(UPDATE) to "The Hunt" Rebel Talk

I specifically try not to send a lot of emails, but this one felt right to share. A lot of you have been following along, and truth be told, many of you feel like family. So here’s the follow-up to The Hunt — not just about deer season, but about life, perseverance, and moments that make it all worth it.

This was my son’s first real deer hunt. We’d been talking about it for weeks — the setup, the process, the “what ifs.” We were up at 4:40 a.m. on opening morning, the air crisp and biting, full of anticipation. We sat for hours and saw nothing. After lunch, we went back out. Around 3:00 p.m., I catch sight of movement — a big buck walking the tree line.

I whisper, “Get your gun. There’s a buck.”

He gets ready, heart pounding. It’s walking away. I grunt once — it stops. I grunt again — it looks back. He fires. A hit. The buck jumps, tail down, and disappears into the woods. We wait 45 minutes before going after it, and by then, snow starts falling — hard. Within minutes, every sign, every track, every drop is buried. We walk for over an hour, searching, hoping. Then I spot him. But as I move closer, the buck gets up, stumbles, and disappears again into the brush. It’s almost dark. We walk back in silence — hearts heavy, minds racing.

That night we talked about it over and over. Where he might’ve gone. What we’d do next.

4:40 a.m. — day two. We’re back out there before sunrise. Sit until nine. Nothing. Then we start grid-searching, combing the snow-covered woods for hours. Still nothing. We circle back to the stand, drained. It’s that moment every hunter knows — the quiet ache when you start to accept it might not happen.

Then, a doe walks out down the lane. We watch her drift into the trees. I tell my son, “Let’s wait. A buck usually follows.” He’s slumped in the chair, ready to call it. Then, I swear I couldn’t make this up — he grabs his phone, pulls up TikTok, and plays a doe call through it out the window.

I just shake my head.

Five minutes later — out steps a buck. Not as big as the first, but still a buck. Broadside. Perfect shot opportunity. My son grabs my 30-06 — the gun he’s always been afraid to shoot. He takes a deep breath. Fires. It hits.

We wait again, then start tracking. Faint traces on trees turn into more. Snow still falling. We follow the trail, hearts racing, and head back for a quick lunch we practically inhale. Then we’re back out there. Less than a hundred yards in, I see it.

I pull out my camera and start recording, whispering for him to check the trail. He moves ahead… and then he sees it. His buck.

That look on his face — pure, unfiltered joy — I’ll never forget it. From heartbreak to triumph. From doubt to pride. It’s all right there, captured forever.

We hugged, laughed, yelled — and I’ll be honest, I got choked up. Because it wasn’t just about the deer. It was about the moment. The perseverance. The bond.

Every bit of the struggle — the work, the planning, the expense, the cold mornings, the letdowns — it was all worth it.

Even if he hadn’t got one, it would’ve still been worth it. But he did.

And for me, it became one of the best weekends of my life — just me and my boy, living it, out there on our land, making memories that’ll never fade.

"Get busy living, or get busy dying". Get out there and make those memories. I stared the work in the face, and almost backed out. Damn. Had I, I would have missed out on something that will forever be in my heart. No matter how hard, make life count.

Stay Relentless,

Ryan (and his little hunter)