By: Ted Nugent
Sniff sniff! Sniff sniff sniff!! Snort snort! Grunt sniff snortwheeze!
I don’t know about you, but I smell fall!
And I like it! And it is about damn time I would say!
I know, I know! August isn’t exactly the window to official cool fall conditions, with lots of nasty anti-hunting crazy hot and humid days still before us, August nonetheless provides a hint of dreamy autumn things to come!
It was a stupid pain in the ass 102 degrees here at SpiritWild Ranch in Texas again today, and by noon I had already gone through three different sweat soaked saturated shirts just attempting a few simple easy going chores in the so called cooler morning tempts.
I did get a number of texts from my deerhunting brethren across the Midwest heartland today sharing the heartwarming news that they had hit lows in the 40s and I literally got all starry eyed with dreamy cravings for those magical frosty days of October, November and beyond.
Now, mind you, I am more than well aware of my own history in the swamps of Michigan where over the years we occasionally experienced some downright uncomfortable 90 degree deerhunting days even in that neck of the northern deerwoods.
Then of course my backstrap brothers in Nevada, California, Arizona, Texas, New Mexico, Louisiana, Alabama, Georgia, Florida, South Carolina and others do more than their fair share of hot weather deerhunting, but we sure don’t bother to complain.
Everybody agrees that any day in the deerwoods, no matter what sort of lefthook suckerpunch Ma Nature might coldcock us with is indeed a welcome day of genuine celebration. Is it not!
I am giddy with excitement as I pack my dufflebags and bowcases for our annual Nugent family migration back to our sacred Michigan hunting grounds with visions of frost on the ground and unsuspecting critters meandering down the trails over hill and dale.
At 72 years of age, I swear to God I get more and more excited every year for this special, soul cleansing fall season, and my mind races with colorful images of the magical wild woods, marshes, fields and swamps that have so powerfully called my name from 1948 to this day.
In these crazy, heartbreaking days of unforgivable societal chaos and violent rioting and anarchy running amok in every democrat ruined city, I suspect like me, you are all craving this hunting season more passionately if not downright desperately than any ever before, if not to just get away from it all.
In between raising hell with my elected employees to stop the violence and demand accountability, I often close my eyes to escape the inexplicable stupidity all around and view my hunting grounds as if from an eye in the sky, examining this ridge and that woodline, anticipating exploration of new edges and deeper habitat.
When I do that, I am instantly transported to a better place that fortifies my spirit, charges up my mental batteries and makes me stronger yet calmer to better handle anything and everything this crazy world throws my way.
I call it the Spirit of the Wild, for the obvious reasons that the Great Spirit is always there for us, and it lives and breathes in those natural settings that deerhunters call home away from home.
So as I pack my gear to leave home for the hunting camp, I am actually going home!
Home to where the spirit soars. Home where the heart beats strongest. Home to where the world is still functioning as God originally designed it. Home to where good families seek the healing powers of nature. Home to where the family campfire burns bright and warm.
Let’s all go back home where the natural order of God’s miraculous creation can remind us how we must fight to restore peace, brotherly love and the Golden Rule to do unto others as we would have them do unto thee.
Home is where the heart is, and deercamp is the best home of all.