Bud reminisces about hunting days and companions gone by
I have to admit, during my lifetime I have had the opportunity to embark on numerous endeavors. I enjoyed racing go-karts, drag racing, playing softball, football, basketball, and running track from elementary school through high school. I also enjoyed playing guitar and being with a few fairly good groups.
Sadly, many of those endeavors eventually lost my attention and, as some people would say, “they got old.” I guess the proper wording should be, “I guess I got old!” Even though I enjoyed participating in every one of those events, my attention started going elsewhere.
I can honestly say my love for the outdoors has never gotten old. I remember after school, some of the neighbor boys and I used to strap our fishing poles and tackleboxes on our bicycles and pedal down the road to the creek. Even if we did not catch a fish, we had fun. Even when we had practice after school, we would pack peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and carry a cold Coke in our makeshift saddle bags, tie them on the fenders of our bikes, and pedal as fast as our legs would let us. Nothing could keep us from our fishing.
As we grew older, our bicycles were replaced with automobiles. Whoever had a car that ran better and started easier had the pleasure of driving. We loaded our fishing gear or our .22-caliber rifles up and headed for the creek or woods, hoping to either catch some fish or take home several squirrels. Our mothers would fix us some squirrel meat, biscuits, and gravy, and we thought we were in Heaven.
Now don’t get me wrong. Our parents were not neglectful. We were fully aware of the rules and regulations for hunting and fishing, but we also knew if we did anything to upset our parents, we were grounded and lost our fishing and hunting privileges. That was much worse than getting our butts spanked!
You know what? It never gets old. We love spending time in the woods and at the fishing hole!
Sadly, many of those friends have passed away, and the memories are all that remains. Jay, Bruce, Eddie, Tommy, Jake, and many others shared laughs, jokes, and making fun of each other, even though our lives went in different directions. After the school years, we all got jobs in factories and businesses. Many of us got married, raised a family, and yes, we got old. But the good times and memories did not get old.
I was conducting one of my many deer hunting seminars at a local sporting goods store. It had been advertised on the local radio stations and in local newspapers. I had my display table set up and had a group of maybe 40 people listening to my discussion on deer hunting tips and techniques.
After the seminar ended, I was answering questions and passing out some of my business cards. A gentleman asked me, “Bud, do you remember me?” I looked at him. He was sporting a neatly groomed, full, white beard, and what hair he had left was snow white. I looked at him, and I was embarrassed for not recognizing him right away.
He told me, “When we were students at Elwood Haynes School, we were in the 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th grade together. You were the quarterback on the football team, and I was on the offensive line, blocking for you.”
I smiled and suddenly I remembered exactly who he was. Man, we were talking back in the late 1950s. We had fished so many little creeks, farm ponds, and retention ponds. He asked me, “Do you remember when I broke the chain on my bicycle and was riding on the handlebars of your bike, and we hit a chuck hole and flipped the bike and skinned up our knees and elbows?”
I certainly did. I had just gotten that new bike, and I was afraid my dad was going to ground me because we bent the front steering fork, and the wheel and handlebars were almost sideways. I hid my bike so my dad wouldn’t see it, and we worked on fixing it while my dad was at work. There again, memories never get old.
Even now, after deer hunting 61 years, I am often asked, “Do you get tired of it?” Absolutely not! I might get discouraged, especially if deer activity is not as I expected. But it never gets old!
I try to remain positive, knowing that every one of my hunting stands has been successful many, many times; not just for me, but for my son, my grandsons, my brother, several of my nephews, and other hunting companions. I know every minute I sit without seeing a deer brings me closer to the minute I will see a deer.
That is where all the pre-season scouting trips and time spent placing trail cameras can pay off. While I may not see a lot of activity every time I go, I am confident the deer have used those travel trails in the past. They will use them again, and I just need to be there. It never gets old.
I have never claimed to be the greatest deer hunter in the woods, and trust me, the deer win more often than I do. But, if I remain confident and spend the time in my spots, sooner or later, I will have an opportunity to see deer activity and make a shot happen. It never gets old.
I admit, the older I get, the harder it is to get out of a warm bed at 4:00 a.m., get dressed, drive about an hour or sometimes more, walk from the truck into the woods maybe an hour before daylight and climb up 15-20 feet in a stand and hope I don’t spook any deer out of the area.
I silently as possible get settled on the platform, wearing my safety harness, and I slowly raise my bow or muzzleloader up into position and get situated for the long wait for daylight. As time slowly passes, I often hear deer walking around in the woods. Even though I cannot see them, my heart rate increases, and I hope they linger until legal shooting light.
I get the opportunity to watch the woods come alive. I often see raccoons coming into their den trees. I have seen coyotes, many times several in a group, sniffing the ground and hunting. I see and hear squirrels running through the dry fallen leaves on the ground. They sound like a herd of deer for no bigger than what they are.
If the deer activity is as expected, they will start entering the woods from feeding all night in the fields, and as they work closer and closer to my hidden position, my heart rate increases again. As I prepare for the shot execution, this is what keeps me coming back for more, and, as you can guess, it never gets old!
Many of my hunting buddies have passed on. My son now lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, so we can no longer spend time in the woods as we did as he was growing up. Big Ed now lives in Florida. We hunted many, many decades and hauled several deer out of the creek bottoms and swamps. Dale, Danny, Max, Don, Ted, Gary, Dick, Carson and many, many more partners have also left us. I often reminisce those happy memories, and there again, it never gets old!
Someone stated recently, “When you have more years behind you than you have in front of you, you look at things a lot differently.” Yep, but it never gets old. I guess that means I might not have another 61 years of hunting in front of me. I might get old, but it will never get old. If you are a hunter or angler, you know what I mean.