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I've been hunting for as long
as I can remember. The first hunt I ever went on with my
dad, he had to change my diapers. My first real hunting
memory is sitting on a tree stand and snuggling under my
dad's coat. To this day, I can still smell the musky scent
of that old coat.
My brother and I were
raised on hunting, fishing, and trapping. Our lives were
truly like the Hank Jr. song, "A Country Boy will
Survive", we can "skin a buck and run a trot
line". We have had many memorable hunts. I still
remember our first deer, riding out a flood, eating
Twinkies and sardines, and even being used as dogs when
the real ones didn't want to run anymore.
My favorite hunt of all,
unfortunately, turned out to be the last for my dad, Lil'
brother, and me. It was the last hunting day of the
season, and by the next season I was in Omaha Nebraska,
Lil' brother was in Florida, and Dad was back home in
Louisiana. We always made plans to come home and go
hunting, but something always seemed to get in the way.
Five years later my dad passed away.
As our family gathered for
his funeral, the talk, as it always seemed to, turned to
hunting. We all sat around telling lies and big stories.
Each story was bigger than the last and all of them larger
than they truly were. Lil' brother and I started thinking
about the last time we had went hunting together. It had
been 6 years earlier.
It was cold, and rainy. Dad
had brought his favorite snack, Sardines and Twinkies. You
have not lived, until you have tried this tasty treat. I
kid; I don't know a single soul, except for my dad that
could even stomach this combination. But it was his
favorite, when he was hunting. They were like a good luck
charm. As we stopped the truck at the trailhead the rain
started to come down harder. It was still a couple of
hours before daylight, so we stayed in the warmth and
relative dryness of Dad's truck. Dad had put a moon roof
in his old truck with a jig saw and some plexi-glass, so
keeping dry could be a real sport some times.
To pass the time we talked
about all our passed hunting trips. We recounted the time
I shot the truck, a real life lesson in gun safety. The
time my brother got lost in the woods and had to be
rescued by game wardens in a helicopter. The time my dad
shot a goat and tried to convince my brother and I, it was
a spike. We told story after story. We finally noticed
that it was raining harder, the roof was leaking more, and
the Twinkies were getting wet. You can't let good Twinkies
and Sardines go to waste. We washed them all down with
what was left of the Stop n' Go Coffee. We spent the rest
of the day telling tall tales and laughing. We never
loaded a gun, nor got on a stand, but it was the best hunt
I ever had.
It's been seven years since
my dad died. Lil' Brother and I have not missed a year
hunting together, since. We made a pact and we are
sticking to it. We bring our sons along, now. We are
teaching them what we were taught. Dad use to tell us the
greatest gift you can give your child is your time. He
forgot to tell us, as a father, the greatest gift you can
give yourself is time with your kids. I miss him so much,
especially during hunting season. But I know I will see
him again. If Heaven is perfect, and I know it is, there
will be a Stop n' Go with bad weak coffee, sardines and
Twinkies, and it will always rain the last day of hunting
season.
(c) Copyright 2004
OuachitaGroup All Rights Reserved
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About
The Author
Owner
of HuntStats.com
and The OuachitaGroup, Terry Higginbotham,
is an avid hunter, fisherman, and
outdoorsman. He runs a research project
studying the Whitetail Deer and the
American Wild Turkey. Information from
this study is available online at HuntStats.com
or by email at: articles@huntstats.com |
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