above the rim rock

A hunters guide to His Heart

I have found myself on many occasion asking, what is it about hunting, and the event that ensues as part of it’s pursuit, that breaths into me life and stirs my heart. The crack of the gun and the buckle of a bird in mid flight is no doubt satisfying, but most certainly can not justify the level pain and exhaustion that infiltrates my body in the midst of a ten mile chukar hunt, the bird of this hunter’s choice. There have been numerous occasions that I have found myself in places on a mountain I had no business being and asked myself “What in the heck am I doing”? Only to find myself in that place time and time again. And so my life long question was answered one blue bird Saturday morning of which I will never forget.

As all of my chukar hunts do, I began preparing all of my gear Friday night after the kids had been tucked safely in bed. Even sitting here now I am rushed with the stale blunt smell of bee’s wax, which as part of my hunt ritual, is thinly coated over my boots before each hunt. Like a soldier my gear is systematically inventoried and placed in it’s appropriate place for the early morning departure. Gramps’s savage 16 gage double triggered side by side that has been passed now to me, is sheathed and stored safely in the cab of my pickup along with my hunting vest. With the highs being in the mid 30’s an Under Armour cold gear under shirt, my frayed red Eddy Bauer shammy, and the standard issues Carhartts would fit the bill. And though I could count on one hand the number of times I have used it, my Swiss Army Leatherman just in case. With lunch packed and the coffee timer set, my mind could be at ease at least knowing I was prepared. But it is that boyhood excitement that awakens me at 2:00 am and 4:00 am just to make sure I haven’t slept through the alarm that causes me to pause and soak in all that hunting has brought to my life.


I am not sure why it is, but coffee the morning of a hunt, that I sip from my hunt day coffee mug, which displays airbrushed replicas’ of my two German Shorthair Pointer hunting partners, seems ritualistic as each sip holds a different memory for me.

With the dogs loaded up, gear packed away and final preparations completed, my hunting buddy and I set off for the days adventure. The two hour drive seemed a blur from the endless recollection of past hunts, the days strategy, and the typical hunting banter. As previously stated we found ourselves amidst one of those stunning Northwest blue bird days, a Chukar hunters dream with a ground temperature of about 26 degrees. Perfect for the dogs and scenting birds. The perfect day to be sure, or so I thought.

Within a quarter mile of the truck we had to cross “Sucker Creek” which as I would soon find out was very appropriately named. The creek spanned about fifteen feet across and was somewhat slow moving. The water level was abnormally high and rather than risk my feet getting wet, I opted for what seemed the logical choice and crossed over a frozen section of the creek. Half way across and with dry land only steps away it happened, the deafening pop of the ice and my plummet into the waist deep bone chilling water. Within seconds I had broken through the remainder of the ice and drug myself to safety. NOT the way to start the day.

At twenty six degrees it took all of ten minutes for pants to freeze leaving me hobbling like the TIN MAN from Wizard of OZ. After stripping down and wringing out my clothes, we were back on the trail.

By noon we had GPS ourselves to be around five miles into the back country. With the bird finding being discouragingly slow we opted for a new strategy and split up. I’d been side hilling it for about ¾ of mile when my highly trained hunter’s eye spotted something increasingly peculiar. Grace (my female shorthair) appeared to be carrying a bird in her mouth. Problem was, I hadn’t shot a bird all day. And to my horror with every step closer I came to the paralyzing realization that what I thought was a bird was a face full of porcupine quills. They covered her face from snout to ear, in her gums, tongue, and lips. And so I spent the next forty five minutes yanking one after another out of her face and mouth, putting to good use the Leatherman I so seldom used.

Now, my heart is as “WILD” as the rest of them, but after the ice and porcupine I figured I best be getting the heck out of there before something else happened like getting shot. But oh that would be all too simple. At approximately four miles from the truck, Hersh (my male shorthair and the heaviest of the two, 65 lbs) cramps up and won’t walk anymore. And so I packed him out on my shoulders for the remaining four and a half miles. Once again having to cross “SUCKER CREEK” this time with him on my shoulders, and once again breaking through the ice. At least the temp was a balmy thirty six this go round. And my aching legs appreciated the numbing effect of the icy water.

For four miles I struggled and fought each and every step. I fought exhaustion. I fought pain. But perhaps the most significant battle was the one raging over mind and thought. You can do this, you can make it. One step at a time.

I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO GLAD TO SEE THE TRUCK.

That night as I sat inhaling a dinner that I could only dream about hours before, I shared the days adventure and hardships with my wife. To which she responded “that’s why you do it. You love it. The risk and the danger.” Hold the presses she is right. With every hunt comes the adventure of risk and danger, the kind that tests a man’s heart, his strength, his endurance, and his mind. Days like this force a man to answer “DO I HAVE WHAT IT TAKES” and on this day I could answer YES. And with that YES my heart is filled.

I have to wonder after the third day, as Jesus sat in the tomb resurrected from death, was His heart filled in the same way as mine. Did he reflect back over the brutal blood laden beatings, the agonizing pack to Golgotha, the sacrifice on the cross, and the war that He raged in the bowels of Hell, and think “I HAD WHAT IT TAKES” for He completed the mission. Our God has what it takes.

If we could only realize that the same adventure of risk and danger awaits each of us every day as we cross the thresholds of our homes. There is a battling raging for your mind, and for your body, and for your spirit. And it is far more exhausting and painful than any self inflicted adventure we have taken part in. YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES, but you must “prepare the horse for battle”.

Paul in I Cor. 9:27 says: "No, I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize.” Be in the word and on your knees each and every day so that you might finish the race and know “YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES”