I haven’t posted much recently, because I haven’t done much lately. If I had to blame something I would say the blame rests with my grandpa’s passing and exercise physiology (horrible damn class).

          When I decided to pursue Outdoor Education my parents supported me, enthusiastically. I suspect mostly because it meant I would make it out of college with some kind of degree. Now that’s changed and they see the value of it as a career. My grandpa on the other hand had no idea what I was doing. When I got my associates degree he asked me if I would then be going to college for a degree. He had no idea that I was working towards a degree. What strikes me about that is that he never said anything. He was under the impression that I had left college to go to trade school but he encouraged me and never said what I surely would have said, if I was similarly misinformed “What the hell are you doing? Go back to college”. Instead he asked me about classes and my trips. I would call him after every trip and tell him about it, and without fail he would say “20 years ago I would have been right there with ya”. We talked about what kind of jobs I could get when I was done with school and he was enthusiastic about me going in to outdoor education, not because he thought it was the only way I could get a degree but because he thought I would enjoy it. Having someone I admired so much approve of what I was doing motivated me to get out more. I remember once, when I was probably ten, I asked my grandpa what hang gliders were made of. He answered “ripstop nylon” like it was something everyone should know. Right then and there I thought he knew everything, any question I had, he had the answer. I decided then that I wanted to be the same way. He could engage in educated discussion about any topic that I ever saw brought up to him. As I got older I realized that he knew all these things because he read, so I started reading. I read anything and every thing I could and I still do. He also had the most amazing stories I have ever heard. Liyah said he’s the only person she has ever seen me just sit and listen to. It wasn’t until I was in high school that I saw the value of his stories was not the stories themselves, but the life that they were evidence to, a life full of experiences, good, bad and some that defy categorization. What I took from that is that life should be lived with no stone of adventure left unturned, and so that is how I started to live. Unfortunately that attitude landed me in a ton of shit, but even grandpa landed in ton of shit from time to time and he made it though fine, as did I. That attitude lead me to a series of very bad decisions, that then lead me to a series of amazing opportunities, including meeting Liyah, so thanks grandpa! The difference between us is, that for me it was a contrived premise, and for him it wasn’t a decision to live like that, he just did. Whether he was a product of that life or that life was a product of him, I don’t think I will ever know. I do know that I have wanted to be exactly like him ever since I could remember, so obviously loosing him has played a part in my inactivity this fall.

          But the lion’s share of the blame is with my terrible classes. They are horrible, I hate them all except motor learning and I cant wait to be done. That’s all I can say about class.  

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For the record that is not the gun i shot him with, some redneck just threw it in there. true story
          But fear not I did get out this fall and it is a story worth telling! (meaning I made and ass out of myself of course) I flew to Illinois and went black powder hunting with my dad in Indiana.

          It was opening day, I crept though the bushes with my can of deer piss. MMM the scent of doe in estrus! I sprayed everything around my stand, scent strips, trees, bushes, the stand, everything. Basically my stand was the deer equivalent of a frat house floor the day after Halloween (minus the smell of shame). OK so I climb up in the stand, I was under a lot of pressure to deliver since I flew out and every thing. I scanned the forest with my binoculars. Scanning side to side, HOLY SH*T WHAT IS THAT!!! I swung my rifle around, just a bunch of does. I needed to chill out, I decided that I was not going to hold out for a trophy and since the weather was supposed to get bad I was going to shoot the first thing I saw with a rack, and that took some of the pressure off. Well the first thing I saw had such a tiny rack I debated in my head about whether I should actually shoot it. It looked at me with its cute little antlers and its big eyes as if to say “don’t shoot me, you will be ashamed”. Well I shot him anyway. I rushed down the stand and started looking for a blood trail but I found none. What did find was the little bastard staring at me from the middle of a thicket! I missed. I was so embarrassed, but there was no time for that, I was throwing two more powder charges down the barrel and packing the charge, because I was going to kill him one way or another. By the time I had the bullet seated on the powder he had moved deeper into the thicket so I ran back to my stand and started grunting. Of course he came back, I mean seriously who can blame him, he could smell and hear a deer sex party somewhere and he was NOT going to miss out. I waited as he got closer, and closer, and closer until he was about 25 yards away and I then I whistled at him. He stopped and turned, presenting the perfect shot. He dropped less than 30 yards from where I shot him. It was a great shot, right across the top of the heart. I realized that it was only 730 and I had like 5 hours until they came to get me. So I pulled him out of the reeds and onto the trail, and then I laid down next to the trail and took a nap. Best nap I have ever had. I could tell no one was impressed with the tiny rack but I was the only one that got a deer that weekend so I didn’t really care. I can't wait to eat some deer slims.

I didn't know deer were made of slim jims and summer sausage