Defining Success Afield

A fine line exists between experiencing success afield or feeling discouraged by a lack of it. It doesn't matter the endeavor, most of us who challenge ourselves in the outdoors have most likely experienced both. Yet, over the years I have experienced a great deal of insight as a result of having moments of success and moments of discouragement. As a result, I have learned one fundamental axiom; whether through photography, fishing, canoeing, or any outdoor related activity, success can often be defined by one word: Attitude.

I have missed far more photographic moments than I have ever captured, and I have experienced many fishing days where I've been completely skunked. Although I rarely hunt these days, more often than not in years past my hunting skills fell well short of expectations. Target shooting, fishing, canoeing, camping, photography have all contributed to what most people might see as an indication of a failed attempt. But, failure is a harsh word to describe such things for I see those moments as a series of steps toward success. There is a difference in thinking when it comes to accepting that sometimes, results fall short of expectations. Successful completion of expectations takes effort and the results are far from certain, but...that is exactly why I try.

The trick is to adjust expectations for the moment and look at the situation from a positive perspective. I remember once, a good number of years ago now, back in Oklahoma I took a co-worker and younger friend of mine on his first canoe fishing trip. All week we talked about it and I may have elevated his expectations by building up this little lake as having produced several good bass over the years. He was all excited about getting out come that Saturday. Of course he was late arriving for our early morning start...which by the way became a bad habit of his...and we missed the early morning fishing opportunity. All through the morning both of us made cast after cast after cast without a single hit of any kind. By mid-morning he began to grumble and gripe. By noon, the day in his mind was turning into a waste. By early afternoon I was getting rather tired of his griping and decided the fishing trip was over and so we pulled out early. During our fishing time and on the way home, I tried to redirect his negative thinking toward just how much fun it was to be out on the water in the canoe. We had a beautiful day and there were other values just wanting recognition. Yet, in his single minded focus the fishing was lousy so the day became a big waste of time.  To him, the day was a failure.  His incessant griping put a damper on the day, even for me. Even so, I loved just being there and would have enjoyed the day in spite of the lack of fishing success, but his attitude pretty well ruined the day for both of us. I never again took him fishing. 

By this time in my life I had learned how the outcome is the least important element and just being there was what actually mattered the most. A positive outcome is simply the icing and a positive attitude will make any day afield a good experience. My late good friend Ralph became instrumental in teaching me to think this way and he did so by example. I never knew of him to grumble or gripe about the situation regardless of the circumstances, and we experienced just about every kind of situation. His attitude was one of first, just being able to get out and enjoy the day and second, let's see if we can catch a fish or two along the way. 

Sometimes I will head out with my camera hoping to discover some exciting moments of light. Rest assured, many of those times the light was simply not there, yet I was still able to experience a great morning or afternoon because I set the camera aside and listened to what nature was offering. 

Many times I have done similar things during other situations. I'll set the fishing rod down and sit on the creek bank and just allow the motion of the water talk to me, or instead of fishing from my canoe, I'll stow the rod away and spend the day paddling around getting up close to explore some tucked away cove or rocky bluff or watch a high flying eagle or osprey do their acrobatics. They, after all, are certainly far better at fishing than I ever will become.

I love to just sit behind a campfire and listen to its song and absorb its aroma. No two of them are ever the same and each one develops its own personality. Seeking out a sunset while doing such things can be one of the most soothing and calming of moments. I often find myself alone during such times, and for the most part, that is what I prefer. 

Moments such as these are what define success afield. Each of us who pursue such things must develop our own definition of what that should look like. For me, just being there is success enough. Storing those moments within the memory banks of my heart is like having money in the bank.The trick is to not deplete the value of such things by allowing negative attitudes to overdraw the account.  Just enjoy the opportunity in whatever form it is given.

The Old Western Field 22 Rifle...First Steps Toward a Boyhood Dream

 Not sure really where those boyhood dreams of adventure originated. Could be from the stories my grandfather told me about fox and bear dens on the old Oklahoma Cavanal Mountain. Or maybe it was from watching an old adventure movie or reading about the grand adventures of Lewis and Clark. Most likely though it probably was brought to life after reading the true story of a man long ago who made a bet with a friend that he could survive for six months or maybe longer in the woods taking nothing with him...not even his clothing. A fascinating story for sure especially for a young boy who dreamed of such things. Most of those dreams remain locked away inside until one day, on my 12th or 13th birthday during the summer of either 1964 or 1965, my dad bought me a 22 LR rifle. At the time it probably sold for around 25 or 30 dollars. From that moment on, I felt as though those dreams had the potential of becoming, at least to some degree, a reality. 

It was a simple rifle; a single shot Western Field bolt action he most likely purchased from Montgomery Wards. But to me it looked and felt like a high caliber deer rifle. Just holding it in my hands and raising it to my shoulder to sight down the barrel and align the sights on some distant target was an act of adventure. On that first day after opening the long box it came in, a smaller package was also included which contained a couple boxes of Remington Long Rifle bullets. Later that day we headed over to a local creek and within a short time I shot up those two boxes of shells plinking at various objects. I'll never forget that first day shooting my very first real rifle.

Still in my youth I relied on my dad to take me someplace to shoot it and to buy the bullets, so it wasn't all that often I was able to get it out. Never did go hunting with it back then, just plinking around creeks and other locations mostly imagining hunting way off in the wilds of the Rocky Mountains. Not until I grew into adulthood did I manage to head out on my own. Most of the time I just shot at cans and pieces of wood and things. Doing so improved my accuracy and it was indeed a rather accurate rifle considering the simplicity of its design.

That accuracy lead me into target shooting. I knew very little about how to do that, but over time learned the basics. I discovered just how accurate the rifle was for it, when held steady and solid off a bench, could consistently shoot a five shot one inch group at fifty yards. That's good enough to score in the mid-40's on a 50 point fifty yard small bore target. That grouping improved when I figured out if I used subsonic rounds like the CCI target rounds. Using those specialty rounds the potential accuracy improved to about a 3/4 inch five shot group. That could in theory score in the high 40's.

Of course shooting by hand would impart a level of inaccurate tendencies into that potential. Even so, I eventually started shooting in four position small bore rifle competitions; Prone, Sitting, Kneeling, and Standing. I rigged my rifle with a simple target peep site which improved my offhand shooting and felt as though I could compete respectfully and not embarrass myself...too much. 

During my first competition over near Bixby, Oklahoma I arrived not really knowing what to do. I registered and was given my targets and listened to the range officer go over the range rules. When we stepped onto the range I looked across the various stations and my heart simply sank as the other competitors extracted from fancy hard cases high dollar specialized target rifles fixed with calibrated diopter target sights. My little rifle looked almost like a toy up against those. They also wore specialized target shooting clothing which helped them hold their rifles more steady. I stood there in blue jeans and a sweat-shirt using only a large leather glove and a sling made out of an old leather belt to help steady my pulse from being imparted to the hold of the rifle. 

Next to me stood a fellow who appeared to be a seasoned target shooter using a several thousand dollar target rifle. He looked over at me obviously eyeing my little gun and politely smiled. I felt a slight bit of smugness from his demeanor. Undeterred, I sighted in my rifle in the prone position at 50 yards and was pleased with the results...then the shooting started for real. I fired off all twenty rounds, five on each of four targets. When the shooting stopped we gathered our targets and exchanged them with the competitor next to each other for scoring. His target looked well seasoned and even though I felt sure I had shot pretty well, I wasn't sure how the scoring would turn out.

When he was finished, he stood there shaking his head, glanced over at my rifle, then back to the target and commented. "You shot this target with that rifle?"

I said, "That's right...how'd it turn out."

He shook his head, "Man, that's some pretty good shooting for a little sport rifle like that. These are some good scores. Never thought I'd see these kinds of groups with that kind of gun. Some of these other guys using real high dollar target rifles won't score much better, and your scores are most likely better than a good number of them."

I smiled and thanked him. My highest target score if I recall right was around 47 and the four combined target scores fell around 175 out of 200 in the prone position. Kneeling, sitting, then standing my scores varied somewhat but were respectable and that little old Western Field sport rifle held her own against much more capable guns. I continued to entertain myself at those shoots for a season or two.

Through the years I have introduced both my son's to that old rifle even mounting a 4X scope on it. I even took them on an early morning squirrel hunt some years ago. Christopher carried a pellet gun and Tim the 22. That was great fun and this one photo I made of them using a simple disposable camera is one I treasure as much as any of them. Christopher, my youngest seemed have more of an interest in shooting and even got him to doing some 50 yard target shooting practice at one time.

On one of Kris and my first dates, I took her target shooting using that old 22. Even today, she will, on our Thanksgiving shoot, partake of the shooting activities. She's a pretty good shot even now.

On occasion just for myself, I'll breakout that old rifle and set up a target 50 paces away inline with my mound of dirt I had put in when we first moved to Kentucky.

 My skill at shooting has diminished somewhat, but that old rifle will still shoot a good group. Almost every Thanksgiving Day after my boys and family have gorged ourselves on turkey and dressing, we will brakeout the old 22 and do some plinking in the backyard. 

I love that little old rifle and treasure it as a means to retouch with my past. It is a past filled with visions of adventure and each time I squeeze the trigger, I am gratefully returned to those days when a young boy dared to dream of such things. My eyes are dimmer, my once blond hair now turned white, and my hold not so steady anymore, but I still enjoy the feel and excitement of how a simple little sport rifle strengthened the heart and mind of a young boy. I am still today that young boy, just in an older body, who dreamed of grand adventures and that old Western Field 22 rifle came along on many of those dreams.

The Quiet Side: When Nature Offers The Best of Herself

 Not so long ago, a long day fell mostly behind me and Kentucky's Barren River Lake began to settle toward its nightly rhythm. Daylight crawled ever so slowly toward darkness and just as the peak of the setting sun reached its climax, the horizon began to glow with a fire-like texture enhanced by suspended dust and smoke particles from summer forest fires way up in Canada. I walked across the gravel-like beach hearing only the soft crunching of the sandy pebbles under foot and the gentle washing of the lake against the beach, then sat on an old wooden box that somehow washed ashore some time back. The quiet side of nature spoke to me as I absorbed the moment. Speaking softly it reminded me just how much I needed this softer moment and just how often I miss these opportunities, but when I and the quiet side of nature do converge, we do so with a more clear understanding of why I need to do such things.

The Quiet Side is that moment when nature offers the best of her day. It can occur most anytime, but tends to spring to life during that transition from daytime to night., when the bigness of the day begins to slow down toward a refreshing calmness. That calmness of spirit moment can be felt, should you allow yourself to do so. It is like no other, and one of the best ways to discover and experience it is to canoe camp. 

I am blessed to have a wonderful location nearby where I can partake of such moments. Yes, it is a public area, but large enough to offer room enough to slip away from the public locations and find a secluded spot that offers a great isolated view of the lake. Not only do I enjoy the adventure of paddling my canoe deep into the back areas of the lake, I mostly do so just to experience the quiet side of nature.

So much noise infiltrates our lives we often lose touch with the benefits of getting away so we can fade into the aura. Canoeing provides one of the best opportunities to slip away from all the clutter of life. It is a throwback of sorts where you can truly become one with your craft and one with nature. After a while on the water, stiff muscles loosen and the distance begins to slip away behind you. It becomes easy again to view the world with a more discerning eye, like a Sycamore tree growing out of the sheer rock face of a bluff, or an Osprey hovering then diving for a meal, or maybe the cool spring water leaking from high up the ridge to run across the face of a bluff. A favorite of mine as a photographer is watching summer clouds change their shape as they drift across a sky so blue it looks more like a painting. These are but a few of the kinds of things that you may find while seeking out the quiet side of nature.

Sometimes I'll stop paddling and just drift allowing the day to infiltrate into my soul. I'll lean back to stretch stiff back muscles and allow the sun to warm my spirit. Eventually, I'll find my secluded spot and pull off the lake. In short order I'll setup camp, gather firewood, sort through my gear, take a few photographs, and cook a meal. Oh my...those meals! What could be more rewarding that watching, hearing, and absorbing the aroma of a steak or bacon and eggs cooked on an open fire...I suppose eating them might be. 

But mostly, I just relax and wait for the climax of the days quiet side. As always, the sun follows its path toward the horizon and settles deep behind a distant hill. The sky turns reddish orange, glows into a brilliant moment of light, and slowly fades. 

Then the stars begin to show themselves. At first just one, then another, and a few more twink their light across the darkening blueness of a evening sky. Before you know it, the sky is filled with diamonds of light. 

You toss another log or two onto the campfire, lean back and enjoy the show. The quiet side of nature arrives with a subtle flavor, then...it simply fades into the night.

By morning another flavor of the quiet side presents itself. Sometimes fog greets the morning and that often provides for some fantastic photographs. More importantly, it provides for another example of what the quiet side can offer. In the halflight of morning before the sun fully exposes itself, these foggy events whispers subtle greetings to your day.

It's hard sometimes to decide between capturing photographs before the fog lifts or savoring those sizzling strips of bacon cooking in your skillet. Just another quiet side dilemma I suppose, but...I will enjoy both...eventually.

 The Quiet Side. It's a point in time when nature offers the best of herself, and a place in time where we can release ourselves from the clutter and noise of life.