OK, a campy title. But think about the concept behind the cliche: one who gives selflessly to another receives a gift in turn.

It applies to hunting, especially if you’re after deer. Every part of the state has some form of a share-the-harvest type program, in which hunters can donate part or all of their deer to be butchered and given to local food shelters. Often, as in Southwest Ohio, hunters get discounted or free processing at participating butchers.

This is a big thing. In my past life as a reporter, I regularly got calls from my contacts at a local food shelter. Supplies were low going into the holiday rush. Supplies were low when school go out, and people stopped giving. Supplies were low when school started up again, and low-income parents had to stretch to get kids ready.

See the pattern? Even in the state’s more affluent communities (e.g. places where residents have the disposable income to pursue big game), hunger and limited food pantry supplies are a serious issue. This hits home every time I’m in public woods and come across a deer carcass, intact except for the head and the caped part of the hide used for a wall mount. How many meals went to the maggots because a “sportsman” was only interested in his trophy?

With deer season in high swing, I suspect several of you are closing in on that trophy you’ve been watching all season, or will head into the woods this weekend and bag that first buck or doe. Take a minute to check out a local food pantry, and see if you can turn your big score this season into a big gift for local families in need.

Try something different when you head into the woods this weekend. Instead of bring your rifle, bow, shotgun, hunting dog or what-have-you when you hit the forest, bring a kid.

This weekend is the first of two ODNR-sanctioned youth hunting weekends. Every year, the department opens the field for young people to hunt a wide variety of game. They have to be accompanied by an non-hunting adult, which might seem an odd restriction until you think about the state of today’s kids, and the nature of a typical hunt.

First, the kids. I don’t have any, but you don’t need to be a parent to know there is an army of distractions that have turned American kids into indoor animals. Why play Army with fake guns in the bushes behind the house, after all, when you can play a much more realistic version in a richer, though virtual, environment thanks to computer technology. While modern tech has its obvious benefits, it’s hard to dispute that the same technological might has caused kids to tune out to the natural world.

And here’s where my second recommendation comes in. Anyone who spends even a small amount of time hunting knows the value of silence and focus. They also know the magical world that appears when one slows down, silences his or her steps and becomes part of the forest’s daily cycles, rather than a stomping, smelly intruder. The animal encounters are thrilling, but in a far different way than the thrills a video gamer might feel.

It’s our job as conscientious hunters and outdoorspeople to share that quiet, delicate thrill with the next generation. You can’t do that while looking for your own game to hunt. If only the younger part of your party will do the shooting, then you can guide him or her, teaching the art of woodsmanship and ultimately sharing the thrill of a successful hunt.

Ours is a solitary pastime/sport/passion. These two youth hunting weekends are critical, then, in that they open the door for us to share that passion with the people who benefit most – the next generation of natural stewards.

Very soon, the woods will be a louder place. The occasional twang-hiss-thwap of bow season will give way to the deep roar of muzzleloaders in action.

If you’re new to muzzleloading, welcome to the fun. It’s still a rifle, still a bullet heading downrange on the boost of a gunpowder blast, but there’s something special about smokepole shooting. It’s the noise – more of a thunderclap than the sharp report of a cartridge firearm. It’s also the fire, the smells and the smoke that clouds the view. Modern inline muzzleloaders have almost all the convenience of their cartridge bretheren, but there’s no comparison as to which one puts on a better show.

Shooting well with a muzzleloader is different from shooting well with a cartridge rifle. The prep work between shots is certainly a distraction from the hold, aim and trigger squeeze, and for me that’s a good thing at the range. I have to get up and move around as I clean and reload the rifle. It loosens muscles that might otherwise grow stiff from rapid-fire shots, and I think that resetting oneself to shoot better mimics field conditions, where you’re not going to get five shots to hit the 10-ring.

Also, the lower velocity of the muzzleloader bullet takes some adjustment. Remember that you’re going to have the bullet in the barrel for a lot longer than in a cartridge firearm. It’s more like an air rifle in that sense – a proper follow-through, in which you “think the bullet all the way down the barrel,” is critical to consistent marksmanship.

Of course, that’s a lot easier with an air rifle than a muzzleloader, courtesy of the kick.

That’s probably the biggest adjustment I have to make when stepping up to a black powder firearm. The recoil has a different quality to it; it’s longer and not as sharp as some cartridge rifles. The slower burn of the black powder means a longer recoil, which can cause the uninitiated to consistently hit high (or miss high, if it’s bad). When bench rest shooting, use your forward hand to keep the barrel from jumping up on the recoil. That’ll give you a more accurate picture of where the bullet will go when you’re firing from a field position.

Even better, follow the old advice that applies to any firearm: if you want to hit what you’re aiming at in the field, first learn to hit what you’re aiming at on the range. There’s no substitute for practice.

The cold months of the year tend to be project time in my house. Plans and ideas that pop up during the warmer months get put on hold while I’m out enjoying the sun and heat. As the weather turns cold and rainy, cabin fever sets in in a hurry and I turn to the project file for something to keep me occupied.

This year’s project is fitting for the blog, so I thought I’d share. I’ve tinkered around with woodworking for as long as I can remember, and this year I decided to pursue a project that seemed too challenging in years past:

I’m building a bow.

I can hear the boyers out there chuckling, and the active bowhunters saying “why not save the trouble and buy a used bow for what you’re going to blow on lumber?” To the first, laugh away – I’ll probably give you plenty of entertainment this fall. To the second, there’s a longer answer.

A cheap piece of Red Oak, a few hours' work with a saw and sandpaper, and longbow #1 is starting to take form. Photo by Matt Cunningham

Hunting implements have a way of becoming more than mere tools. They carry an almost talismanic property – the rifle or bow you take to the woods is a portal to a deeper understanding of the natural world, a ticket to participate directly in the cycle of life. There are tremendous memories attached to the guns in my case: the .22 that I shot my first squirrel with, the antique pistol that was the last gift my wife received from her grandfather before he passed away. The memories make these machines of wood and metal into heirlooms we value and plan to pass on.

How much more significance would there be, however, if the implement in question is one I’ve made with my own hands?

I’m pretty far along with my first bow, a pyramid-limb longbow made of Red Oak. Every advice article for new boyers warns against putting too many hopes into that first, probably-doomed-to-failure bow, but I’m already thinking about where this new hunting implement might take me. If it works, will I bag a trophy deer with it? Perhaps a monster feral pig, or a spring turkey? Bowhunting is legal for geese in Ohio; maybe I’ll put a goose on the table for Christmas.

The inexpensive piece of half-finished wood in my workroom is a long way from a finished hunting bow. I’ll share the rest of the project with you; whether it breaks on the first draw or goes on to become a family heirloom, it should be an interesting story.

The post I promised about the ODNR’s method of setting and adjusting seasons and bag limits is on the way. I made a change to the schedule today, however, in light of an experience I had over the weekend; it’s one I hope you can learn from, especially if you’re in the thick of bow season right now.

I spent most of the weekend hunting pests on a farm near where I live. It’s a mature 60+ acres with several stands of hardwoods and rolling hills that flatten out into fields – a beautiful place, and the textbook location for finding a number of game species.

Photo by Matt Cunningham

While waiting for the sun to warm the fields and draw out the last of the season’s groundhogs, I ducked into a stand of trees, following the unmistakable sound of a squirrel cutting nuts. In the early morning light I could see the bushytail through the trees, and I stalked in to get a shot with my air rifle.

I came around a bend in the trail and set up to take a shot from a pair of saplings. The squirrel, unaware of my presence, hopped behind a large, gnarled tree and I adjusted my aim to where I suspected it would reappear.

But something about the tree looked out of place. I couldn’t put my finger on it until I lowered the rifle and swept it with my binoculars.

A bowhunter, decked out in full camo, sat in a treestand not two yards to the right of my intended aim point.

Yikes.

I waved to show I’d seen him, then vacated the area as fast as I could without making too much noise.

Let’s face it: if you hunt and don’t own the land you’re on, you’re probably going to run into other hunters from time to time. Thankfully, we saw each other well before any shots were fired, and although I didn’t see who it was at first, I was certainly nowhere near thinking the odd bump on the tree was anything I should point my gun at. But it goes to show that, even though blaze orange is not required outside the youth or deer gun seasons, it’s something to consider adding to your hunting gear if you’re going after a colorblind species. Even a small handkerchief or piece of marking tape on the side of a treestand can be enough to alert other hunters to your presence.

Next time I’m hunting that woods, I’ll have on my blaze orange camo cap instead of the tan one I usually wear. There’s debate out there as to whether it would reduce the number of small game critters I take, but I’m willing to risk it, given the possible alternatives.

Hunt on, have fun, and hunt safe.