The air is crisp with the chill of fall, although the air is not yet cold enough to give color to our exhalations. Creeping through the woods, I watch my father’s movements and do my 12 year old best to mimic his smooth, quiet movements. Leaves crackle under our boots and…
… the trees speak as we walk among them. The sound of my beating heart and labored breath fills my ears. Pop stops and turns to me. “Need to rest, boy?” he whispers. I nod and move to sit at the base of the tree he indicates. I close my eyes and rest my forehead against my knees.
I feel Pop’s beard on my ear as he leans over to whisper to me, “Even when you are resting you need to be aware of your surroundings.” I look up at him and he thrusts his chin out, indicating a clump of brush in the distance. 150 feet out, slipping amongst the leafless brambles is what we’ve been hunting. Pop knocks an arrow. We stand and resume the stalk.
It was decades ago that my father whispered that lesson in my ear. We never did a good shot at that deer. Stalking whitetails with arrows and a 12 year old in tow can be challenging. The lesson remains the same: just because you’ve got time for a breather doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be alert. Pop called it being aware of your surroundings, the Army called it situational awareness, Mom called it paying attention, a professor I had called it being receptive to opportunity, gramps called it watching out for the sucker punch.
All I know is that when you’re trying to catch your breath after a harrowing experience, if you’re not careful you won’t be paying attention when the next opportunity or crisis presents itself.