As a youngster, I soon came to the realization that this adventure that we call life was going to be a very interesting experience indeed. It seemed that I'd been blessed with a couple of friends that never saw eye-to-eye on things. One of my little buddies, a reddish fellow, with pointed tail and pitchfork, could always be found sitting on my right shoulder, constantly prodding me forward toward experiences that I knew I'd regret. The other fellow was of light complexion, adorned in white robe, wings and halo, and resided on my left shoulder, constantly warning me about the advice I was getting from the other side of my head.

As I grew up and began to become engrossed in my pursuit of bowhunting, my two little buddies constantly vied for my attention. Even though I'd long-since learned that I was better off to ignore the prodding of "Red," there was inexplicable allure in his ravings--he was a man of adventure, challenge and trouble. While "Whitey" patiently held on for dear life, Red took me on many outdoor adventures that I would never forget.

Over the years, Red has certainly taught me the reality of the old saying, "you've gotta be tough, if you're gonna be stupid!" Follow along with me as I take a light-hearted look at the dilemma all archery hunters face on a regular basis--making decisions, both good and bad.

Listen To Red, End Up Dead
I'd been backpacking for a long time. Evening was fast approaching, and I was still a long ways from my desired destination. All around me loomed rugged, alpine mountains as I plodded up the trail beside the creek drainage. I was hoping to get to the remote cul-de-sac where I wanted to camp early enough in the day that I would be able to set up a quick camp, then make an evening hunt. Realizing that my plans were going to come up short, I pulled my topo map out and began to look for a shorter route to my destination. My map hinted of a possibility of getting through a notch in the high ridge to my right. As I looked up the steep mountain, I quietly wondered if the route was truly negotiable. On my right shoulder, Red was in a vigorous rave about the fact that I needed to "give it a go," squealing loudly to me that I was a sissy if I didn't try it. At the same time, quietly attempting to impart sound judgment into my bombarded brain, my other soft-spoken friend sat on my left shoulder firmly shaking his head "no." As usual, I went with Red.

An hour later, and nearly two thousand vertical feet higher, I was starting to realize the error of my ways. The mountainside had turned into a series of narrow chutes between nearly vertical cliffs. I was only a short distance from reaching the top of the ridge, yet things were starting to get hairy. Not wanting to lose all the time and effort that I'd invested in my shortcut, I pushed upward.

With the summit of the ridge within sight, the chute that I had chosen became nearly vertical. Inside, I knew that attempting to make it over the top was going to turn into a life and death matter yet Red was cheering me on. Red had a lot of reasons why it was best to go on, while my other friend only had one reason why I shouldn't, but it was a good one. Throwing better judgment to the wind, I pushed upward.