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After having worked several hunting
and fishing shows over the past few weeks, I was feeling like a
carny minus the dunk tank.
The two things keeping me going
were seeing my family again and dusting off my camouflage for
the second period of turkey season.
Originally, my only thought was
hearing a gobbler talk at dawn. There really aren't many things
that can compare - but then I thought again.
Other than the rush I get from
putting my scope on a gobbler, I thought maybe it would be a
good time to introduce my 6-year-old son, Hunter, to the sport.
The only problem was that he had
school during the week. Sure, I had budgeted my work schedule to
allow for me to hunt during the week, but he couldn't be there.
No problem. I could always take
him out over the weekend. If I had killed my bird already, we'd
just bring along the camcorder. Hunter, however, didn't think a
camera was nearly as good as a Remington 870.
"I hope you don't shoot one
before we go," he said. "I want to hunt, not just
videotape them."
Wednesday started late for me.
After getting the boys off to school, I crawled into my blind
with birds already down from their roost. It didn't take long to
find three jakes that came in on a sting to my box call and
decoys. I aimed, and knew that if I pulled the trigger, one of
them would have been a done deal. I didn't pull the trigger
though, because all I could think about was Hunter being upset
that he wasn't there to see the grand finale.
The next day I sat, too, but even
though I had another chance to fill the crockpot, I couldn't
help but think how Hunter would be disappointed that he wasn't
there. So I let another bird go.
Finally, the weekend came, and
although the weather was to be bad, with 25-mph winds and
25-degree wind chill, Hunter was game to be my hunting partner.
My alarm clock was set for 4:15
a.m., but the bell never rang because Hunter slipped into my
bedroom at 4 a.m. with all of his clothes on, filled backpack
and turkey call.
"Dad, are you ready to
go?" he said. "I've been up since 3 a.m."
After hitting the local gas
station for some hot chocolate and snacks, we started our walk
to the blind. It was dark yet, and although I held a shotgun
with magnum shells, Hunter was not without reservation.
"Are there bears in these
woods, daddy?" he said.
I smiled and told him no, because
the monsters had chased them all away. He knew my sense of
humor, and just snickered, but still kept his stride at my pace.
As dawn broke, a lone hen came by
and Hunter was ready for me to shoot.
"That's a big turkey,"
he said. "Shoot."
I explained that we had to hold
off for a jake or gobbler, but he didn't quite get it. Soon, two
deer walked within a few yards of our blind, and Hunter asked
why we couldn't go home with some deer meat.
The wind howled, and even though
Hunter said he wasn't cold, his chattering teeth told me that
after two hours of sitting, he was ready to go.
We went home empty-handed, but my
son figured out that hunting is not just about filling a tag,
but also about discipline.
It's about a familiar route to
the land. It's about a certain gas station you stop at to fill
up your coffee cup.
It's about the smile he gave me
in the blind when that lone hen came a clucking. He already said
he wants to go next year. His little brother, Blake, might be up
for it by then, too.
I'm going to need a bigger blind
- and more snacks.
(Dan Durbin writes a weekly
outdoors column for The Freeman. Call Durbin at 644-7940, or
e-mail him at ddurbin@bastdurbin.com
if you have a story idea.) |
