failure. part 1/2
By Greyson Gilbert
"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."
"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."
- Teddy Roosevelt, 1910
Failure is never fun in
the moment. It is one of the few inevitabilities of life. Everyone fails. I am very familiar with failure. But recently, I have learned to value failure: it has given me opportunity to
get back up, learn from my mistakes, and become better. It
takes discipline to bounce back from failure, to learn from it, overcome
adversity, and get back into the boxing ring of life, but if you want to be successful at anything, if you want to better yourself, you will face failure. Failure gives you a choice: to learn and press on, or to feel sorry for yourself and give up. Never give up. That's the lesson that Failure is trying to teach, but many people don't want to hear the lesson. It's frustrating, tough, and especially humbling. In the past three weeks, three examples of my own failure have stood out to me while I've been bowhunting and fly fishing, and I learned a valuable lesson from each. Here is the first.
In late December, I hunting on a ranch near Hebronville, TX. For 3 days we woke up at 5 a.m. to get in the stand before sunset, and sat until 10 or 11. We then ate lunch at base camp, and got back in the stand at around 2 or 3 to sit until sunset. For 3 days, we barely saw a deer and not a hint of a buck older than 2 years. You could feel the rut knocking at the door, but nobody at deer camp was seeing any signs of activity. The bucks were not chasing does yet, and it seemed as if all of the deer had disappeared into thin air. It wasn't until the 3rd afternoon hunt that we got a chance at a good buck. I was sitting on the edge of an oat field and had 4 spikes feeding in front of me. With less than 10 minutes of daylight left, a mature, big bodied 8 point buck step out of the brush broadside at 32 yards. I could hear my heart beating out of my chest as I tried to slowly raise my bow to draw back.
One of the spikes had ventured in around 10 yards from the blind and was locked in on us. As the bigger buck put his head down to feed, I drew back and put my 30 yard pin right behind his shoulder. The spike closest to us did not like what he was watching through the narrow window of our ground blind, and snorted at us, stomping his hoof into the red dirt and consequently putting all of the other bucks on high alert. I briefly recognized that the deer I was honed in on was looking right at us because of the pesky little spike that had busted us. I shifted in my seat while at full draw, making inevitable noise and movement that probably would not have put the deer on alert had I waited for the spike to move on out of the field or put his head down to feed. My next mistake had a greater consequences.
I was at full draw on my first bow buck, adrenaline pumping, and as the buck stood, muscles tense and eyes focused in our direction, I let the arrow fly.
Bow hunting takes a considerable amount of time, dedication, effort and work to prepare for. All this preparation leads to one split second: when the arrow leaves the bow. After you release that arrow, your part is over and you can do nothing more. When I released that arrow, I was impatient and didn't take into account the factors that would affect whether or not the arrow would hit its intended target. I could feel it as I watched the arrow leave the bow in seemingly slow motion, and then I watched as the buck took off and ran back into the brush. In a split second, all of the noise and chaos, the snorts and stomps from the spike, the pounding of my heart, the thoughts of antlers and meat, the thwap of an arrow leaving the string...it all went silent.
It seemed as if even the wind stopped blowing, and I felt that all too familiar sinking feeling in my gut. Had I wounded him? Had I cleanly missed? Was it a good hit? I wasn't sure. Thankfully, we were filming the hunt and as we went back and watched the tape, it was obvious what had happened. Because the deer was on high alert, he had reacted to the sound of my bow and ducked underneath the arrow as he took off in a sprint. Although I had realized he was looking at us, I didn't think to either aim low to compensate for his inevitable quick-reaction drop, or to wait for him to continue feeding. I got caught up in the moment and rushed the shot, and my pride was paying for it.
I was grateful when we confirmed that the deer had not been wounded, but it was still a long night of thinking about what could have been. Pictures flashed through my head of finding the arrow on the ground, covered in blood, and holding up a head of antlers, feeling the fur, and bringing home a freezer full of meat. Then reality hit and I thought endlessly about the shot. What went wrong? What could I have done differently? I had failed, but I wasn't about to let that stop me from achieving my goal. In my head, I recognized my mistakes and how to fix them. Be more patient. Be more quiet. I needed to better analyze the deer's body language and how it will affect his reaction to my shot, because those deer are some of the quickest animals I have ever seen, and arrows don't travel as fast as bullets.
The next morning a new opportunity would step out the exact same spot that the buck stepped out of the night prior. The young deer and spikes were back feeding in front of us, but a new deer came with them. At 32 yards broadside was a 2 year old deer with 10 inch spikes. By that time in his life, he should have had at least a couple more points on his main beam. We knew by how big his body was and how he was still only a spike that we needed to cull him from the herd. I ranged him at 32 yards, waited for all the deer to put their heads down to feed, drew back, and he looked right at us. I put my 30 yard pin behind his shoulder, but this time I waited. After about 20 seconds of quiet stillness, he went back to feeding and I let the arrow fly. I anticipated his drop, aimed lower than normal and sure enough, he dropped right into the path of the arrow. The arrow passed through both of his lungs and he died a quick death about 40 yards from where he was standing.
I had learned from my previous mistake, and although he wasn't the big 8 point from last night, I was more proud of that little buck than any deer I had ever hunted before. I had finally succeeded, and I owed it to personal reflection of my previous failure.
This idea applies to every aspect of life. When you make mistakes, it's your responsibility to own your mistakes and learn from them. Debrief, figure out what went wrong, why it went wrong, and how to better yourself for the future. It's a lesson that I will never forget.
Part 2 of "failure." will be released tomorrow.
In late December, I hunting on a ranch near Hebronville, TX. For 3 days we woke up at 5 a.m. to get in the stand before sunset, and sat until 10 or 11. We then ate lunch at base camp, and got back in the stand at around 2 or 3 to sit until sunset. For 3 days, we barely saw a deer and not a hint of a buck older than 2 years. You could feel the rut knocking at the door, but nobody at deer camp was seeing any signs of activity. The bucks were not chasing does yet, and it seemed as if all of the deer had disappeared into thin air. It wasn't until the 3rd afternoon hunt that we got a chance at a good buck. I was sitting on the edge of an oat field and had 4 spikes feeding in front of me. With less than 10 minutes of daylight left, a mature, big bodied 8 point buck step out of the brush broadside at 32 yards. I could hear my heart beating out of my chest as I tried to slowly raise my bow to draw back.
One of the spikes had ventured in around 10 yards from the blind and was locked in on us. As the bigger buck put his head down to feed, I drew back and put my 30 yard pin right behind his shoulder. The spike closest to us did not like what he was watching through the narrow window of our ground blind, and snorted at us, stomping his hoof into the red dirt and consequently putting all of the other bucks on high alert. I briefly recognized that the deer I was honed in on was looking right at us because of the pesky little spike that had busted us. I shifted in my seat while at full draw, making inevitable noise and movement that probably would not have put the deer on alert had I waited for the spike to move on out of the field or put his head down to feed. My next mistake had a greater consequences.
I was at full draw on my first bow buck, adrenaline pumping, and as the buck stood, muscles tense and eyes focused in our direction, I let the arrow fly.
Bow hunting takes a considerable amount of time, dedication, effort and work to prepare for. All this preparation leads to one split second: when the arrow leaves the bow. After you release that arrow, your part is over and you can do nothing more. When I released that arrow, I was impatient and didn't take into account the factors that would affect whether or not the arrow would hit its intended target. I could feel it as I watched the arrow leave the bow in seemingly slow motion, and then I watched as the buck took off and ran back into the brush. In a split second, all of the noise and chaos, the snorts and stomps from the spike, the pounding of my heart, the thoughts of antlers and meat, the thwap of an arrow leaving the string...it all went silent.
I was grateful when we confirmed that the deer had not been wounded, but it was still a long night of thinking about what could have been. Pictures flashed through my head of finding the arrow on the ground, covered in blood, and holding up a head of antlers, feeling the fur, and bringing home a freezer full of meat. Then reality hit and I thought endlessly about the shot. What went wrong? What could I have done differently? I had failed, but I wasn't about to let that stop me from achieving my goal. In my head, I recognized my mistakes and how to fix them. Be more patient. Be more quiet. I needed to better analyze the deer's body language and how it will affect his reaction to my shot, because those deer are some of the quickest animals I have ever seen, and arrows don't travel as fast as bullets.
The next morning a new opportunity would step out the exact same spot that the buck stepped out of the night prior. The young deer and spikes were back feeding in front of us, but a new deer came with them. At 32 yards broadside was a 2 year old deer with 10 inch spikes. By that time in his life, he should have had at least a couple more points on his main beam. We knew by how big his body was and how he was still only a spike that we needed to cull him from the herd. I ranged him at 32 yards, waited for all the deer to put their heads down to feed, drew back, and he looked right at us. I put my 30 yard pin behind his shoulder, but this time I waited. After about 20 seconds of quiet stillness, he went back to feeding and I let the arrow fly. I anticipated his drop, aimed lower than normal and sure enough, he dropped right into the path of the arrow. The arrow passed through both of his lungs and he died a quick death about 40 yards from where he was standing.
I had learned from my previous mistake, and although he wasn't the big 8 point from last night, I was more proud of that little buck than any deer I had ever hunted before. I had finally succeeded, and I owed it to personal reflection of my previous failure.
This idea applies to every aspect of life. When you make mistakes, it's your responsibility to own your mistakes and learn from them. Debrief, figure out what went wrong, why it went wrong, and how to better yourself for the future. It's a lesson that I will never forget.
Part 2 of "failure." will be released tomorrow.
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