Our Last Hunt

As I grew into a young man I began to venture out on my own with all the knowledge given to me by my father. When my day in the outdoors faltered I always reverted back to his wisdom and success for the answers I needed. Not everything worked but it always put me in the right frame of mind. We had grown apart in a larger sense of the word but were both very active in the outdoors on seperate ocassions in different areas. All of that changed when dad was no longer as independant due to a back injury.

I was at the peak of my interest in pursuance of archery hunting for whitetails during those days. Scouting all year, documenting, logging, and filming deer, while others were at the beach on a hot summer day. It seemed I had the woods to myself and the deer moved about at their leisure. It was a great time to log some hours and study the habits of this highly respected game-animal. This was a new avenue for me. Dad and I had never done anything like this and, when a bachelor group of a dozen bucks took up residence in my viewfinder during the end of summer, I couldnt wait to share the footage. It was enough excitement to justify a hunt together even in his deteriorating condition. We decided on a location which would present a good chance for either of us to connect with a good buck during the beginning of bow season if he could manage to pull a bow at all when the time came.

Early October found us partnered once again heading back to some old familiar hunting grounds that held many memories. Dads condition was debatable and several of the silent moments during the drive to our hunting area seemed awkward and void of enthusiasm. My mind began to wander as I pulled into the area we had set aside for dad to hunt. It became apparent that our roles had reversed dramatically over the years. As he leaned on my shoulder I kept the slow rythmn of his pace while carrying his bow to my side, and, working the flashlight to light the way. Here was the man who once carried me on his shoulders as a little boy on a duck hunt, someone I had always viewed as chiseled from stone, in need of help for every step. I admit I didnt realize the extent back then but writing this really makes it hit home. When I situated him at his blind I hesitated to leave until he affirmed himself with that simple gesture of pointing me back towards the trail. I knew that very same gesture from that first successful deer hunt. It was, in an odd sense, comforting.

I sat that morning wondering, worrying, and daydreaming. The projector in my mind played back every day dad and I had spent together in the outdoors. It felt as though I was being pulled into several directions at one time and wanted to leave and see if he was alright. I guess in hindsight I had realized what he felt the first time I walked into the woods on my own. I knew he wasnt helpless but, just the same, he was always there for me through every step of the way.

I left my scaffold earlier than usual that day and found that dad had already walked out on his own. He could only sit idle for so long and through his own pride and determination, had made it safely back to the road. Again we didnt have a lot to say to one another and I realized that this was the end of something we both once cherished. Before fading out of sequence the last frame shows a father and a son, rolling down the highway in an old truck, with no deer, but, one last memory of the final hunt.

And thats where my memory of our last hunt ends seemingly so abrupt yet filled with many years of great outdoor memories. So, for dad, if you ever get a chance to read this…Thank You.

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