Election Day 2012

Tomorrow is November 6, 2012. Election day. Possibly the most pivotal election in the history of America. Tomorrow, it will be decided whether America will continue to spiral downwards or have the opportunity to rise again. As the final hours of campaigning wind down, I'm sure everyone has pretty much figured out who they will vote for, and some have even voted already. Though I am not quite old enough to vote (I don't turn 18 until January, grrr), there is a clear choice for the next President of the United States. His name is Mitt Romney.

Over the past 4 years, all the fears I had about Obama's Presidency have come true, with interest. I daily wonder how anyone can still have even the slightest positive opinion about this man, and his clown of a Vice President. While I have not been home in almost 3 years now, it has not been pleasant to watch from a distance while America withers from the inside out. Gas prices have gone up, unemployment has almost doubled, grocery prices have skyrocketed, and the national debt has increased by $6,000,000,000,000 (TRILLION). And still, our President continues to tout that all of this is a sign of economic recovery. What I can't believe is that President Obama believes such outrageous claims, and even more, there are few people who call him on it. Thank God, many of the promises Obama made 4 years ago have not come true, but look where we are. The passing of Obamacare has set us on the road to socialised medicine, many of our allies around the world have been snubbed and offended in numerous ways, and our enemies continue to strengthen while Obama ignores these issues and tells us to relax. Like it or not Mr. President, Al Qaeda is most certainly not dead, and is not on the run! Iran continues its nuclear program unchecked. Obama's 2012 campaign slogan is very appropriate for what is happening. America is moving "forward" off a cliff! It is clear that we need new leadership if we want the USA to survive.

Now on the business of Obamacare, if you look at it closely, it is a tax on the American people, and in the fine print, guess who the list of exceptions includes: government officials, those who can't afford it themselves, and Muslims (whose religion does not allow health insurance). In short, this means that the hardworking taxpayers of America will be paying for each of these people, every time they have a medical situation. Take a broader look at Obamacare as a whole, and it becomes clear that it is well within the boundaries of socialised medicine. Ladies and gentlemen, I have seen socialised medicine, it is not pretty. In the city of Francistown, we have one hospital called Nyangabwe. Each day at Nyangabwe, there are hundreds of visitors. In the emergency room, there is one order: first come, first serve. No matter if you are bleeding out in the waiting room, if a guy with a headache came in first, you will just have to wait. You might see a doctor after an hour on an extremely good day. If you wish to donate blood for a specific person (for example, a relative or friend), that is not allowed, your blood will be used for whoever is waiting in line. If you need to schedule an appointment with a specific doctor, you must wait for hours to be checked in, then wait for several more hours to make an appointment, which is normally at least 3 months down the line. Even with an appointment, there is no guarantee you will get to see your doctor. The government doctors themselves are usually arrogant and think they know everything they need to know. Just one morgue in this city picks up over 30 bodies in an average day. This is socialised medicine. Is this where you want our healthcare system to go? Welcome to Obamacare.

My final point is for our armed forces. We have been the world's strongest fighting force ever since we sent the redcoats packing back to England back around 1780, and we should always be proud of that, but under Obama's administration, the United States military has dwindled, and under proposed budget cuts, will be weakened even more in years to come. It is clear that Obama has very little respect for our armed forces, and has apologised profusely to just about every country we have ever had troops in. The icing on the cake was the President's handling of the 9/11 Benghazi embassy attack, or lack thereof. Obama was not oblivious to what was occurring, and in fact may have watched live drone feeds of the attack while 4 Americans were killed, 2 in the line of duty who ignored orders to stand down and held off the enemy for hours. In the weeks leading up to the attacks, Obama ignored multiple warnings and requests for additional security from both the embassy and the CIA. The US Marines stationed there were ordered to keep their weapons unloaded to avoid increasing tension. Finally, the majority of Obama's administration, possibly even the President himself, watched live feeds as 2 former Navy SEALS, the Ambassador, and the ambassador's aide were killed, and did nothing for the entire duration of the 9 hour attacks. There were 2 Air Force bases less than 1 hour away with AC-130 gunships on deck, ready to intervene. The SEALS had lit up the targets with laser designators. Marines were stationed even closer. We were more than capable of taking action. Still, the Obama administration did nothing. The outcome of these attacks could have been very different, but no, Obama did not wish to risk the outcome of the election by taking action. Finally, Obama (and our Secretary of State) lied to us about what happened, blaming his misinformation on the "fog of war", and saying this was a "spontaneous demonstration". We have evidence that Obama knew within hours that this attack was pre-meditated, even had warnings beforehand, but still lied to America. This man no longer deserves our trust or our loyalty, and may not have in the first place. Bottom line, the President knew what was happening, and did nothing. People died, Obama lied.

I could go on to say that it is clear that Obama has become increasingly arrogant and obviously desperate in his campaign, slandering the opposition, slinging mud at Romney and degrading himself. I could say that Joe Biden is a joke of a Vice President, even more arrogant than Obama, and can't even keep track of which state he is in. I could even say that new democrat-sponsored ads threaten riots and violence if Romney is victorious over Obama, which Obama should be condemning, but is instead remaining silent (are these really the people you want running the country!?!?!?). But I won't, because if I did, this post would become even longer than it already is, and we might be here all day. I will conclude by saying one more thing, who better to lead an economic recovery than a successful businessman who doesn't need the money from being in office, but only wants what is best for America? And who better to help us get back to our moral base than a man who at least has a strong moral background? Romney and I may not agree on the theology, but he is a fine, upstanding, moral man.

God bless the USA, and happy voting!

-(I know it has been 2 months since my last post, I'll try not to do that again. My lame excuse: been really busy with exams. My bad. In light of this, I figure the extra length of this post is forgivable as is encompasses many things I could have said several weeks ago.)

The Anchor Point

Anchored.

 

Ask any archer "What is the most important aspect of archery?" and you will get one of several answers: good form, mental focus and clarity, bow control, or anchor point. While each of these is extremely important to accuracy and consistency, you have noticed that I named this blog “Anchor-Point.” I chose this title because it is arguably the most significant  and also because of the parallels that can be drawn between success on the shooting range and in life. Both require an anchor point and that is something I will explore with you as I share my experiences as an outdoorsman and a follower of Jesus Christ, the ultimate Anchor Point.

 

Let me explain just what the anchor point does. It can be considered the fulcrum of archery. Without a constant anchor point your aim will have no base. Without a base for aim there is no way to guarantee where the arrow will hit the target. A constant anchor point means a constant point of aim which means a predictable favorable outcome; a trophy for the wall and meat for the freezer or the top score in a shooting tournament. You may have the best form (lets pretend an anchor point is not included in form for a minute), the steadiest arm, and the clearest mind, but without a constant anchor point, you will never be consistently accurate and able to enjoy the satisfaction of goals achieved.

 

Before we left for Africa I had the opportunity to be a member of my school archery team which is where I discovered how much I enjoy competing in this sport. I was doing well and placing near the top but there came a point that, suddenly, my accuracy and groupings fell apart. I went from shooting 270-275/300 to shooting 240-250/300, and it stayed that way for over a month. I was exasperated! Over the course of a long weekend I thought about the way I was shooting. My anchor point came to mind. What I hadn’t realized was I had subconsciously shifted my anchor point a fraction of an inch downwards from the very corner of my mouth, which was enough to allow it to drift from shot to shot. I reset my anchor point, and sure enough, on the next round, not only could I feel the difference immediately, but my groupings tightened and my scores began to improve. Lesson learned: always have a solid anchor point.

 

And so it goes in life as well. While there are several factors that contribute to an enjoyable and successful life, having an anchor point is paramount for success. I hope you enjoy this journey with me as I share from my adventures in the great outdoors and my life in Christ, the Anchor Point of my soul.

 

May all your arrows fly straight.

A Morning in the Bush-Part 2

In my last entry I wrote the first part of the story of my warthog hunt. Now, there are always two parts to any hunting story: what happens before the shot, and what happens after the shot. This is the rest of the story.

 

We remained in the blind for about 15 minutes waiting for the adrenaline shakes to subside and took the opportunity to review the footage. Unfortunately, Dad got excited and kept the camera just a bit high so we were unable to see the placement but we were confident in my shot. We left the blind and walked around the waterhole to my arrow, in the process scaring away the impala that had scattered and milled around in the back ground. The arrow was every bit as bloody as it looked from the blind and the leaves around it were spattered with blood. After placing my arrow back in the quiver we began our tracking.

 My arrow, covered with blood.

Now, anyone who has followed a blood trail in the States knows that finding blood is pretty straight-forward if you know what you’re looking for and you know which direction your animal went. There are enough dead leaves and grass, so that, assuming you aren’t tracking through a freshly turned field, blood is fairly obvious. Well, this is Africa, the middle of the dry season. There is hardly any grass, absolutely none on the trails, leaving nothing for blood to land on but fine, dry, red sand. This sand wreaks havoc on blood, turning bright red liquid into caked areas of sand, only identifiable from being recently wet. We searched for over half-an-hour, no blood. As I mentioned before, we failed to carefully watch which direction the hog had taken off in after the shot so had only a general idea of which way he had gone. Eventually, I managed to find one splotch of blood about 75 yards down the trail that had puddled in the sand.

 At this point, we were very confused. My shot placement was good, my bloody arrow was indicative of that, so where was the blood? And, more importantly, where was my warthog?

 Climbing a termite mound to get cell phone reception, we SMS’d (“short message service”  text) the farm manager to let him know I had shot a warthog, then continued the search with a fine-toothed comb between the shot site and the blood spot. Finally, after another 10 minutes, we found one small stick coated in blood. Another 15 yards down the trail, I found a freshly caked patch of sand very much like a large splash of blood would be shaped. After marking these locations, we returned to the blind to wait for the manager. He arrived shortly and we showed him the sign we had found. He confirmed that the spots were, indeed, blood which was a relief to us! Connecting the dots now, we found 2 more spots of blood, and continued along the trail. They were few and far between, but served to keep us on track. Just when we started to wonder if he had turned off, we would find another splotch. Finally, about 100 yards from the shot, I looked to my right from a drop of blood, and there he was, piled up 5 yards from the side of the trail!

 

After the initial excitement of recovering the hog had worn off, we examined the entry and exit points of my arrow. I had made a near-perfect shot, the entry wound in the center of the lower half of the shoulder. Rolling him over, we discovered that my arrow had collided with a bone that had caused it to drastically change course. The arrow to exited in the middle of the ribs on the opposite side, despite the perfectly broadside shot. This trajectory is what caused the sparseness of blood while we were tracking him. The entry and exit holes were not positioned to allow proper draining of the blood, most of which remained inside the hog until we cleaned him.

After taking our pictures, we dragged him back to the vehicle and took down our blind. The other workers could not believe that I had killed the big hog with only a bow.

This hog had definitely been around for a while. In addition to his magnificent tusks, he had many battle scars on his body, as well as several gashes on his hindquarters that had not yet healed. An apparent characteristic of warthogs, he was crawling with ticks.

The real work began at the skinning shed. We skinned him out, and removed the trophy head before taking care of the guts and meat. We were now able to properly analyze the performance of my arrow and bow. The 100-grain Muzzy 3-blade broad-head performed flawlessly, slicing cleanly through the shoulder muscle and some ribs, shredding the left lung, nicking the heart, and clipping the liver before exiting through the center of the right side of the rib cage. My 70-pound draw strength Parker Buck Hunter compound bow delivered the Cabela’s Big Game Hunter arrow quietly, on target, and with more than enough force to propel it cleanly through the tough old warthog. I also used a Trophy Ridge sight, and a 7-inch Octane stabilizer.

Though the scale was broken we determined the cleaned carcass weighed roughly 25-30 kg (55-66 lbs). We then loaded up, settled up, and returned home. Later we took the skin to the taxidermist and were pleased to find out the shoulder mount will be finished within 4 months. In other words, we will get it back before we return to America in December. It will look fantastic on our wall!

All in all, it was an awesome day! Dad and I had several excellent hours in the blind, and finally went home with an awesome trophy that was well worth the wait. I loved every minute of our hunt.

I welcome your comments.

 Until next time, may your arrows stay sharp!

 Success at last!

A Morning in the Bush-Part 1

There’s no place I would rather be than in a blind or tree-stand with my bow watching the sun rise (or set) and the bush come alive. The birds start to sing and the trees slowly turn golden from the tops down as the sun creeps over the horizon. If I am sitting by a waterhole in the African bush, as I was 3 weeks ago, animals trickle in to the water eventually forming a continuous loop as they come and go. The time between midmorning and early afternoon is when the water is most active as multiple herds come to satisfy their thirst in this semi-desert environment.

 Wednesday the 1^st of August turned out to be an excellent day for Dad and I to sit in our blind. The flow of animals began about an hour and a half after sun-up with a herd of the ever-present impala. While we most certainly did a better job of camouflaging our blind than the last time we sat in that location, the impala, remaining true to their nature, were very spooky and refused to come within 30 yards of the blind though their spookiness gradually wore off as the morning progressed. One very nice ram closed the distance to 20 yards but he remained facing us and behind a tree as he examined our set-up offering no bow shot. I would have happily tried for him if the opportunity presented itself but after a minute of scrutiny he decided we were not to his liking and walked around to the other side of the waterhole. There were many herds of impala that came in and we recognized several of them from a previous hunt. One such herd was led by a sizeable battle-worn ram with part of one horn broken off. Several other species supplemented the endless cycle of impala including a decent waterbuck bull, a 2-curl kudu bull who is going to be a BEAST in a couple years, several kudu cows, some young warthogs, and something related to a bushbuck that I never made a positive ID on.

Our blind setup from the animals' point of view.

 

And so went the morning, birds flapping, chattering and chirping all over the place, hundreds of impala milling about the water, and us sitting in our blind, alternating between observing and reading. The wind picked up but never gusted stronger than 10 miles an hour and blew from the west (right to left), well away from the incoming animals. And it was in this manner that I saw the warthogs.

 The impala herd led by broke-horn (as I referred to him) was taking their turn to drink. Then, from one side came a flash of movement. The impala scattered as a large sow warthog plodded past, hair on edge, head swinging back and forth, displaying her white tusks. The impala backed down and made way for the sow and the adolescent warthog behind. This was impressive enough, but what caught my eye came after. A massive boar came walking behind, trailing the sow, enormous tusks protruding from his mouth, characteristically large warts jutting from beneath his eyes. The trio did not stop to drink as we expected, but continued toward us, where the water was shallower. Every step they took I expected them to look up and see us but onward they came (warthogs have very poor eyesight), and I was astonished as they closed the distance to just over 15 yards without hesitation. I readied my Parker Buck Hunter compound bow, release clipped to the string. Dad, preoccupied with the camera, did not see the boss coming and encouraged me to take the sow, who was impressive enough, but still paled in comparison with the monster following. Shocked, he stared at me, questioning, as I let the sow pass by. I still stared out the shooting window, every sense keyed up as the old boar came down the trail, nose on a string, swinging his massive head, uttering deep grunts, oblivious to our presence. I drew as he came past a tree in front of me, turning broadside, settling the string into my anchor point, the sight pins tracking over his shoulder. He was not going to stop. I grunted at him as he came broadside in my shooting lane. Dad, surprised that I would give away our presence, stared at me again, but I was ready. My grunt had the intended effect and he stopped in his tracks, the massive head swinging around to look at where the noise had originated as my sight pin settled just on his shoulder. An instant later, I triggered the release, and the world exploded into motion.

Moments before the shot.

 

My bow unleashed the 70 pound draw weight, amplified in the limbs and cams, with a sharp "thwpppp", transferring the energy into my broadhead-tipped arrow which leaped from my rest at over 260 feet per second. My arrow flew true, disappearing into the warthog with a solid THWACK! The trio launched into the surrounding bush. The impala took flight as well, stopping about 50 yards out. The atmosphere inside the blind was ecstatic celebration! In our excitement both of us made the rookie mistake of not watching to see which direction the wounded hog went. Finally feeling the adrenaline, I looked out towards the spot where the warthog had been standing and spotted my arrow, lying where it had stopped in a bush after passing completely through, the shaft and fletching stained bright red.

The Thrill of the Chase

So, here we go, the first installment of Anchor Point. I have really been meaning to do this for some time now, but just never really got around to it until now. I'm pretty new to this, so you just bear with me a little bit.

Some things you should know about me before I really get started: first of all, at this point in my life I am 17 years old, living in Francistown, Botswana, Africa, with my parents who are American missionaries with Assemblies of God World Missions, as well as my younger brother and sister. We have lived here in Francistown for a little over 2 and a half years now, and are beginning preparations to return home for one year in December. Also, I am an avid bowhunter (though I won't argue too much against using a gun), archer, and fisherman. I like to consider myself as firmly anchored in Christ, and if you absolutely have to know, I am a conservative, everything America once was and could be again.

At the moment, I am triple multi-tasking: watching Olympic archery (someday will be me!), writing this, and preparing for a day of sitting in a blind over a water hole with my dad and my bow tomorrow, hopefully with the result of arrowing one of those big warthogs we saw last time we sat in this spot. Our opportunities for hunting have not come often, but we are finally figuring out all of our options, and we might be able to go out with a bang as the year comes to an end. As a hunter, in my opinion, there is nothing that compares to the thrill of outwitting animals. Even though I may not always get a shot off, watching the target animal walk past within range, sometimes so close I could almost reach out and touch it, completely oblivious to my prescence, is only slightly less satisfying than having some horns for the wall and a freezer full of meat. The thrill of the chase.

So, that pretty much wraps it up for this first time. Feel free to comment. I'll let you know how the hunt turns out.

May your arrows fly straight, until next time!