Shawn Swearingen for SPLIT REED
Cover Photo Courtesy Phil Kahnke
The same wind can blow past two different people and mean many different things. The young man thinks of just the breeze, maybe hears the wind chimes in the distance, and that it might ruffle the lady’s sundress as she walks by.
The seasoned man may think of the same pleasant but fleeting thought. More importantly, however, is the touch of crispness. The cool it brings despite the midday sun. Knowing full well what will be coming in on the same wind only a few weeks away. The experience of judging that this wind is the first sign of the changing of the season. Cicadas and crickets abound while the reminiscent thoughts of wood duck squeals, the splash of releasing trout, the flush of quail underfoot, or the high elevation elk from his western youth flood the senses on the breeze.
Though a bittersweet sensation it can be for the seasoned man to reflect on the memories, experiences, and hunting companions gone by or pulled away by life. Fathers, uncles, and family friends who had ventured afield together. Those furry and fleet of foot companions that nipped at flushing pheasants and coveys of quail, and who surprised at the nearly impossible blind retrieves of ducks in thick cover and sloughs. The experiences and times translate to the knowledge of the opportunities that are on the way. The breeze that ushers them to the most pleasant and promising of seasons to their front door.
The young man judges the time of the year by the date or clock, not yet learning the seasons and rhythms of the year have no set mark on the calendar. The teal do not ride the winds each year and the doves do not flock solely on September 1st, but instead choose when the barometric pressure, the moon phase, and internal clock tell them, “Get up and go.”
The seasoned man does not always have the same outward enthusiasm that the young one does. Make no mistake, the fire still burns inside all the hotter and brighter with each passing year. The goose bumps and hair raising on the back of the neck are still the same as hearing the first bull bugle echo through the dying canyon light. The sly smile. The nod of appreciation. A little longer pause of the occasional step in the grouse woods to soak in the colors. Sometimes shaking his head at the over exuberance of the young man when he folds geese in the late December corn field, only knowing and remembering his own similar jubilation many seasons ago.
A few of these younger, eager hunters will be fortunate enough to be taken under the wing of the seasoned man over the course of his lifetime afield. The right interest was shown and the glimmer of fire. Not for the sake of pride or solely for having a younger back to haul decoys, but the potential of appreciation, understanding, and learning. The willingness to listen to these winds. To read the streams and tides. To observe how animals and fish react to that barometric pressure. While the seasoned man won’t show it, they will be grateful to be able to help foster those willing to learn. All so that when the time comes they too will be able to anticipate when the wind blows cool in that midday sun, at the hint and tease of the changing season, the seasoned man will be ready, and those listening and craving it, will be too.
