I am not serious anymore.
My place in the field expired years ago. It's a young man's game, getting up early, hiking in, killing the game, dressing and quartering it and packing it out. A moose or elk would probably kill me nowadays … but I could still handle a small deer, if the hunting gods were so kind as to give me the shot. And, if they don't I am at the point of my life where I don't really care about that either. If I can't make the shot the kids will and that is just fine with me.
Wonder what Kudu burgs taste like...
I've chosen to carry my arrows with a back quiver. Traditional back quivers are like hen's teeth around here because there just aren't enough guys with an interest in them. I am on the Vista back quiver because it is the only ones you see around here - and then only rarely. Mine has a million miles on it and was falling apart 30 years ago.
That thing not only carried arrows, it held enough beers to lubricate my shooting all day long! Evn more beer could be held in that pocket in the back. When I was a kid I shot so much that I could still hit fairly well, even with three sheets to the wind. Gawd, I was stupid... but lord did we have fun.
Now I am needing a new quiver more than ever but even the custom made leather ones leave me cold.
That is some spectacular leatherwork but jeez...that axe and bow stave
don't belong there.
It's a good idea but poorly thought out - at least to me.
It obviously works for that fella so that is all
I made a little sheath out of some scrap leather just to try the idea out
...and it looks like it might work.
Time flies when you're doing something stupid. :)
CORRECTED IN COMMENTS
PJK notes in the comments that the happy hunter above is not posing with a Kudu, but a Gemsbok.
This is a Kudu.
I've only been on safari to Africa four times with world famous adventurer, novelist, and man-about-town...WL Emery. The first time we stumbled across a city of gold inhabited by murderous talking apes in the Congo and we barely escaped with our lives. The second time we spent tied up in a camp of head-hunting savages awaiting our turn in the stew-pot and we barely escaped with our lives. The third time we were hoping to actually do some hunting but we came across a hidden Nazi encampment in the deep dark jungle - and we barely escaped with our lives. The last time we were there I gave an impromptu lecture in a bar about the IQ of sub-Saharan blacks... and we barely escaped with our lives, pursued by a baying pack of murderous talking apes.
For some reason, WL went without me this year and reports that he had a spectacular hunt. He shot a rare flamingo while it nested on a springbok.
Some hunters are better off hunting alone, and it appears
that WL is one of them.