Inspiration in Desperation

Seventy four minutes.

Yep. It took me 74 minutes to write the words seventy four minutes. 

That's how long I have sat here fumbling....trying to get this initial blog outta my head. 

Writing usually comes easy for me when I'm inspired. And though I'm inspired to write a really kick-butt initial blog for what I hope to be a long series of ramblings about all things good and wild, I can't help but feel uninspired by my surroundings.

Yes, here I sit, in the warm cozy comforts of my living room, well after midnight, draped in a fleece blanket, gas-fireplace masquerading as a long lost friend, and a trusty old Dell, ablaze on my lap bathing me in lukewarm artificial light. Don't get me wrong...'tis quite comfortable. Is it inspiring though? Not in the very least.

So what do I need for inspiration?

Simple...

I need my work.

I absolutely love my job. Hence, my job inspires me. 

You see...I'm one of those lucky few that wake up in the morning actually wanting to go to work. Not only that, I'm that sick individual that prefers to think about work even when its well past quittin' time. I despise days off (Ha!...okay I'm lying) but I really do look forward to Mondays.

Call me blessed... Call me lucky... Call me spoiled... Call me crazy...

Yes... I am all of those.

Photo courtesy of nsrl.ttu.edu

Here's the scoop. Every since I was a wee little boy I loved the outdoors. I had an overly extreme fascination with animals. Drawing them came first. Next came the realization that you can learn really cool stuff about them. I think it was the first time I saw a litter of 'possums posing for a picture in the convex depression of a spoon, I was hooked. Though when I think about it now...I really don't think those poor little guys had much of a choice in getting their picture taken.

Deciding what to do with my life was never in question. When my Dad, bless his stubborn and sometimes crotchety soul, fought for me to get an offer at a pretty darn good paying factory job...it was a simple response I made... "I love you Dad, but I'm NOT following in your footsteps."

You see, you busted your butt your whole life to earn those few weeks vacation every year. You took me and the rest of your kids camping...and hunting...and hiking...and fishing. And you instilled my passions, my loves...my inspiration. 

You knew everything there was to know about those wonderful animals I so loved. And believe it or not, it wasn't until I got to college that I finally realized your animal "facts" were.... well, not really full of many facts.

But I didn't care. I loved being in the outdoors and I promised myself, if I could live your vacation...that's exactly what I was going to do. And here I am...

Chief of Wildlife for the state of Tennessee...the greatest job in the world.

I live breathe, eat and sleep all things wild. I marvel at the fact that some days I walk in the door and I'm challenged with trying to find out how many bears are now calling the Cumberland Plateau home. A few days ago, after lunch, we discussed making groundbreaking discoveries of Indiana bat summer maternity roosts for the first time ever in middle Tennessee. Just today I debated on whether quail restoration and hog eradication are actually feasible. One of those is still up for debate. And tomorrow, I have to meet with the foresters to determine appropriate conservation measures that need to be taken in the Catoosa Savannah area to keep the area productive for grassland birds.  

How cool is that?

Anyhow...I'm beginning to ramble...

Do I love my job?

Yes...Yes I do.

It inspires me.

Am I crazy?

Considering it is now 2:34 a.m.

...I'll leave that one alone.

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Daryl Ratajczak is the Chief of Wildlife and Forestry for the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency. He is an avid outdoorsman enjoying all forms of outdoor recreation from hiking and kayaking to hunting and fishing. He is dedicated to protecting and managing all of Tennessee's wildlife resources and bringing the outdoors to all citizens of Tennessee.

Being the Conundrum: Animal lover hunter?! - by Stephanne

There are a lot of people who may tell you that an "animal loving hunter" is an oxymoron.   I'm not one of those people.  There is a way for the two "extremes" to live harmoniously because, quite simply, its only in the extreme cases that it becomes an oxymoron - the norm is quite a different story. Before you get your eyebrows in a furrow at me, let me explain.

There's a sentiment often expressed by a lot of very vocal people that hunters are simply blood-thirsty.  I won't say that hunting - like any facet of person or activity - doesn't have its own share of extremism.  But, for the most part, it's actually quite different.  I don't know a hunter that hunts simply to shoot things.  I've heard of one once... but of the hundreds of hunters I know... I don't personally know one that is blood-thirsty.  If you can give me the tiniest moment of your time, let me tell you about why *I* hunt, ok?  I'll be brief:

I woke up at 4 a.m. and drove to the woods.  The moon was a slim sliver of pewter arced in the night sky, providing only the idea of illumination.  Its ok, I don't need the light.  I know where I'm headed.  I walk down a path my feet now know well, the soft crunching of damp fallen leaves under my feet and the mist hovering like an unearthly, glowing blanket.  It never fails to amaze me how the mist swirls and dances when I exhale.  I wish I could see the "wake" of it after I pass through it.  I get to my destination, a wooden ladder climbing up a tree with a semi-comfortable seat at the top.  I climb up, rope in, and settle into place, waiting for the horizon to erupt in an array of hues.  Slowly the sky melts from the blackest blue to the shimmer of blue gray and, finally, the explosion of  purples and pinks and oranges and reds that proclaims daylight has found me.  It's during this time, when the sky is waking and the woods are still sleeping that is a magical time - the silhouettes of the trees standing stoically in the mist never ever fails to make me think of eras gone by... people who have shed sweat or tears or blood on these lands, natives creeping through the cover of that mist to provide for their tribe, even ancient predators using the cover of the mist to find prey.  This scene is brilliantly new every time I see it yet older than I can fathom.  Yes, it is magic indeed.  

After the sky is alive and the fogs begin to burn away, I have already been sitting here - motionless - for an hour.  I'm 20-feet above the ground and still I am the statue.  The air is alive with sound: A cacophony of birds enliven the air, the scuttle of squirrels digging for the last of the acorns to store. Then I hear it. The determined trudge of 4 feet.  They're distant.  How many can I hear?  I close my eyes... focus my hearing... three.  I open my eyes, searching for the source of the sound.  Then, slowly, I see them making their way through the woods.  Its three... what... doe?  I use a call to lure them closer.  It works and they alter their course to head my way.  As they near, I see it's a doe and two yearlings.  Technically all 3 are legal and, right now, all 3 are entering into the one thing that makes bow hunting harder than any other type (in my opinion) - entering into the range where I feel comfortable taking a shot.  But I don't raise my bow.  I know that soon her yearlings will leave her side and start a life on their own, but right now I get more enjoyment from watching them nibble on leaves, completely oblivious that I'm even there.  Later I do the same thing with a 4-point buck.  That evening, as the light is waning, I see a large doe.  She doesn't have any yearlings or fawns with her and she's only 35 yards away.  I raise my bow, I aim...

I don't want to shoot because I am blood-thirsty or barely a step above a Neanderthal. I want to shoot because I have been outside all day (all day on numerous occasions, really), not looking for a trophy, but looking for food for my family that is organic, lean, and that I worked for myself.  Could I have driven to the store and bought some steaks?  Sure.  But it's far less green (to use a term we all know).  That deer is very green... no fossil fuel use to transport it, no agriculture to sustain its growth, no electricity to process it... Yes... this is as green as it gets.  

People promote eating organic foods - growing their own gardens, composting, organic beef, etc... where is the difference in harvesting my own meat rather than that organic beef or pork or whatever?  Only... mine is even more natural.  And it bothers me when self-proclaimed animal lovers condemn me for being a "Bambi killer" yet they have leather seats and leather boots and a leather coat and eat things like veal.  It makes my blood boil.  I'm not saying this is all animal activists by any means... but sometimes people get a little too emotional about things on both sides of the fence.

The only thing that I'd ask everyone to do is maybe calm down a little and stop being so emotionally invested in name-calling and side-taking.  There's lot of fights out there to engage in... there's many things worth while to involve in.... but animal activists (of which I am a member of many groups) and hunters (of which I am one) can be one-in-the-same.  

So... when you have some free time, whether you're a hunter or an animal activist (or both)... do me a favor take a walk in the woods with just you and your trail supplies and consider how powerful of allies we could be if we wouldn't chastise or taunt each other with names... because a lot of us really are on the same side.  

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Stephanne Dennis is an outdoor enthusiast extraordinaire. A highly skilled backpacker and apex predator specialist, she shares her love of the outdoors with her unrivaled writing skills and her faithful companion, Bandit McKaye, her Anatolian Shepherd. She is currently studying Wildlife Biology at Oregon State University and dedicates her time and skills to the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency and the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Foundation.

Giving Back to Our Defenders of Freedom - by Stephanne

There are many things that I've never done and, ironically, millions that I didn't realize I really wanted to do. This weekend was one such occassion. This past year I've become more and more involved in things that surround the workings of the TWRA (Tennessee Wildlife Resource Agency) and the TWRF (Tennessee Wildlife Resource Foundation). This has afforded me exciting opportunities to both broaden my horizons as well as provide new experiences. Most of these experiences have to do with wildlife or outdoor-related activities, but this weekend brought something really great to the plate: The Wounded Warriors Hunt.

You know, I've read this blog post over and over and I just can't seem to 'nail it'. "It" being that emotion that filled me yesterday where I wanted to stay all night long and spend time with the boys who had already given far too much in service of our country. One of those guys, Wade, would have told me "That's not true... you gave us your son who serves as well." Maybe... but they all have Moms as well so I'm not exactly super special for that. Wounded Warriors. The title is befitting but the boys themselves were still upbeat, fun, and I would give my all to protect each and every one of them from anything.

What the event means... for them and for me

When I arrived at the event on Sunday early afternoon, I wasn't sure what to expect. It was being hosted by a friend of mine and I had silently questioned why an individual would put so much time, effort, and money into something that he wasn't necessarily impacted by. Wow, how wrong could I be when I thought 'wasn't necessarily impacted by'? Everyone there was impacted by what we were doing in one way or another. The TWRA and SCI helped the local host with some resources and a lot of man power for activities, which ranged from a skeet shooting competition (I was impressed... and I'm hard to impress!) to bow targets to rifle targets. There was a live band (who were pretty darn good - Overland Express, I think?) and a catered lunch and grilled Cajun hotdog dinner. The bonfire was nothing short of epic and - thankfully - warm as the temp dropped with the waning sunlight. The participants were relatively local guys (the ones I spent the most time with were stationed at Fort Campbell, KY) and had all been wounded serving our country. I'm well known for being a staunch supporter of our defenders of freedom (which has gone into hyperdrive since my son left for the Navy) and always expressed great pride in my hockey team (Nashville Predators) for honoring a soldier at each and every game... but the standing applause I provide at games is still somewhat distant (even if tear jerking).

This weekend was far more up close and personal. I ended up hanging out with a group of young men from Fort Campbell and spending the majority of my day listening to them talk about the random things occurring in their lives. They asked me about my son (I was sporting my pink cammo "Proud Navy Mom" shirt!) and they reassured me countless times that with his profession he likely wouldn't ever end up at one of their Wounded Warrior events.

How does one respond to something like that? "Thank you"? or "I'm glad to hear that"? Or what?! What doesn't sound selfish or self-serving in light of what they've done?

I appreciated their concern for my emotions but I can't tell you it didn't really strike home that the majority of the boys were just that: boys. Of the group I befriended, all were younger than I and the majority were merely a few years older than my son and here they were: Wounded Warriors. They had been deployed across the world, traversed mountains and caves in the middle east and bore scars telling of their travels. Stephen, only 24 (4 years older than my own son) had leg injuries. Chase, 24, knee and hip and both ankles. I wanted to hug them... to tell them I was sorry for what happened. But I didn't think that was appropriate necessarily... so I opted, instead, to treat them with utmost respect and express verbally that I was so very proud of them and would forever be indebted to their service in honor of my freedom. And the boys? Can you believe they were touched by the what we were doing for them? It was nothing compared to what they have done… yet their appreciation was obvious and outspoken and knowing that we provided a comfort and fun for them was heartwarming. So… of course I had to drag ALL of my gang into the field to “dance” for the last song of the night (of note, we officially tapped right feet in tune, held a few lighters in the air, and even managed a sway or two! HAHAHA).

Why the TWRA

Another thing that was shocking to me was the involvement and service by and from the TWRA in support of this event. The things that are occurring today and tomorrow - the actual hunts - are greatly assisted by the TWRA and I don't know how many people know that they do events like this. They provide opportunities for these wounded service men and women to participate in a guided hunt in some locally well known 'honey holes' for game. To say I am proud to be an intern/volunteer with the TWRA/TWRF is a drastic understatement. The staff from the Agency showed in force - from retired law enforcement officers to the Chief of Wildlife - all to lend a helping hand and express personal gratitude for our heroes.

My pride runneth over both for our Warriors and for the Agencies with which I am affiliated. My personal thanks for being a part of this event - and hopefully those to come - has no limits.

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Stephanne Dennis is an outdoor enthusiast extraordinaire. A highly skilled backpacker and apex predator specialist, she shares her love of the outdoors with her unrivaled writing skills and her faithful companion, Bandit McKaye, her Anatolian Shepherd. She is currently studying Wildlife Biology at Oregon State University and dedicates her time and skills to the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency and the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Foundation.