There’s something special about hunting on the last weekend of the season. The last day always seems to fly by, and subconsciously I treasure each point, each flush, and each shot just a little more than usual, knowing that it’s going to be a while before I come this way again.
But the last weekend also comes as a bit of a relief. We always try to take out a couple of guys who haven’t hunted as much as they would have liked. But for guys like me, it’s a welcomed occasion to have the three month long season end. It’s nice to bid farewell to the four a.m. wake up calls, the three hour drives in the cold darkness of a winter’s morning, and to the hard beds of our western Kansas motels.
The last day of the season is always bitter. But it’s always sweet, too.
One Comment
Instead of hearing your alarm at 4 on Saturdays now..I hear my alarm of puppy cries at 6.