Dedicating hunting seasons to lost friends and family has become an annual ritual
A number of years ago, I started a “tradition” that I really hate doing because it is occurring much more often, and it is not something I really enjoy doing. It seems like every time I turn around, I am losing another family member or close friend.
I started the tradition of dedicating my hunting seasons, regardless of success or failure, to the memory of the individual I lost. I have donated hunting seasons to my father, mother, two sisters, one brother, and many of my hunting partners.
I dedicated a season to the memory of my father-in-law Dick Baker, my mother-in-law Jeannie Baker, and to Bob and Elmer McClish, who were the first two friends to invite me to join them on my first deer hunt. I also dedicated a hunting season to Dick Williams, Don Downs, Don Dillman, Albert Cooper, Joe Heinmiller, Ted Pallada, Gary Freeman, Danny Holmes, and Dale Daniels. All of these people were very important to me, and I just wanted to express how much they meant to me.
Many times, before I leave my truck and head for the woods in the darkness of Opening Day, I say a prayer of thanks for allowing me another hunting season, and I mention the person’s name I am dedicating my season to.
If I am successful, I proudly kneel beside my fallen deer. I remove my cap and point to Heaven, and I say, “This animal and hunting season is dedicated to...” and then say the person’s name. I then say a prayer, “Thanks for allowing me this opportunity to venture forth to the woods in pursuit of an animal that I admire and respect.”
This season, I am dedicating my 2025/2026 deer seasons to Carson Hughes. Carson and I were long-time friends and members of the Galveston Archery Club. He and I shot “toe-to-toe” in many archery tournaments at the club.
A couple other archery club members -- Bob Mitchell and Dale Daniels – often traveled with Carson and me to different archery clubs throughout Indiana, representing our club and helping promote the club we visited. We visited archery clubs in Indianapolis, Frankfort, Muncie, Lafayette, Romney, Peru, Logansport, Fort Wayne, Rensselaer, and several others. Sadly, Bob and Dale are no longer with us, either.
Carson and I shared some fantastic memories of many archery tournaments, and we hunted a number of times with Mitchell, Daniels, and Don Downs in Indiana, Michigan, Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Ohio. We might not have harvested a lot of deer, but we sure shared a lot of hunting tales and memories of tracking and dragging deer out of oak ridges, swamps, and cornfields. Many of those efforts were done well after darkness, and we were certainly happy when we arrived back at truck or camp.
One special memory is when Carson and I were tracking a deer, we contacted the other hunters, and they came to help us locate the deer. Carson and I decided to leave our bows at a telephone pole along the power line, thinking it would easy to locate the bows when we came out of the woods.
WRONG!
We found the deer, but we had circled around in the dark and came out at a different location. We had to search for our bows the next morning after daylight. Carson said he was still going hunting that morning, even if he had to throw rocks at the deer.
As the years passed, Carson and I remained friends, and when I was conducting several of my deer hunting seminars for sporting goods stores, Carson and his daughter Becky would visit me and say hello, and we would recall many of the funny times we shared.
They visited me when I was one of the guest speakers at the Kokomo Howard County Public Library when they started the First Friday events. It was always good to see them. We reconnected at the Winding Creek Bluegrass Festival every year. My family invited Carson and Becky to have lunch with us at the camper, and we rehashed several past hunting and fishing trips.
Family and friends are valuable assets, and I have been blessed with the best of both. It certainly hurts to lose them. It seems like only yesterday we were making plans to fish another lake or fish another state or hunt Crawford County or Brown County again to see if the deer could still outsmart us. Many times, they did. I always told them the deer or fish apparently did not read my articles.
Golly, I have lost so many friends it seems unfair, and I know they are most likely ready to hear more of my corny jokes when we gather at the campfire again.