Madman
Well-known member
I was chatting with a member on here about hunting, and he said something o the effect of listening to an old man brag about memories of the past, and it made me think of my hunting partner and great friend, Harry Sprague. Harry was a retired Marine Corp Colonel with 3 tours of Vietnam under his belt. He was many years my senior, but we grew close friends and hunting partners over the years I spent with him. We had many adventures together, and me being an ex-sailor, and him an retired marine, you can assure yourself there was some good ribbing and humor between us. Although in has late 60's to early 70's, the man barely slowed me down as we climbed 10-11000 ft elevation avalanche shoots, hills, and black timber. We were successful almost all of the time, and we could always laugh at something, someone, or more importantly, ourselves.
Harry paid me one of the highest compliments I ever received. After we had shot a bull elk many, many miles back, and were dragging it early into the next morning, we stopped and took a break, and he asked me why, with my stamina and ability to go stupid crazy places to fill my tag and not bitch about it (too much), didn't I try out for Force Recon Marines or a Navy Seal? I chose to be a nuclear operator as I thought it best for future employment and to take care of my family. Harry replied to me "Probably a good choice.....but you would have made one hell of a Seal or Marine". From him, with his back ground, I could think of no higher honor.
We hunted several more years together, and later Harry was diagnosed and treated for cancer, but kept hunting on, just a little slower and less aggressive than we had before. I had the honor of taking him to a spot and being with him when he took his last Mule Deer. It was a gorgeous 3x3, and Harry smiled more than he had in a long time, as the treatment of cancer wore on him heavily. I had guided Harry to about 25 yards from this buck, and he had taken him with a clean shot. As I dragged him to a spot for Harry where we could dress him a little easier, Harry joked with me "What a Great Shot! Did you see that running head shot at 300 yards?" He smiled large, and I replied in my smart ass way, as usual, with "Yeah, but how did those powder burns get on his hide?". The response was a typical Marine reply, which for younger ears I will not type out!
Harry's cancer came back with a hard kick to him, and although we got to hunt one more year together, he could do little more than ride along. He loved doing it still, and the company.....later that year, Harry lost his brave fight to cancer. That season, although I didn't smoke, I took a pack of Marlboro Ultra lights up to above timber line (he loved to smoke at altitude while back packers were sucking wind), lit one, took several drags off it, coughed and said to Harry's spirit "How the hell did you smoke this crap?", crushed the remaining cigarettes tobacco into dust and sprinkled it in his memory. Then, with a heavy heart, headed back to my truck.
I loved Harry as a brother, and time has eased the pain, but not the memories. And when his memory was brought up front again, I thought I'd share it with you.
If you have good hunting partners, like I did, enjoy every minute together. There will come a time where it will be a memory.......Make it a good set!
Harry paid me one of the highest compliments I ever received. After we had shot a bull elk many, many miles back, and were dragging it early into the next morning, we stopped and took a break, and he asked me why, with my stamina and ability to go stupid crazy places to fill my tag and not bitch about it (too much), didn't I try out for Force Recon Marines or a Navy Seal? I chose to be a nuclear operator as I thought it best for future employment and to take care of my family. Harry replied to me "Probably a good choice.....but you would have made one hell of a Seal or Marine". From him, with his back ground, I could think of no higher honor.
We hunted several more years together, and later Harry was diagnosed and treated for cancer, but kept hunting on, just a little slower and less aggressive than we had before. I had the honor of taking him to a spot and being with him when he took his last Mule Deer. It was a gorgeous 3x3, and Harry smiled more than he had in a long time, as the treatment of cancer wore on him heavily. I had guided Harry to about 25 yards from this buck, and he had taken him with a clean shot. As I dragged him to a spot for Harry where we could dress him a little easier, Harry joked with me "What a Great Shot! Did you see that running head shot at 300 yards?" He smiled large, and I replied in my smart ass way, as usual, with "Yeah, but how did those powder burns get on his hide?". The response was a typical Marine reply, which for younger ears I will not type out!
Harry's cancer came back with a hard kick to him, and although we got to hunt one more year together, he could do little more than ride along. He loved doing it still, and the company.....later that year, Harry lost his brave fight to cancer. That season, although I didn't smoke, I took a pack of Marlboro Ultra lights up to above timber line (he loved to smoke at altitude while back packers were sucking wind), lit one, took several drags off it, coughed and said to Harry's spirit "How the hell did you smoke this crap?", crushed the remaining cigarettes tobacco into dust and sprinkled it in his memory. Then, with a heavy heart, headed back to my truck.
I loved Harry as a brother, and time has eased the pain, but not the memories. And when his memory was brought up front again, I thought I'd share it with you.
If you have good hunting partners, like I did, enjoy every minute together. There will come a time where it will be a memory.......Make it a good set!
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