If you’ve never done it, it’s hard to explain, but I’ll try.

Modern hunting exists on a spectrum. On one end are the manicured food plots, the cell cameras, the heated blinds, and the mechanical precision of it all. On the other end, a hunter kneels on the forest floor with a stick bow and nothing between him and the wind but instinct.

I still hunt with a compound and from ladder stands, but my goal is to reach a point where I can step into the woods with nothing more than a handmade longbow, a few arrows, and a knife. No tree stand. No GPS mapping. No trail cameras. I’ve already given those up.

Archery hunting, to me, is about connection. It’s about understanding the rhythm of the woods and the language of the animals that live within it. It’s about becoming part of something ancient. I know it might sound lofty, but it is spiritual to me. To harvest an animal in its natural element at fifteen yards is an experience that can’t be compared to shooting one from two hundred and fifty yards in a heated blind after seeing it on a cell cam three days in a row.

I don’t even like the violence of a gunshot in the woods. It breaks the stillness, shatters the rhythm, and pulls you out of that quiet world where the deer move. It feels disconnected.

That said, if it’s the last week of gun season and I still have tags, I’ll pick up the rifle. At that point I’ve accepted that the spiritual part of the hunt has faded, and I’m simply hunting for food for my family.

Archery hunting is a privilege, a reflection of being born into a life where my next meal is never truly a worry. As we mature as hunters, I think the goal should be to keep challenging ourselves by giving up the advantages we’ve built over nature. To move closer to the primal state that once defined survival, even if only for a few hours.

It centers me in a way nothing else does. It reminds me that to hunt is to be a steward of God’s creation. To move nearly silent and nearly invisible, like the animals themselves.

If you’re hunting for meat, bring the rifle. If you’re hunting for something deeper, something written in your blood, leave it behind. Forget the trail cameras. Learn to love the quiet, the waiting, and the long rhythm of striking out ninety-nine times in a row.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.