An outdoorsman has a need for the new in the new year

Sometimes there is nothing harder than giving up the past, because doing so sometimes feels like you're giving up on yourself.

Throughout 2017 I sold a sizable amount of my hunting gear. It wasn't by design: Over the last several years I've had several eye surgeries and procedures for retina and cornea problems. The upshot is that I'm completely blind in one eye and have lost nominal vision in the other. My breakneck, 40-plus-year hunting life came to a dramatic and abrupt ending.

I have not adapted well to my life-altering circumstances and have recoiled at shedding my old outdoors identity for another. For example, every piece of gear I sold, from duck decoys to hunting jackets, felt like I was betraying myself, selling out my past. After all, decoys are something more for me. They're symbols of hunts past that trigger outdoor memories accumulated over many years and shared with special people, most of whom are family and close friends.

How does one give up on that? In 2018, I intend to find out. The simple reason is necessity. Over the last several years I've built a fortress of fear around myself, and in 2018 I intend to blow it up and plot a new outdoors future. It's less a New Year's resolution than it is a promise to live anew.

Inspiration can often be right under the nose. Take my old and most loyal friend, Mike Burville of Farmington. Mike is whip-smart, adventurous and possesses a deep appreciation for and a deepening knowledge of the natural world. A few years ago, he started taking what are called volunteer vacations through various nonprofits. He did trail maintenance and other backbreaking work at some of the country's most beautiful settings — the Superior National Forest near Ely, Yosemite National Park in California and Glacier National Park in Montana.

When Mike isn't volunteering, he's planning a backcountry hiking/camping adventure to some picturesque park, the more remote the better. Knowledge is power and often the key to survival in the outdoors, and Mike is constantly accumulating bits of knowledge through reading and attending seminars. When he chooses a designation, he begins what I call immersion training. He buys maps (or gets them as gifts) and learns everything about the area's history, flora and fauna, potential dangers, and must-see vistas.

The more experience he's gained as a solo traveler and adventure-seeker, the more he's pushed himself into uncharted territory where risk is omnipresent. Not only does that appeal to me, but I admire him for doing it. I have a standing offer from Mike to attend such a trip. I'm hoping in 2018 we can at least start small and go hike and camp somewhere in Minnesota, and then plan something bigger. I know this much: Mike will be exploring new ground somewhere this year.

One of the great things about living an outdoors life is that there are numerous ways to give back. My grandfather, uncle and father were my primary hunting and fishing mentors, and I've had the good fortune to pay it forward and advise many adults and young people over the years. But when my hunting life abruptly ended, so, too, did my mentoring. I'm going to change that this year. After decades of hunting and fishing, I have accumulated more arcane skills than most and hope to pass them along to some aspiring outdoorsman or woman. A friend of mine told me to advertise my skills in the local weekly paper. I just may.

As for hunting, I don't know the future. I'll never again shoot a shotgun or rifle. However, two years ago, I bought a high-speed bow to hunt deer, perhaps even turkey again. The bow is cased and collecting dust in my closet, though I did recently explain my situation to an archery-shop owner. He assured me he could quickly teach me to shoot well.

"I've helped a lot of people with eye problems," he said. "Everyone is different. But you can't let fear win. You have to try."

Indeed I do.