With Confidence

This passage, along with a handful more (posting soon), introduces the other ‘Sota Boys in my life that I share most of the moments I photograph and write about.  Each of the ‘Sota Boys have key characteristics and strengths that I admire, learn, and implement.  So, without further ado, I raise my glass to Jake, my brother from another mother.  Here’s my story of our beginnings and what he brings to the table:

“Are you guys brothers?”

If I had a nickel for every time I heard that, I could probably buy a $20 round of pull tabs – actually probably four rounds to be exact.  I’m sure my “brother” could vouch the same.

It all started about 10 years ago when I was hanging out at a friend’s house.  Inevitably when you have a conversation with me, duck hunting comes up and then I ramble on profusely about my biggest passion.  I believe she just got annoyed by it and said I need to meet a friend of hers, “You two are like brothers separated at birth…You look like each other…You both love to hunt and fish…Anyway, he’s having a party next week, you should totally come.”

Alright, who wouldn’t want to meet their brother from another mother, right??  So, I told her I’d be there.

The week passed and the night came.  The party was at his family’s hobby farm just west of the Cities.  Driving up the long, dirt driveway I was astonished at how many cars and trucks were parked by the house – there had to have been 20 of them.  Clearly this was the place to be!

Making my way in the garage where the music muffled the loud and boisterous conversations, I immediately noticed the high ratio of attractive girls there; one of my good buddies has coined, having attractive woman awareness (AWA) – sorry, but not sorry.  They, along with some guys thronged around a brown, bushy haired guy confidently leaning back on an old folding chair with a Bud Light, in hand, resting on his right knee.  He was in the middle of telling a story.

A story he carried on long enough to polish off the last half of his beer, yet crafted well enough to captivate everyone.  As he made his way to grab another cold one, he noticed an unfamiliar face (me), stopped and introduced himself with an outstretched, “Hey, I’m Jake.”

Pleasantries aside, talk of business ensued: hunting, fishing, this, that and the other thing.  An intense series of ping pong matches later followed, some introductions and conversations with a few of the attractive chicks and the night was pretty much over.  “Well, I should bounce.  Great party, Jake, and nice to meet you.” I thanked.  “Yeahhh, glad you could make it.  Let’s go duck hunting next weekend at ‘The Hanover Honey Hole’ (his secret duck hunting spot)” he replied.  “Right on – I’ll give you a shout on Thursday to get the scoop.  Have a good rest of the night, bro.”

I gave him a call that following Thursday.  We hashed out what we needed for decoys, gear, what kind of donuts to grab for the blind, and when to meet.

The conversation is always nice and cordial, but deep down the first duck hunt with anyone is a proving ground.  I know he was thinking the same thing.  It’s all about rapport.  Bad rapport equals banished for life.  Good rapport equals casual hunting friend.  Winning rapport equals you’re in the club!  Pretty much all of us hunters generally have a VERY small core group of hunting buddies; if you want in the exclusive group, you better put it all together during game time.

One hunt in the duck blind tells me just about everything I need to know about someone: their work ethic, their respect for the land and game they pursue, their reliability, if they can strategize, if they can improvise, and if they’re self-disciplined.  All of which are essential intangibles.  Like attracts like – I don’t want to come across as a dick, but I choose my hunting buddies wisely.  Aside from the fact that we’re wielding weapons, there are many rigors that a hunter faces – many of which can kill a man.  I want to surround myself with best; they should meet most, if not all of those.  Oh, it helps if they can fold birds too.  I’ll refrain from going into further specifics, and just say that when game time came, we each performed.

As we waited for shooting light and in between the morning flocks we had our fill of donuts and bro talk: swapping stories, chats about chicks, life goals (one being this site), sports (apparently we played against each other in basketball back in high school).  When shooting light came and the birds started coming off their roosts it seemed like they made our decoy spread their priority to visit; we had a good spot and an excellent spread.  When it came to calling, well, that was just on point; we, like a jazz band improvising off each other, played off each other with our duck quacks and chuckles (to this day, I don’t know a better one I mesh with calling in the blind than Jake).  Everything came together that morning.  We shot a nice, mixed brace of dabblers: mallards, wood ducks, a wigeon, and a gadwall.  This was the beginning of, what he proclaimed the ‘Sota Boys.

That hunt solidified our friendship; we hunted nearly every week.  All was well until one of our last hunts of the season.  He told me he was moving down to The Sportsman’s Paradise, Louisiana, to work and be closer to his father’s side that all live down there.  They’re a close knit family – pretty much all of them live on the same street (the ones that don’t are in the same city or the neighboring city away).  I understood, but, D***, that sucks to already lose a hunting buddy.

I told him he’d be back; once a ‘Sota Boy, always a ‘Sota Boy.

The next fall I hunted with my pops and a few others.  We remained in touch as I gave him the scoop for the migrating flocks, the crappie spawn, etc. almost every week over the phone for a year and a half.  As the weeks passed, I noticed his ‘sOOOOtah accent was being replaced by the S. Louisiana Cajun bayou drawwwwl.  One day I got a call from him.  He had a tone in his voice that I almost all but forgot.  I couldn’t pinpoint it until he ended the call with, “Getcha video game a** up off the couch… I’m comin’ home!”

‘Sota.

We picked up right where we left off crushing ducks, geese, and pheasants.  In the summers we dialed into the bass and pike on “Secret Lake”, and even ventured to bowfish out of a canoe for carp.  If it involved the outdoors, we did it together.

Except for one thing (his biggest passion): deer hunting.  When we’d be driving out hunting or fishing together, I generally had my eyes panning either the sky or from pond to pond looking to see if any ducks were flying or holding nearby.  Jake, on the other hand, always had his looking in the open fields for deer and strategizing where he could put his stands in the oak woods towering on side of the road.

Inevitably this dialogue would come up: “When ya coming bow hunting with me?  Quwwit wussing out, dust off your gear and let’s go!” he’d badger.  “I’m a duck hunter.  They don’t really mesh.” I’d naively retort.  Over the years the walls I built up caved.  I gave in.  I’m glad I did.

Before going any further, let me take you a little off path.

There are a couple things Jake is better than most at.  One, of which, is teaching.  He’s naturally confident in everything he does, and it shows.  You can’t win if you’re not confident in yourself.  He’s the biggest proponent of this and the results speak for themselves.  He’s shot some monster bucks with his bow and also his rifle.  He’s caught massive bass and ‘eyes.  Heck, challenge him to a game of cricket (darts) and I’ll put money on him – I guarantee he’ll beat you.

My point being that you can’t effectively teach what you don’t confidently know.  The man is stubborn to a fault in his ways, but, more often than not, he’s right.  His outdoorsmen resume speaks for itself.  This is why, when I did give in to really giving bow hunting a try, I told him, “Alright, give me the ins and outs.”

Sure enough, he did.  It wasn’t a matter of just “do this” or “go sit over there”.  That wouldn’t have accomplished anything – success would be on luck alone (the antithesis of learning).  A good teacher gives the facts while explaining the why and how.  Thereby making the apprentice grasp the whole picture and, in turn, become confident in thought and action.  Without that confidence I never would’ve been able to catch alligators barehanded in the Louisiana bayou a few years back when I went down there to hang out with his family – he taught me how.  He explains his rationale every time and can convincingly defend it due to his greatest strength of all: he’s superhumanly observant.

Seriously, it’s uncanny.  He never misses the forest from the trees.  Nor does he miss a track, scrape, rub, or broken limb.  Question him on deer hunting and his words are backed up.  And on that note, I resume…

Okay, so I have this bow, scent controlled clothes, and am geared up to the teeth.  Now what?  “Hit the range” he said.  “Aside from your heart throbbing through your chest when you draw back on a deer, there a million variables that can run through your head (distance, wind, obstructions, etc.).  The biggest of which, is making sure your shot is true.  Practice enough that you don’t think – rather, that you know you’ll hit your mark.  Confidence.

Once I got to that point, we hit the woods – each time he’d make a point to teach me new things about what to look for and expect.  When the time came to draw back on a deer, I knew.  The shot was true – brown down!

Give the man a rod and he knows what it takes to hook a mess of fish.  Give the man a gun and he knows what it takes to drop the swiftest in flight.  Give the man a bow and, well, you already know…

He’ll teach ya.  Confidence.