In this age of instantaneous self-gratification, cheap entertainment, and automation, many become totally engaged in a life defined by a series of ones and zeros or identify themselves with a list of statistics and figures. We hold our dinner conversations with pundits from 60 minutes, CNN, or Fox News Network; we play with our friends by plugging into a global online multiplayer game and live out a virtual life that replaces reality. In a world where everyone is always connected, we find that we are increasingly alone, isolated from significant human interaction. In such a world, where so much of our time and actions are driven by deadlines and commitments, it can be difficult to find any respite from this fast paced exhausting monotony. For me, hunting provides the sanctuary I need to rest and free myself from the concerns of the civilized world, offsetting the atrophic effects of the modern life.

Through hunting, I am able to reconnect with all those things that are most important in life and, tragically, most overlooked. For example, hunting affords me the opportunity to spend uninterrupted time with my father. There are no TVs in a blind and the only business meetings are held back at camp over a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, discussing what the last sunrise revealed and how grateful we are to have seen it. And best of all, cell phones rarely get reception in the field. This aspect of hunting, the unavoidable one on one interaction with my father and reconnection with where I came from enriches my life and allows the making of many great memories. Some of my fondest are of my father and I traveling to and from our destinations, early in the predawn cold heading out to our blind, my father painting vivid pictures of long bearded gobblers and weary old bucks in my young imagination, and in the late evening, telling me about all the interesting things we had seen: why the deer rub their antlers on trees, why they scrape the ground, rub their eyes on and lick the branches above where they scraped, or why big toms puff up their haughty feathers and fan their iridescent tails, strutting the bright spring sunshine.

I did not know it at the time, but hidden in the detail and precision of a turkey call, my dad was teaching me how to understand the natural world and to know the peculiar satisfaction that comes only from creating something with your hands; the preparation and planning of the hunt, my dad was teaching me the value of forethought and insight and the principles of self- sufficiency; and in the long silent hours spent in breathless anticipation, and the brief, fleeting moments of indescribable emotion in the deer stand or out in the field, my dad was introducing me to the joys the outdoor lifestyle has to offer.

I have always had a passion for learning and my ardor is no less intense when it comes to learning about the outdoors. It is, therefore, no surprise that I soaked up all the knowledge I could from my father, which was an incredible amount; he is a very experienced and responsible outdoorsman. And of all the things I learned from my father, the most important thing he taught me was that he couldn't not teach me everything. I would never become a mature bow hunter until I stepped out in the field alone and made all the mistakes a tyro must make. One can learn a lot from an instructor, but I cannot imagine a better classroom than the great outdoors; a more effective teacher than a monarchical white-tail buck, the sharp eyes of a Rio Grande tom, or a rugged, proud mountain; or a more humble, willing student than a wet, hungry, cold, miserable hunter.

Of all the ways hunting has benefited me, allowing me to spend time with and learn from my father has been by far the most valuable. And now that the days of tagging along at his heals and letting him make all the decisions are gone, I feel confident that I am prepared and capable of making sound decisions, in the bush and in life, thanks to the time I spent learning under his, and nature's tutelage. There is so much to be learned from the still quiet of the wild places, and I pray that we are able to preserve our natural treasures so that we may continue to receive their instruction.