With winter upon us, it’s time to look forward to the hunts yet to come

The end of every fall hunting season always seems to come with an unexpected abruptness, barging in like a rude acquaintance—uninvited, unwanted and, unfortunately, unavoidable. Many hunters go through a period of near bereavement on the final day of the season, wishing the hours were endless, with the horizon never edging off into twilight. But time and experience have taught us that autumn’s gold will soon tarnish with the arrival of December’s darkness.

One of the finest sporting brethren I’ve been privileged to know would give in to melancholy over the end of hunts, hills and hollows each fall, back when the years began with 19 and the seasons were generously long. He would case his rifle and hang his canvas jacket, and the autumn’s sweet successes would soon give way to dark days of listlessness, of time tainted with a feeling of unexplained betrayal.

The morning chill certainly seems to grow deeper these days as age descends upon me like fog in the gloaming. But being blessed with endless optimism, I regard each season’s end as an opportunity to plan, prepare and ask the hunting deities to smile down kindly on me come the following autumn. Rather than sulk and pout, I try to think of it as a lull in the action, as when the ducks stop flying. The seasons will return as they always have, and always will. And I’ll use the hard-earned skills of the hunting trail to patiently wait, just as I would for a reluctant bull moose to move out of the brush.No, there’s nothing left to do now but plan and watch the calendar pages for the next season’s return, anticipating that first feel of fresh cartridges and shotshells, and the celebration of once again heading afield.

When it comes to hunting, New Brunswick writer Cary Rideout prefers not to dwell in the past.