My archery elk season started the year before with underlying sorrow as the young friend who had founded our elk camp had passed away. It felt like the elk must have picked up on this as well, as they seemed to evade us at every turn. The season ended with a camp full of unfulfilled tags and wounded egos as we returned home with nothing but the memory of our friend. 

The next fall manifested into the year of redemption and validation where we would prove to our lost friend that we could attain success in his camp. Prior to the season, we all had agreed to incorporate something from his kit into our own. This seemingly insignificant act served as the catalyst to overcome the lingering sorrow and feel like he was in some way joining us for the hunt. Most of us shot the same arrows, and I chose to replace one of my nocks with one of his, as his arrows were quite a bit longer than mine. After each of us had chosen a piece of gear to carry, we broke up into groups of two or three, and set out to see what the elk had in store for us.