The Inside Track: Short Time, Revisited

I miss my dad. Don Lile said goodbye on September 18, 2023. That date already held a special place in my heart – I’ve said for 30+ years that September 18th is my favorite day of the year. It still is, but now it carries a deeper, more poignant meaning. I can’t think of a September 18th I haven’t spent chasing elk bugles, except for a moose hunt or two, and I don’t expect that to change until I’m literally unable to do so. This month, I wanted to use The Inside Track to talk about what’s truly important.
 
Even after a logging accident took his leg and drastically slowed him down, Dad’s spirit never stopped roaming the wild. His heart was still out there on a trapline, on a riverbank, behind a spotting scope. Hunting, fishing, and exploring were never just hobbies for us, they were a way of life. Anything less felt like wasting precious time.
 
In addition to trying to pack as many adventures into life as possible, my dad had a remarkable way of reminding everyone around him that people matter more than things. Wrecked trucks, broken tools, mistakes, you name it, he met all of it with a genuine interest in other people’s well being. “I’m just glad you’re OK,” he’d say. Or, “I hope you learned something from that experience.” Don’t get me wrong, there was always plenty of teasing when you screwed up, and he took just as much as he gave when the tables turned. But at the end of the day, Dad’s emphasis on making the most of every second we’re given was a gift, a philosophy more of us should live by.
 
One regret I carry is about a trip that never happened. My mom and dad always held their time in Southeast Alaska close to their hearts. That place symbolized so much – adventure, beauty, and life before the accident. As his health declined, my wife and I planned a return trip to Alaska with both of them. It was supposed to be a walk down memory lane and a chance to create new memories together. However, just a few months before we were supposed to go, Dad got the news that his kidneys were failing. He’d need dialysis, and with that, the trip was postponed.
 
It was the only time I ever heard my dad cry over his own situation. And even then, it wasn’t for himself, it was for the lost opportunity. Neither of us knew it then, but the trip would never happen. There were a lot of excuses. I was buried in work. They were busy with projects at their place in Idaho. Life got in the way, and we missed the chance to make those memories. I don’t dwell on it with regret, but I do share it as a reminder: don’t wait.
 
Now that I’m settled into my 50s, the next big benchmark starts with a six, and the statistics don’t lie. The runway’s getting shorter. At the risk of oversimplifying, I’ve come to see that I have two options:
 
1. Accept the short runway and live a progressively smaller life.
 
2. Plan to land an oversized jet on that short runway and make the most of every bit of it.
 
If you’re a Huntin’ Fool member, you’ve probably wrestled with some version of this – paralysis by analysis. Should I burn my points? Book that hunt? Wait for next year? My advice: don’t wait.
 
When dad passed, I had burned 23 elk points in Arizona. Right in the middle of that hunt, I got the call that he was gone. I didn’t kill the bull of my dreams on that trip. I didn’t even see that bull, but I did get to hear bulls screaming their lungs out every day and night. I spent time with people I love doing what I love, and more importantly, I did something that rejuvenates me. I did come home with a beautiful, chocolate-colored, twisty-antlered rack that will forever remind me of everything that happened on that hunt.
 
I’ll never forget getting the text from my wife in the middle of the night telling me I needed to call. I’ll never forget sitting under the stars after that call, listening to bugles echo through the dark Arizona hills while memories of time in the elk woods with Dad filled my heart. I’ll never forget the flurry of stream-of-consciousness writing I did next to the wall tent that night – raw, real, and painful words I needed to get out. It wasn’t the hunt I had mapped out in my head after 20+ years of waiting, but it was right where I needed to be to process that Dad was at rest and that we wouldn’t share another adventure together on this ball of dirt.
 
This month’s message is simple. It’s a nudge from me to you:
 
Thinking about a wild hunting adventure? Do it.
 
Thinking about picking up a bow for the first time? Do it.
 
Thinking about taking your dad or someone else you love on a special trip? Do it.
 
Years ago, I wrote a Soapbox piece titled Short Time! Back then, I thought the message was important. Now that Dad’s gone, I know it is.
 
We were made for the mountains. We need solitude, challenge, fresh air, and the kind of space that clears the mind and fills the soul. That’s why I love what we do at Huntin’ Fool. We get to live vicariously through you. We get to celebrate with you, not just when you tag out on the buck or bull of your dreams, but when you take the chance, leave the comfort zone, and create memories that will outlive you.
 
Let us help you make that happen. That’s the only reason we exist, to help you get into the mountains and away from the things that weigh heavy on your soul. We’re here to encourage you, support you, and celebrate with you. It’s what sets us apart from every other company out there. We’re invested in your outcome.
 
So let’s go hunting!