My grandpa hunted with a Winchester Model 94. Iron sights, thirty-thirty, checkered flannel and a thermos of black coffee. He never owned a rangefinder, never dialed a turret, never glassed a field from six hundred yards with a spotting scope. And he filled his freezer every single season.
I got into hunting in my twenties, and I did the opposite of what he’d taught me. I bought gear. Lots of it. Rangefinder with angle compensation. Ballistic app on my phone. Rifle with a chassis system that weighed more than his entire setup. I spent more time at the bench than I did in the woods, because the bench gave me numbers I could control.
I was an idiot.
The Buck I Overthought
Third season, public land, Colorado. I’d spotted a decent mule deer at about 400 yards. Not a monster, but a solid shooter. I had time. He was browsing, quartering slightly away. Textbook.
What I didn’t have was the shot. Not because I couldn’t make it — I’d hit steel at 500 the week before. But I started thinking. What’s the wind doing between me and that ridgeline? Is that 12 degrees of angle or closer to 15? Should I dial or hold? Is my bullet going fast enough at this elevation?
I ranged him three times. Checked the app twice. Adjusted the parallax. Dialed. Undialed. Held instead. By the time I got my breathing right, he’d walked behind a patch of scrub oak and never came back out.
My grandpa would’ve already been walking toward him with a knife.
The Year I Stopped
After that season, I did something that felt wrong at first. I left the rangefinder in the truck. I took the ballistic app off my home screen. I stopped bringing the Kestrel. I taped a drop chart to my stock and called it good.
The first few hunts felt naked. Like I was forgetting something. But something else happened too — I started paying attention to the woods instead of the gear. I noticed how the wind actually felt on my face, not just what a number said. I started judging distance by looking at the size of the animal relative to the trees behind it, the old way. I made mistakes, sure. But I also started killing deer again.
What I Take Now
I’m not saying go full caveman. I still carry a rangefinder — in my pack, not around my neck. I use it when I have time and the shot is past 300. But it’s a tool now, not a crutch.
My grandpa didn’t need technology to hunt, but he wasn’t anti-technology either. He was just paying attention. The deer, the wind, the way the light changes ten minutes before sunset — those things tell you more than any screen ever will.
I’m not as good as he was. But I’m getting closer. And I’m spending a lot less money on stuff that doesn’t matter.
