The Opener with the Rabid Outdoorsman- Balancing pessimism against optimism and how the tides turn... PART ONE

2:59:55, 2:59:56, 2:59:57, 2:59:58, 2:59:59, out of here!!!

My day at school officially ended and I bolted for the car with my new McCain/Palin sticker in hand. Since I have a post office box, I had to use my school address when ordering from goptrunk.com and it only took me 5 weeks to get my yard sign and sticker. But that wasn't why I was flying high, figuratively and literally, actually I found myself at the threshold of a master plan that had been in the works for weeks now. Today was the day before opening day, and I promised my great buddy Steve that I would attend the opener with him. We had been exchanging phone calls and emails nonstop over the past week. The time had come and I slapped the sticker on my wife's Camry without any hesitation, jumped into the seat, and pulled out of the staff parking lot.



From the previous paragraph, you can assume several things...

1)I am a Republican and excited about my first ever purchased affects of support
2)Steve and I get way into our duck hunting, but I wouldn't have it any other way
3)I did not consult my wife about the sticker, guess as you may, but for every action there is an equal but opposite reaction

My eternal joy must have been neglecting the fact that once I hit Route 1, the two and one-half hour trip into the setting sun would be nothing short of miserable as I prayed for a low lying cloud anywhere to just get between me and the sun. I still trudged on, with the fullest intentions of keeping my promise to be in Steve's driveway by six. With the gear packed last night and some basic provisions, I had no intention of stopping at all...




But a curse must have come with the McCain sticker, I explained to my wife that I would rather have the sticker on the car since we take the car everywhere. Her response was that it didn't matter who or what she supported, no sticker should be on her car. Bad move on my part, but that was an argument that could wait until tomorrow. As of right now I was flying high and fast approaching Bucksport, realizing that I was almost halfway. Then the unexpected occurred...

As I hit the blinker and pulled right into the “slower traffic” lane, a light blue car pulled beside me and neglected to pass. I then looked over to see this older women flipping me off. So I waved back and smiled, it was a Prius and the passenger obviously took the time to read my bumper sticker that had been on my car for just one hour. I laughed and thought to myself, “frigging moonbat wife and her Prius driving bastard, bet you ain't getting 48 mpg right now”...

Unphased by this random act of kindness by a friendly liberal, I continued my trek in hopes that the duck blind would be right next to their property so we could continue appreciating each other. Good things were in my future although the sticker was getting me into a little more trouble than I wished...

I continued into the ever-dropping sun and did manage to find some low lying clouds as I turned onto Route 3 in Belfast, if these held for the next 40 odd miles then I would be golden. But that wasn't the case, help only lasted for about 10 minutes and honestly, it got frustrating and exhausting. Battling the glare off of the windshield while trying to get to Steve's on time was getting the best of me...

At 5:52, I arrived at Steve's to see this jovial man in camouflage chanting “Duckman, Duckman" as he was presenting me to his oldest son like I was some type of celebrity. I quickly talked some smack, bragged about my arrival before schedule, and dismissed the strenuous nature I endured getting there. Steve said his good-byes and we quickly loaded my gear into the boat already situated in the bed of the pick-up. Within two minutes, the landing stood before us as if we had been welcome all along...

My take: both highly optimistic, but I had several instances of perplexity and visual impairment

To check out the Rabid Outdoorsman's take during the same time hit the link below!!!
The Maine Outdoorsman