I feel like one of God's chosen people, having had the opportunity to share, with many fine companions, these varied and lovely realms of our natural world. -Fred Bear
A world away-the natural world as Bear speaks to. That thought kept passing through my head during the three days of Twangfest this fall. Each time I looked out over the surrounding countryside- every time I caught amazing sunsets from high above the encompassing forest. It was reflected in the deafening silence of the predawn morning, waiting for the landscape and trees around me to solidify from the darkness. This place is a world away from everything outside of where we were, if just for a few days. I relished it-every second.
I'm not sure why these thoughts were so vivid this year. We'd all been gathering for “Twangfest” for over 30 years, a group of old college friends who spent a weekend together bow hunting, camping and enjoying our friendship afield. I'd seen those sunsets before, framed by the tops of a massive oak trees and the tall ridges in the distance. In the dark, I'd watch tracers of car lights roam the roads and hiway below, all busy going somewhere. The blackness beneath our high perch base camp was dotted with farmyard lights and in the distance small towns glowed and twinkled. I'd seen that all before and liked it. I was here and “they” were all out there occupied doing other important things I'm sure.
I guess I “pondered” why it felt so disconnected from the outside world this year, but that term seems so old fashioned. Contemplate, reflect? I'll go with those words for they sound more profound, but mean the same thing. Maybe it's an age thing-the older I get, the more I appreciate just being out there. It takes effort and preparation and it's never easy, but there are small moments outdoors that sink into ones primal soul and make it all worthwhile. The snap of a twig or shuffle of leaves in the excruciatingly quiet dawn requires every ounce of attention to identify. Eyes strain to re-connect with a movement, careful to not twitch a muscle least the prey locks onto me instead. Every shift of wind is detected, noted and fretted over-something I don't give a second thought when removed of this place and this time.
Twangfest does detach the group, usually numbering between 6 to 9 guys, from almost everything for this short period of time each year. Smart phones intrude some, but the guys are pretty good about leaving business behind and escaping. It's like we are sequestered here in the woods, with bows and arrows, camo and gear among friends that seem we'd seen yesterday. Not a bad place to be, and one we don't leave once we are unloaded and settled. Any news from the outside world is unwelcome-I kind of take delight (or maybe respite) in not knowing what's going on, in being removed from it all. It allows us to focus on our camaraderie and concentrate on hunting, which yes, we do take seriously, though it's just one part of this yearly gathering.
When bowhunting, you find you get closer to the woodland critters. The flora and the forest floor becomes clearer. You look at things more closely. You're more aware. You know the limited range of the bow is only 40 yards or so. You must try to outwait that approaching deer. Careful not to make the slightest movement or sound hoping that your scent won't suddenly waft his way. That's when you'll know for sure and appreciate deeply what bowhunting is all about." - Fred Bear
Having the bow in hand does alter us-we're no longer an observer, but a participant, something hard to define, but I've found true none the less. As Bear reflects-you do look closer, one does become more aware and everything is clearer-something that maybe is missing from daily life. The Twangfesters in the early years had different priorities, we were all in our early twenties, still in college and a weekend in the woods centered around a lot of crazy fun, some hunting and maybe an impromptu touch football game-in camo. Wait...I guess much of that does remain, plus a lot of music playing and story telling built of many years of returning to this place. But perhaps it's now just the escape, the esprit de corps, that keeps us returning each year. The locations have changed a few times over the years, each spot with a different flavor, each place providing different memories and tales.
Fewer deer are taken these days-the hunters much more picky about the quality of our quarry. “Brown is down” (meaning does are fair game-for we all love venison) is whispered around camp, but in reality, long drives back home after the weekend, then dealing with deer processing probably hampers releasing an arrow from time to time. Chancy attempts are passed on, instead waiting on a opportunity to make a good shot. Filling tags has much less importance now than in early versions of Twangfest. It was said that just preparing, gathering gear (or buying new junk), washing camo and planning on stand placement is half the fun-maybe more. We can always dream of taking that big buck and imagining it happening is something that helps pass countless hours in the blind. Those aspirations also become great fodder for the boys back at camp-who doesn't love chatting up the pre-and post hunt each day?
My companions arriving at Twang after 32 years leave behind for a few days diverse careers-a couple battery executives, a pair of teachers, a musician and a VP of new talent in Nashville, a sales exec and a couple others who manage to drop in from time to time. We've gone from college bachelors donning camo each weekend to starting jobs, changing jobs, raising families, saying good bye to some and even welcoming grandchildren. Perhaps a new generation at some point will join us in the woods, also thankful to be worlds away.