Some grit

The mighty hunter has returned.  I cringe as he removes his blistered and bloody toes from his boots. 

He shares the tale of an enraged bull elk coming in at only 20 yards. The elk was bugling so hard that his call was more like a raspy scream. A nearby tree shuddered as the elk thrashed his antlers down its side.  How he remained calm while all hell broke loose, God only knows.  Sadly, the elk spooked before he could make a kill shot.

I can tell he is tired as he slumps in his chair.  On a bowhunting trip last year, he hiked 100+ miles in a little over a week.  This season has brought more of the same.  The kids (thrilled that Dad is home) jump on him, begging him to wrestle.  

I smile at him, grateful he is home safe.  He is exceptional--that bowhunter of mine.