It was a tale of two Minnesotas, one orange and one purple, on the same November Sunday.
One involved hundreds of thousands gathered around a football game, carrying the hopes of a whole week while cheering for dozens of players they’ll likely never meet. For most, a win was the only acceptable outcome.
The other Minnesota also involved many thousands, gathered around their common pursuit: the deer hunt. They would make as little sound as possible while doing it. At the end of the day, what constituted victory would be less clear. Mysteriously, those victories would also be more real and lasting.
One such hunter was a teenager who hoped for his first deer. He awoke at 5 a.m. to the smells of coffee and canned meat sizzling in a pan.
Recently, he’d proclaimed that deer hunting was his favorite kind of hunting. That enthusiasm helped little on the second day, however, in the struggle to climb out of his cozy bunk.
At long last, with breakfast inside and layers heaped on his outside, he stepped out into an un-cozy day. It was the kind that tests one’s resolve. Swift wind from the North battered cheeks and defied wind-proof clothing. Fortunately, the little hut where he and Dad took refuge allowed them to shut the cold out.
“Even if most of the windows are closed, we’re still out hunting. The odds are better here than back at camp,” reminded his coach.
Unfortunately, the previous day didn’t feature many deer sightings. It’s always tough to keep your head in the game with so little to hold your focus, after all. So, Dad had tried to fill the hours with principles and lessons, and illustrative stories that would hopefully help when the critical moment came.
“We have to do our best to see them coming,” he reminded between bites of Halloween candy, “because if they get to this corner of the field before you turn and see them, it would be too late.”
Allowing just one to slip through the line would be embarrassing, at the least. Worse, it could squander the best chance of the weekend.
The young hunter had heard many of these things before, and his expression was a reliable indicator of repeat occurrences. His coach knew when to back off —mostly— and let things play out. By the end of Saturday, the rookie had displayed great patience and character, staying in the game until the end.
Sunday morning went about the same. By midday, there wasn’t much left to say or do. A lack of gunshots in the distance indicated deer weren’t moving around much, or that other hunters had taken to their armchairs at home. They, too, headed back to camp to warm up and regroup.
Around the same time, purple-clad fans across the land pressed the “on” button on their remotes. Their ritual was only beginning, with high hopes and expectations for how the action would play out. They also had plenty of snacks to fill the downtime.
Over the next few hours, the Norsemen battled it out with a roving pack of corvids. Some went according to plan. Much didn’t. Efforts fell short of a win in the end. Afterward, words like “frustrating” and “gaffe” were employed to describe the spectacle. It was a disappointing outcome, especially on home turf.
While that all unfolded, the young, hopeful hunter snuck back to the woods. He was keenly aware of being on the visiting team in this case, and that the odds were perpetually stacked against him.
On the last sit of the weekend, Coach made one adjustment. The play: an interception of sorts. Since it was unlikely to see deer out in the open, a new hideout in the woods was chosen.
Its secluded position along a travel route was a bit of a Hail Mary, but it was the best chance. Again, it was better than being inside. They hunkered down in that sheltered spot, outlining the possible scenarios.
By dinnertime, the fans at home had all but forgotten the heartbreak of earlier in the day. Some had stuck around to listen to the pundits dissect the aftermath. Others tuned in to other matchups. Most had begun to think about the upcoming week. Top of mind for many of them was what will happen when the norsemen host a bunch of bears at their shiny metropolitan ship.
Meanwhile, wind howled in the tops of the trees, making it tough for the hunters to hear much of anything. Still, they listened the best they could. Patience was their only play while the opponent ran down the clock.
In the very last minutes, a young buck nearly snuck by from a direction they hadn’t anticipated. It was a clever attempt, and one that surprised the visiting team. Fortunately, it wasn’t over yet.
The young hunter kept his cool. While that buck was distracted with the decoy, the rookie skillfully executed the final play from 10 yards.
Yes, it was a clear win. For his coach, however, the victories were many in number. Like seeing his son reach the first-deer milestone. And learning how to enjoy the hunt despite a little hardship and discouragement.
Even more importantly, spending two long days in the stand without getting on each other’s nerves.
“You know, you try to prepare for everything,” he said.
“In the end, the best you can do is be ready for the unexpected, which is exactly how it went. Clearly, the meetings and training sessions paid off. He remembered everything in the playbook in the heat of the moment, and left it all in the field. I couldn’t be more proud.
“Now, let’s eat.”
Roy Heilman is an outdoorsman, writer, and ethnic Minnesotan. His adventures take him all over the map, but he’s always home at neveragoosechase.com.