Needless to say, I spend many cold, uncomfortable, late-night hours in the blind. Sometimes, I keep busy by scanning our trapping site for deer, eagerly waiting for them to make their way under the net. However, this isn’t always my role and most nights are mind-numbing and boring. How do I endure these times? I welcome storylines!
They say that distance makes the heart grow fonder. I would like to add that distance helps you understand your spouse better. Often, my wife is the first to fall asleep. Being the loving husband that I am, I sometimes unintentionally wake her from this peaceful slumber. She tells me that she had a storyline going — that place between wake and sleep where the imagination is active yet has a certain degree of influence. I’ve experienced them too, especially those times that I caught myself nodding off. However, I never thought much of this occurrence until I spent so many hours in the blind. Practicing the art of storylines, I understand my wife a little more these days and I’m also preserving my sanity while passing those uncomfortable hours waiting for deer.
Discovering storylines
Our crew leader had this crazy idea of trapping at night and if unsuccessful, trapping again in the wee hours the next morning. Crazy, huh? In his defense, there was some logic to it and the bitter pill was sugar coated. The deer were highly unpredictable at this site; they were inconsistent at all hours. Perhaps the early morning effort would prove successful. To this plan, he added that we would have the rest of the day off. After all, it was Friday!
That night was spent in an old barn. It functioned to conceal us from the deer and was supposed to be more comfortable than our tiny blinds. It was at first. I sat without my coat for quite a while. Then, a cool breeze blew through the barn door. Later, I would discover that we all were chilled. Since my role was to administer drugs, I had little to do and I would be the last one out the door. While the light faded, I watched a babbling brook from my chair. In the darkness, I had nothing but my thoughts and the cold night air. Often, I caught myself in a light sleep, dreaming something that hinged on my previous thought. It helped to pass the time. Unfortunately, we didn’t catch deer this evening but I gained new appreciation for storylines.
After three hours of sleep, I woke at quarter to three the next morning. I had breakfast and a half-cup of coffee but didn’t take my morning shower. For as long as I can remember, I’m not quite right without my morning ritual and ablution. Nevertheless, I pushed myself out the door, albeit half-cocked. The crew met at four o’clock and traveled the short distance to the trapping site. After setting up, I resumed my position in the barn. The cold air was still blowing and I felt tired and irritable. Sitting there, I welcomed the storylines. Nothing came to our net that morning but I passed the time more easily.
Since that trapping episode, I endeavored to enhance my practice of storylines. These days, I tend to equate this mode as more of a meditation than a light sleep. Aside from my eyes closed (it’s usually dark anyway), I’m very aware of my surroundings. I begin by making myself as comfortable as possible. I close my eyes and begin to take deep, relaxing breaths. My mind begins to quiet and when it’s clear, I choose my thought. It’s kind of like putting a DVD in the player. Soon, my imagination takes over and a storyline begins to play. I’m still aware of my surroundings. In fact, when I sense something, I decide if I want to emerge from this state or continue with the storyline. The key is not to think too hard. Thought acts more like a prompt for the imagination. Nudge the story but don’t try to control it. As I practice the art of storylines, I found that I could enter and exit them faster and I have greater influence over the story.
In practice
It is an early autumn day and I’m sitting on a small chair in the back row. I am holding a thick, green pencil — my favorite color. It reminds me of a drill press — just like dad uses. With two hands, I lift the instrument above my head and lower it to the paper. The boy next to me asks what I’m doing. I explain to him that it’s a drill press and that dot on my paper is a hole that I made. He looks amused but refocuses his attention in front of him. We are practicing our alphabet. I can see large, white letters on the chalk board and my attempt on the paper in front of me. I try a few letters but my attention wonders. Looking around, I see familiar faces but they are much younger than I remember. We are in kindergarten. This was such a long time ago! Looking out the window behind me, I wonder if we will go outside today; the sun is shining after all. To my left, I notice the toys against the wall. For whatever reason, I have an affinity for that wooden stop sign. I walk over to the bulletin board. The teacher doesn’t mind and the class is oblivious to my curiosity. There it is, a gold star for counting to fifty! Walking around the class, I notice that the paper seems to have chunks of wood in it. It isn’t the best quality. The print has two solid lines and a dotted one that runs between them. Supposedly that makes it easier to craft your letters but I always thought it felt unnatural to write so big. Heading back to my seat, I hear a mechanical sound and people rising from camp chairs. I open my eyes and find silhouettes slowly standing. In the same motion, I stand while turning my headlamp on. I grab the capture pack and drug kit, hop through the passage in the barn door, and sprint behind the tacklers. I successfully endured three hours of sitting in that cold barn again.