We migrate to what makes us comfortable. To some it's to throw on a pair of running shoes, step on the mat, grab their board or cinch up for the ultimate ride. We have our different addictions but they all have the same effect. They trigger the release of dopamine in the brain.

To us it's our "fix" that only last but a short while before it calls again to seek what is lost longing for the rush and satisfaction that it gives. They're our safety blankets, our "comfort in the night", our release from the stress of the day to day, or just simply the fix we live for. Me? My fix is archery.

My style of hunting on my terms. My beliefs, my ethics, my fair chase. To do it any other way but mine, up close and personal with personal risk at stake, is cheating and the dopamine is not obtained, leaving me empty longing like any other addict for what is missing.

My addiction seeks the higher bigger rush that only come with a greater challenge, closer, more dangerous. My biology and physiology and the minor anthropology education would argue that my addiction is not an addiction, but a genetic imprint as a part of the provider in the hunter-gatherer code that has been present since our beginning.

To fulfill this addiction/imprint lets me return to my family more attentive than ever before doing what I've been coded for, and not reaching for the bottle if it were suppressed. That's my justification for my addiction at least.

This year the bear bug bit me, leaving the need to venture north to the Alaskan peninsula for browns.

I got the experience, the rush of making a 15 yard shot, and being in the wilds of the remote peninsula separating the pacific from the Bering Sea. But, I was left longing for the close encounter of the monsters that inhabit that land, and look forward to my return in 2017 when my post "success" allows me to hunt again.

Now it's on to the steeps of the British Columbian coast to seek the early fall rush of chasing the monster mountain goats that cling to the cliff walls of that land, and when the fall circle comes to a close, I will bring the hunting season of this year to its twilight with returning to northern BC for moose to brunt the October weather that is most unpredictable in pursuit of the aggressive rut crazed Canadian giants. The dopamine knows many forms, but for me, the threat of danger at close quarters is what I seek in front of my broadhead.