It's that time of year again. Time to pull out the clay pigeon thrower. Dig out the coffee cans of leftover shells. 

Shoot for hours.
The shotgun recoiling time and time again into ones shoulder. It's sure to leave a mark.
This year is different though. I'm not shooting with Dad's gun.
I've bought one this year.
(see Harvest post, I emulate my father)
So, naturally, what did I buy? The same gun my daddy has. Remington 11-87 12 ga.
Trusty shotgun, beautiful gun.
All mine.
This was a pricey investment, that is for sure.
Should I have spent that much? Most likely not. But there is something about knowing you earned the money, you decided what you wanted, and you went out and got what you need. I'm beyond excited to take this guy out for a couple hundred round initiation.

Beyond that, I am impatiently waiting for the first three weeks in December. When the countryside has the same level of electricity as harvest time, but a totally different feeling. Blaze orange tromps through the woods. Day after day. The deer are on the move, don't know where to turn. Every step could be their last, and they have no idea. It's an American Tradition and I am proud to be a part of it. I believe I will also be starting a new hunting tradition this year. I'ma gunna go bow hunting. It seems even more thrilling, taking over one more step of control, reverting further back than American Tradition, back to a primal form of hunting. When the hunter can hear the whistle of the arrow through the air, the sound of contact, and the rush of adrenaline.