My attitude was different, my goals had changed. I no longer put loads of pressure on myself to harvest one. I just embraced it. All of it. What superseded my fear of lifes uncertainty was my love for the game of bowhunting. Maybe that was the shift in thinking I needed. Last season, 2023, I was covered up in elk more than any season before. I called elk in on almost every hunt. In fact, I called three bull into the same bush over a 5 day period. I told the guys I was thinking about digging that bush up and planting it at my house in Billings to see if I could call elk into it there?! I ended up arrowing a bull on the last hunt, Sunday morning. Eerily similar to the 2012 giant I had, we trailed this thing for too long with no luck. I elected to stay in Malta at a friends house for one night and go back in the morning and try to find him. Success would have it that I found this particular bull unlike 2012. Maybe it was divine guidance? Maybe wisdom from years failing in the field, or a little of both. Maybe it was my dad in my ear telling me not to give up on it.
Whatever the case, it appeared our luck was changing, a metaphor of hope for days ahead.