Fond Memories come flooding back. From the early days getting started deer hunting as a young boy in southern Indiana, to watching handlers work their well trained dogs on preserve hunts in my teens, and more recently shooting wild quail doubles with each of my two sons in the Great Plains out west over our own "well trained" Brittanys.
I started going deer hunting with my dad when I was 6 years old. The first couple years I didn't get to carry a gun, rather watch and learn from him. But by the time I was 8, I was hunting. For the next 8 years I would count down the weeks to opening day, and the minutes to shooting light, then months to the next time the season would come in. By the time I was 16 I was pretty frustrated with my lack of success (having still not killed that first deer). While I would finally score both my first buck and doe that year, I'm not sure how many more years I would have attempted it had I continued to be unsuccessful.
This past fall I was with a very good friend in Northern Mi grouse and woodcock hunting. My friend "Jim" had his brother-n-law "Tom" with him and I had my dad "Pop" with me on the trip. I had met Tom before on other hunting trips, and knew a little bit about him. A retired doctor, extremely intelligent, and as kind as any man could be. But to a fault, a bit geographically challenged in the woods, with a life long habit of not quite keeping up with the dogs, and wandering off on his own. I knew that on the few trips I had been on with Tom that I had never seen him kill a bird and now that I think about it don't actually think I had seen him fire a gun. Regardless, he absolutely loves getting out and marching the miles through the woods with the rest of us. Now what I didn't know until this trip, is that in all the years he had been going grouse and woodcock hunting, he actually had not ever killed one of those birds. I'm not quite sure what that exact number of years is, but it was significant.
One morning on this trip this past fall we had hunted a familiar cover that we knew from years prior. The first part of the mornings walk had not been fruitful just as many walks in the grouse woods can sometimes be. We had left the cover and were regrouping in the 2 track to the south of the cut. After everyone caught up we entered a mature pine thicket south of the 2 track. Not far into the woods Tessi's collar started calling that welcome sound of point mode through the dense northern woods ahead of us 50 or 60 yards. (Tessi was Jim's extraordinary liver and white Brittany - a proven grouse dog) We all made our way through the grousetangled mess, towards Tessi. I was flanking the left edge of our line, while Pop and Tom were in the middle. I was the first to arrive at the dog, and just held my ready waiting for the rest of the cavalry. Soon after Pop and Tom arrived as well with Jim leading their way. Everyone readied as Jim walked out front to the dog. Tessi had not moved since locating the presence of bird sent on the ground, and still stood steady as he worked the area around her. All the sudden a brown feathered rocket headed for the sky as the leaves came to life. I had no shot, but the bird passed through a clearing in the sky in front of Tom and Pop. Tom squeezed off two rounds from his O/U Caesar Guerini. Feathers exploded from the bird and it came crashing down. Pop immediately shouted "GREAT SHOT TOM!" As Tessi quickly located, and returned it to Jim who passed it over to Tom. A WOODCOCK! (Tom exclaimed) He was grinning from ear to ear as Jim handed him his prize. You can see the excitement on his face in the pictures we captured shortly after that moment below.
Later that day is when I became fully aware that I had just witnessed (a man who had hunted this bird a really long time make contact for the very first time). As we went on that day I couldn't help but ask myself if I love hunting that much. You know, enough to spend years trying without success. That afternoon I spent a lot of time thinking about it, and even more over the last 9 months deciding to write about it. It's taken me back to those first 8 years as an immature dear hunter. I remember It seemed like an eternity not getting a deer when all my friends were getting their 1st, 2nd, and 3rd deer. Some of them even got Big deer that they had mounted and are probably still on their walls today. At times I was green with envy if I'm really being honest about it. But after witnessing this, it all came into perspective for me.
That's when I remembered what Pop had said to me as kid. (Probably when I was pouting after every unsuccessful hunt) "Matt its not always about killing something, its about just getting to go." I don't know that I ever fully learned that lesson until now. You see, he's right its never about success or failure. We are not hunting out of necessity. No one is going to starve if we come home empty handed. We're hunting to enjoy the time together as friends, and to enjoy the time with our dogs. To escape our work realities, or to just get away and reset. Its about life experiences that we share with others, and our connection with nature. I matured a lot as a hunter on this trip, and as for our friend Tom he may or may not kill another woodcock or even a grouse on a great day, but regardless he has a lifetime of memories from his trips already, and I'll never forget his excitement from that day.
It really is just about "the love of the hunt".
Tom with his prize! (you can see the excitement)
Pop, Tom, Tessi, and Jim - showing off his bird
Pop, me, and Tom with a grouse I shot over Tessi on the same trip
Pop, me, and Tom with a grouse I shot over Tessi on the same trip
