On Hunting, Persistence, and Humility

It was probably an hour or two past noon when I finally unloaded my rifle and pack, and sat down on a patch of dirt with my back against a fallen log. A deep sigh of relief came rushing out with the weight of the shoulder straps relieved from my traps. I looked out to the young Aspens and Limber Pines growing up from an old cutline that opened the space for a now rusted barbed-wire fence. I took another breath and a gust of wind came running down the slope, whooshing through the pines and carrying me into a quiet reflection.

At this point I had already walked about eight miles up 3000 ft. of elevation gain through snow, sagebrush, thick forest, and dense wildfire blowdown. Not only this, but I had surely overpacked my backpack in hopes that the tools and resources I carried would be helpful in quartering and retrieving a bull elk from the woods. But I had experienced no such luck, and had instead cursed myself with a 40lb pack.

I dug through my pack trying to find the dried blueberries and grass-fed jerky sticks I had brought as my sustenance for the day. While digging I pulled out the 3lb hatchet; I rolled my eyes and chuckled a bit at myself, finding it funny that at 4:45am my early-morning enthusiasm and third cup of coffee had encouraged me to pack so many superfluous items.

I finally dug out the blueberries, and immediately shoveled them into my mouth by the handful, seeking that carbohydrate energy boost.

As I enjoyed my lunch, I pulled out the paper map I had stuffed in my vest pocket. I tried to identify approximately where I was, and counted the square-mile grid marks back to camp: one, two, three… four…

Just under 5 miles from camp. Shit.

Today I was hunting solo, stalking a small group of cow elk I had seen at daybreak. I only got my scope on a cow (for which I didn’t have a tag). I had been hoping this group would lead me to a bull.

I had hiked more mileage and elevation than this before, but never in this capacity. There was something about the combination of the pack, the heavy clothes, the rifle, and the traversing of off trail terrain that made the entire experience much more grueling. Additionally, on a psychological level, I was outright exhausted, for it seemed I had little chance of ever catching the small group of elk I had been stalking.

After eating a few jerky sticks and nearly a pound of dried blueberries, I stood back up reinvigorated to push my way back to camp. I knew if I went any further, I might not make it back to camp by twilight. I stripped a layer, hiked my pack and rifle onto my shoulders, and headed Northwest through the thick evergreen woods.

Trudging back through a seemingly endless grove of obstacles, I reflected on our hunter-gatherer ancestors. I pondered the deep grit, endurance, and resilience they must have had to persevere for millions of years. I wondered whether I would be capable of doing the same.

In this moment I was flushed with a profound sense of humility. I was almost knocked to my knees—both literally and metaphorically—with the weight of this experience. How far disconnected are we modern humans from our hunter-gatherer roots? Will I ever be capable of feats of strength and courage like our ancestors? Is this what it means to be human?

Then a quote wafted through my head that hung on the walls of my old Martial Arts gym:

"Persistence is to the character of man as carbon is to steel."

Napoleon Hill