Since I will be out of town on Sunday, I figured I would start this thread today. I suspect many of us were influenced by our fathers, when we think of who brought us to the world of hunting and fishing.
My Dad loved to hunt. Fishing, interested him a little bit, but chasing whitetails in the thick woods of Northern Minnesota is what he lived for. Those two weeks were always a special time for him.
He fought the demons of the bottle for most of his life, eventually losing that battle. But, when deer season came around, the demons had no control over him; he was a different man. He would go around town scrounging up every spare rifle he could find, trying to match some ammunition, sighting them in for the the kids who would be using them, and making sure every kid who wanted to go deer hunting knew to get in touch with him the week before season opened.
Opening morning at his house looked like a scene out of "John Wayne and the Cowboys;" a bunch of kids from 12 to 16, different sizes and maturity, some with their own rifles and some waiting to see which loaner my Dad would give them, all dressed in some hand-me-downs from a brother or uncle, each carrying a sack lunch, all with eyes big in anticipation of what stand my Dad was going to drop them off at.
One by one, he would load us in his van and make sure everyone had a license, their hunter saftey card, a compass, and something to eat. Then, he would drive a loop around a big piece of ground he knew very well, stopping every half mile to grab one kid, and by the light of his Ray-O-Vac, lead them to the deer stand he had built, get them situated, and leave them to sit until daylight came, warning them not to leave until he came to get them sometime later that day. He would then park his van, and about daylight, start beating the bush, walking many miles in a path that took him by each stand, checking on each kid throughout the day, hoping to push a deer to one of them.
I cannot image doing that in today's world. First of all, I think few people would trust anyone enough to send their kids hunting with the neighbor, especially if they know he has a half-dozen of these tenderfoots in his group. I am not sure any adult today would want the liability that comes with hauling a bunch of kids out to the woods, knowing if Johnny got so much as a sliver in his hand, the hovering parent might have the police over to visit you.
But, that is how it was in Big Falls in the 1970s, and probably in many other places of the country. And I, and some other kids who got to go hunting, thank God for that.
It was frustrating as a kid to have to share your dad with a half dozen, or more, neighborhood kids during hunting season. He and I were not that close to start with, but hunting season was a time when all was well, when I learned how much fun he could be, and what a great mentor he was when he was sober. We enjoyed our hunting time together immensely.
Now, when I go back home to the little town of Big Falls, many guys my age stop me and tell me how important it was that my Dad worked so hard to see that they got to go hunting, either with him, or with some guy he talked into taking a kid out hunting. To this day, they are all hunters, who might otherwise not have been. Even after I moved away, he was always looking for some kid who might need some help to get out in the woods.
So, I can say without any doubt, if my Dad was not such a passionate hunter, so committed to getting kids out in the woods, I would not be a hunter. At the time I did not understand what he was up to. Now, years later, I wish I had understood and could have helped him more in that effort. And it was through hunting, that I came to see what my Dad was like when he was at his best, giving me great appreciation for him, providing me better insight to his struggles, and learning a lot along the way.
A pic from Father's day, 1977. One of the few pics I have of us together. Cameras were never a high priority in our family. Thanks, Dad.
I hope many of you still have your Dad around, allowing you to hunt together, albeit maybe not as vigorously as you once did. Do not take it for granted. As some of us can attest, when he is gone, hunting season is different without him.
Happy Father's Day to all the Dads out there.
My Dad loved to hunt. Fishing, interested him a little bit, but chasing whitetails in the thick woods of Northern Minnesota is what he lived for. Those two weeks were always a special time for him.
He fought the demons of the bottle for most of his life, eventually losing that battle. But, when deer season came around, the demons had no control over him; he was a different man. He would go around town scrounging up every spare rifle he could find, trying to match some ammunition, sighting them in for the the kids who would be using them, and making sure every kid who wanted to go deer hunting knew to get in touch with him the week before season opened.
Opening morning at his house looked like a scene out of "John Wayne and the Cowboys;" a bunch of kids from 12 to 16, different sizes and maturity, some with their own rifles and some waiting to see which loaner my Dad would give them, all dressed in some hand-me-downs from a brother or uncle, each carrying a sack lunch, all with eyes big in anticipation of what stand my Dad was going to drop them off at.
One by one, he would load us in his van and make sure everyone had a license, their hunter saftey card, a compass, and something to eat. Then, he would drive a loop around a big piece of ground he knew very well, stopping every half mile to grab one kid, and by the light of his Ray-O-Vac, lead them to the deer stand he had built, get them situated, and leave them to sit until daylight came, warning them not to leave until he came to get them sometime later that day. He would then park his van, and about daylight, start beating the bush, walking many miles in a path that took him by each stand, checking on each kid throughout the day, hoping to push a deer to one of them.
I cannot image doing that in today's world. First of all, I think few people would trust anyone enough to send their kids hunting with the neighbor, especially if they know he has a half-dozen of these tenderfoots in his group. I am not sure any adult today would want the liability that comes with hauling a bunch of kids out to the woods, knowing if Johnny got so much as a sliver in his hand, the hovering parent might have the police over to visit you.
But, that is how it was in Big Falls in the 1970s, and probably in many other places of the country. And I, and some other kids who got to go hunting, thank God for that.
It was frustrating as a kid to have to share your dad with a half dozen, or more, neighborhood kids during hunting season. He and I were not that close to start with, but hunting season was a time when all was well, when I learned how much fun he could be, and what a great mentor he was when he was sober. We enjoyed our hunting time together immensely.
Now, when I go back home to the little town of Big Falls, many guys my age stop me and tell me how important it was that my Dad worked so hard to see that they got to go hunting, either with him, or with some guy he talked into taking a kid out hunting. To this day, they are all hunters, who might otherwise not have been. Even after I moved away, he was always looking for some kid who might need some help to get out in the woods.
So, I can say without any doubt, if my Dad was not such a passionate hunter, so committed to getting kids out in the woods, I would not be a hunter. At the time I did not understand what he was up to. Now, years later, I wish I had understood and could have helped him more in that effort. And it was through hunting, that I came to see what my Dad was like when he was at his best, giving me great appreciation for him, providing me better insight to his struggles, and learning a lot along the way.
A pic from Father's day, 1977. One of the few pics I have of us together. Cameras were never a high priority in our family. Thanks, Dad.
I hope many of you still have your Dad around, allowing you to hunt together, albeit maybe not as vigorously as you once did. Do not take it for granted. As some of us can attest, when he is gone, hunting season is different without him.
Happy Father's Day to all the Dads out there.
