unethical? Is this fair chase? Would it have mattered if her trail camera wasn’t a cellular kind, which sends information remotely, but rather the kind that needs to be manually checked with a card reader?

Hunting can be challenging, and many hunters prefer that. Some might argue that hunting is inherently challenging, with or without modern tools. Others might argue still that it is irrelevant just how challenging the process of hunting is, because it’s about self-sufficiency and procuring wild food, and not about the logistics or thrill of the hunt.

Do cellular trail camera give hunters an unfair advantage in this process? Some hunters think they do, while some do not.

Many states have regulations governing the use of cellular trail cameras. In Alaska, there is a limit on the amount of information hunters are permitted to receive via trail cameras during active hunting seasons. In New Hampshire, the law prohibits hunters from killing an animal on the same day it showed up on a trail camera. Kansas, for example, has banned the use of the devices on all public lands. Some states, such as Arizona, have outright banned the use of any trail camera devices.

What do trail cameras do?

Trail cameras are electronic devices that are placed afield to observe what is happening in an area with minimal disturbance to wildlife. Sensors alert the camera to take photos whenever it detects an animal passing by (or sometimes a wayward tree branch or high gust of wind). Cellular trail cameras are equipped to be connected to a cell phone and transmit images and/or video remotely. Non-cellular trail cameras require the user to physically travel to the camera to manually check the images, which are saved on an SD card for later viewing.

Do Trail Cameras Violate the Rules of Fair Chase?

Trail cameras give hunters the ability to see an animal in a dated and time-stamped image before they see it in person. That is what they are designed to do. Some hunters argue that this violates the rules of fair chase because they believe all hunters should have an equal opportunity to shoot the game without interference from technology.

Let’s take a look at the rules of fair chase, as defined by Pope and Young. The term fair chase refers to the ethical, sportsmanlike, and lawful pursuit of free-ranging wild game animals that does not give the hunter an improper or unfair advantage over the animal.

That means, according to Pope and Young, that no animals shall be taken under the following conditions: helpless in a trap, deep snow or water, or on ice; from any power vehicle or power boat; by jacklighting or shining a light at night; by the use of tranquilizers or poisons; while inside any escape-proof fenced enclosures; by the use of electronic devices for attracting, locating or pursuing game or guiding the hunter to such game, or by the use of a bow or arrow to which any electronic device is attached, with the exception of lighted nocks and recording devices that cast no light towards the target and do not aid in rangefinding, sighting, or shooting the bow.

Most of these rules are straightforward, black or white, and without any wiggle room. But when it comes to trail camera use, it appeared to hunters that there was some gray area.

The question of whether trail cameras violate these rules came up so often that the two main authorities in deer hunting, Pope and Young and Boone and Crockett, came together to release a joint statement on the matter. The statement read:

“The use of any technology that delivers real-time location data (including photos) to target or guide a hunter to any species or animal in a manner that elicits an immediate (real-time) response by the hunter is not permitted.”

The key component here is if the advantage of cellular trail cameras has an immediate effect on what action the hunter takes, and if that leads to a kill. So, for example, if a hunter receives an image on her phone from her cellular trail camera of a deer making its way toward a specific food plot, and she drops what she’s doing to immediately get to the food plot at the same time as the deer and proceeds to harvest that deer, that’s a real-time response.

More recently, Boone and Crockett dug even deeper to clarify its stance.

“Trail cameras can be a helpful tool in game management and selective hunting,” a statement read. “The use of any technology that delivers real-time location data (including photos) to target or guide a hunter to any animal in a manner that elicits an immediate (real-time) response by the hunter is not permitted. ‘Real time’ is the key concept. Seeing a photo and harvesting an animal a few hours later, or even the same day, uses this technology to assure a kill. It also takes advantage of the animal, which cannot detect impending danger from a camera. Waiting several days, or even until the following season, to pursue an animal captured on camera is different, and would not be deemed an unethical use of a trail camera.”

So to be clear, the use of trail cameras, even cellular trail cameras, in this definition, is not prohibited or deemed unethical. It’s that real-time response that is.

“Technically, the reason we revisited the rule was because, as written, if you’ve followed a buck for four years on camera and the first pic of him years ago was on a cell cam, that buck was disqualified. We didn’t want that,” Justin Spring, formally of Boone and Crockett but current director of Pope and Young, said. “We just want hunters to think about the questions of fair chase. Is the use of this technology ensuring a harvest? Not giving an animal time to escape? We make hunters read and sign the (fair chase) affidavit, but at the end of the day, it comes down to the honesty of the hunter.”

Boone and Crockett’s in-depth statement covered more than just the use of trail cameras. It also touched on other advantages, as they defined them, such as drones, thermal night scopes, baiting, scent-attractants, and two-way radios or texting another hunter, and smart riflescopes.

Our Hot Take on the Trail Camera Debate

Hunting regulations differ from region to region and from state to state, as do hunting styles and techniques. As time has passed, hunting has evolved with it. Modern technology has changed a lot about how we hunt, and of that there is no doubt. In many ways, it has given hunters an edge that wasn’t available a generation ago.

These advancements inevitably bring up questions. It is healthy to explore different perspectives on modern advantages, such as trail cameras. There is no harm in respectful, thoughtful debate.

This author believes there is nothing wrong with using trail cameras within legal limits. Like anything, trail cameras are another tool in the hunting arsenal. They offer insight into wildlife in a way that is noninvasive and doesn’t interrupt their normal routine. Use them as they are intended to be used, follow the law, and enjoy the experience.

Hunters of Color is Growing and Expanding

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Quick – what does a hunter look like? If your first thought was a white guy in camouflage, you’re not alone. Hunting has long been marked by a lack of diversity, but an organization called Hunters of Color has been working for the past few years to change that preconception.

The origins of Hunters of Color trace back to when former executive director Lydia Parker, current executive director Jimmy Flatt, and founder Thomas Tyner were just three undergrads at Oregon State University.

They were passionate hunters trying to navigate a community that didn’t always feel welcoming. The statistics were alarming: 97% of hunters in the nation were white, with only 3% of hunters that identified as black, indigenous, or people of color, (BIPOC), according to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.

The group set a goal to foster an outdoor community where people of color feel empowered to participate in hunting and conservation proportionately according to the demographics of the nation and to dismantle the barriers that kept people of color from participating in hunting, such as lack of access to education, gear, mentorship, and land. In the United States, 98% of private land is owned by white Americans, according to the USDA.

Within the first few years of operation, Hunters of Color has grown tremendously, linking a network of ambassadors throughout the country and reaching thousands of new hunters to the resources they need to begin hunting.

“In 2022 we had 1023 participants at our events and in 2023 we had over 1300 participants at our events,” Hunters of Color Executive Director Jimmy Flatt said. “We have expanded into 5 new states making the total to 14 states with community leaders. Our members come from all 50 states and as we work to build capacity and expand our events to more states we encourage people to find ways to get involved through the community website.”

Hunters of Color is a membership-based organization. People who might be interested in a HOC membership are either someone with hunting/conservation knowledge or someone seeking to obtain said knowledge. All of this is intending to build the most welcoming and inclusive environment for hunters to engage and share their hunting cultures.

This past year Hunters of Color launched the Hunters of Color Community website; a place for everyone to gather virtually and work towards achieving the mission of Hunters of Color. The platform is essentially a social media where members can connect with other members, find a mentor, become a mentor, register for events, find industry discounts from the organization’s partners, gain access to educational materials, share their stories, or ask questions.

“It’s really a powerful tool and we are actively looking for people to join the network and find a way to engage,” Flatt said.

The work they have put in is showing real-world dividends, and the folks at Hunters of Color aren’t slowing down any time soon.

“The most recent demographic study from the USFWS shows an upward trend in BIPOC participation in hunting which means that our efforts are having a measurable impact,” Flatt said. “That being said, we still have a long way to go and need as many people to help us in our mission. We will continue to establish opportunities for communities of Color to establish a connection to the land/culture and need more partners helping us in this effort.”

Limited-entry Draw Tags: I Quit

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PJ DelHomme – Okayest Media Contributor

I’ve played the tag lottery enough not to care anymore. In the last couple of years, I’ve been more excited to draw an extra doe tag than anything else. How can this be? What kind of hunter wouldn’t want to hunt for the biggest bucks, bulls, and rams?

‘Twas the night before Montana’s limited-entry tag draw deadline, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except for me in the basement sitting in front of the computer. Before me on my screen, in all its glory, was 15 years’ worth of playing the points game—13 points for elk, 10 points for sheep, moose, and goat.

I halfheartedly looked through the regs, thinking about where to apply. Then, I lost all interest and motivation. I closed the laptop and went to bed. I am what they call a quitter. And I’m okay with that.

What are Draw Tags?

Most states manage consumable wildlife like big game for residents and revenue. Tags and licenses generate money to keep the lights on and manage wildlife resources and their habitat.

Where I live in Montana, managers set aside some hunting units for opportunity, meaning I can hunt for a bull elk every year. In other units, the state offers a very limited number of tags for bulls, which means it’s a coveted trophy area. For those units, there is a high demand for a finite resource, which means not everyone gets a tag. In fact, the odds of drawing some units are less than one percent.

It’s not just Montana. States across the West (and a growing number in the East) have created various lotteries, preference point systems, bonus points, auction tags, landowner tags, and other ways to make hunters feel lucky. Some tags are sold to the highest bidder and come with special privileges. Other tags are truly the luck of the draw.

A Booming Tag Industry

The demand for any tag that’s not over-the-counter is so great that tag consultant companies have sprouted to help hunters navigate the morass of applications, dates, fees, and regulations. My friend Robert Hannenman is a tag consultant for Huntin’ Fool. He draws tough tags for himself and his family every season because that’s his job. To be fair, he’s also a city firefighter. Huntin’ Fool is certainly not the only tag service/consultant business out there.

Thanks to these tag services, more hunters than ever are throwing their names into the draws across a dozen states. They’re playing the odds on a much greater scale than some schmuck like me who just kind of figured out how to play the tag game in his own state. I like to think of myself as a do-it-yourselfer, but Montana’s hunting regulations get more complicated every year. Unless you like spending money on disappointment, you really do need help from someone who knows what they’re doing.

What Happens If You Draw?

Before throwing in the tag towel, I had mixed emotions about drawing a fancy tag, which, I admit, sounds dumb. I get only a handful of days to hunt each season, and they typically aren’t in a row. Life is wild right now with careers, kids, dog, chores—you name it. Hunting doesn’t pay the bills, but it occasionally fills the freezer. What would I do if I drew a Rocky Mountain bighorn tag for a hunt five hours away?

I’ve heard horror stories from good friends who have drawn “slam dunk” tags, posted their good fortune on social media, and then felt the collective weight of their hunter friends, all wondering why they couldn’t fill that tag. Their first mistake was posting it online or telling anyone. Even if you told no one, there is still pressure to fill a once-in-a-lifetime tag with nothing short of a record-book animal. I just don’t need that in my life.

The Coup de Draw

Because I’m a quitter, I’d like to end this on a pity party. For more than a decade, I put in to hunt one unit where I used to live near Bozeman. It was a place I knew well, having seen plenty of elk there, yet only five tags are dolled out for this area each season. The odds of me drawing that tag in 2023 were around three percent with a dozen points.

To be fair, some people do draw “impossible” tags, like hunting megacelebrity Steven Rinella. Earlier this year, I tuned into the latest MeatEater episode to watch Rinella, a fellow Montana resident, hunting the very unit of my dreams. Not only did he pull this miracle tag, but he filmed it, too. The episode has been viewed 1.7 million times in just six months. If I were a bigger person, I’d be happy for him.

Quick disclaimer: I appreciate what Rinella has done for hunting. He and Randy Newberg are incredible ambassadors for hunting. But when I realized where Rinella was hunting, it felt like a straight kick to the gonads.

“A lot of people will say that this is the best elk hunting opportunity in the whole state,” Rinella says. “This is the first time ever in my life, in Montana, that I’ve ever drawn a limited-entry unit,” he goes on to say. “I’d say it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but it’s probably like a once-in-two-lifetime opportunity.”

Yeah, no shit. The odds of drawing that unit were already dismal. I can’t wait to see how many apply for it in 2025. I do know that there will be one less applicant.

If there is one upside to this cathartic rant, it’s that my fellow hunters will have one less hunter’s hopes and dreams to compete with. Consider this my gift. I sincerely hope my fellow hunters decide not to bother applying for antlerless whitetail permits, for which I actually have a 1 in 3 chance of drawing. Those are odds I can live with.