The Memory Bridge

March 25, 2021 | « back

By: Ted Nugent

It’s not like I haven’t got plenty to keep me crazy busy in between deerseasons, that’s for sure! But even with the nonstop orgy of my musical adventure, songwriting, guitarslamming, tone tweaking, equipment experimentation, jamming, sonic defiance, and soulmusic alchemy, I still dream relentlessly of October, November, December 2021 and beyond!

Gee, I’m almost like a deerhunting junkie for God’s sake! And speaking of God, I would certainly like to thank Him immensely for the diversity of my life’s adventures.

I raise maximum God, family, country, freedom hell everyday on global media, fulfill my daily ranch chore responsibilities, do my very best to wear out my beloved hound dogs, shoot a squirrel or two in the eyeball, check my trapline each morning, diligently pursue my husband, father and grandfather duties, and constantly reachout to remind my elected government employees that the Nugent family expects them to live up to their sacred Constitutional Oaths.

Then of course there’s always vacuuming, sweeping, dusting, laundry, general home maintenance, grocery shopping, etc, and today I mounted a new US flag and Texas flag to the front of our home.

I had to chainsaw some lowhanging limbs on the fence again this morning, fill a few feeders, cut and remove some old barbwire tangles, train with and clean a few guns, exercise my Mathews bow, and oh yeah, sign a couple thousand Come And Take It hats and flags ( for the hardcore freedom demanding masses!

Then I had a quick breakfast and here I am.

It is rather funny how even in the vortex of our life, liberty and pursuit of happiness scramble we are still able to manipulate our clocks and calendar to make adequate time during our beloved fall/winter deerseason to do all that scouting and hunting with so many other daunting responsibilities in life, but alas, we do indeed!

And as crazy busy as I am everyday, I still need a sufficient dose of deerhunting mojo to see me through the nonseason.

And what provides that bridge over river sighs that gets us to the next season? Memories of past hunts, that’s what!

Though nothing fires up the memory bank quite like a mounted deerhead on the wall, even without that overly graphic and cherished optical stimuli, my backstrap fueled brain can and does summon each and every gory detail of past hunts on command.

Multitasking like I do, my mind often races back to any one of my nearly 70 deerhunting seasons, reminiscing every detailed where, when, how, what and if of every hunt.

While cruising in between traps this morning my graphic daydreaming of a recent bowhunt came flooding back in 3D technicolor, and I literally lived it all over again.

It was a cold, magical November morning last fall in the old Nugent family Michigan timber ridged marshlands. Honking Canadas and squadrons of wood ducks and mallards came and went as the rising morning sun sliced through the gun metal grey clouds. The crisp northwest breeze was steady and welcome as red and fox squirrels vied for mast dominance all around my sacred ridge.

Even as I sat there 16 feet up in the cleavage of the ancient red oak, my mind sizzled with nearly 45 years of critter encounters and a whole bunch of wonderful deer and turkey kills from this very same , deadly perch.

Then he appeared. With the sun shining gold against his tawny hide, the dandy eight pointer strolled along seemingly without a care in the world.

With the rut at full swing, the old boy had dropped his guard and I was more than happy to capitalize on his rare and out of character vulnerability.

He skirted my tree and angled upward on the steep slope towards the standing corn and at my grunt, stopped right behind a giant oak tree covering his head and shoulder with only his ribcage exposed.

Remember when I thanked God just a few sentences ago! Talking about a very rare deerhunting gift, I sent my 400 grain GoldTip arrow and razorsharp broadhead home for a picture-perfect double-lunger celebration and all that was left was the easy tracking and joyful recovery.

I remember this hunt like I do all of them, but this one stands out a little bit more because, with his head and danger-radar covered up by the massive oak tree, I seemed to be a bit less nervous for the shot, having increased confidence that my draw would be hidden from his view.

My toothy smile this morning equaled that of the November morning kill many months ago, and I felt a noticeable upkick in my step as I continued my chores.

Each day of the nonseason is accelerated and pumped up substantially by these irrepressible memories, and quite honestly, nearly as thrilling as the actual occurrence no matter how long ago they may be.

I know how in life we have to be focused on the moment at hand in order to be the best that we can be, but don’t hesitate to let the mind wonder a little bit occasionally, for as we re-live these magic past hunting moments in time, they will bring us much positive energy and spirit as we countdown the days to the opener.

Consider them happy fuel for the spirit to tide us over. As the mighty Godfather of Soul James Brown screamed; “where’s the bridge!”

Take that bridge back to happy hunting memories. The guy that dies with the most happy-memories wins.