In Memory of those who went before us

[gophergunner]

In a couple weeks the orange army will climb in a bunch of trucks and head north or south for the annual tradition that is deer season.  So many great times, so many great memories yet to be made.  At some camps this year, a cherished member won't be present, a bunk will be empty, a tree stand on some windswept ridge will go unmanned.

As we take time from our busy lives for the time honored tradition that is deer camp, let us not forget those that have gone on to hunt in a far better place. 

I find that as I get older, the number of guys I used to hunt with is getting bigger than the ones that are still with us. 

Have a great season guys, and be sure to tip a glass for the one's who've gone on to take a stand in a woods where the wind is always in their face, the sun at their back, and a nice buck is coming down the trail. 

[whiteoakbuck]

well said thanks for posting 

[glenn57]

In a couple weeks the orange army will climb in a bunch of trucks and head north or south for the annual tradition that is deer season.  So many great times, so many great memories yet to be made.  At some camps this year, a cherished member won't be present, a bunk will be empty, a tree stand on some windswept ridge will go unmanned.

As we take time from our busy lives for the time honored tradition that is deer camp, let us not forget those that have gone on to hunt in a far better place. 

I find that as I get older, the number of guys I used to hunt with is getting bigger than the ones that are still with us. 

Have a great season guys, and be sure to tip a glass for the one's who've gone on to take a stand in a woods where the wind is always in their face, the sun at their back, and a nice buck is coming down the trail.

+2

[gophergunner]

I remember my first year in camp after my dad passed away.  Dad was the last of the 5 original members of our camp to pass.  It was incredibly tough on me.  Dad was my best friend, my mentor, and my hero all rolled into one.  It was just me and my brother in camp that year, and we walked around in a funk, trying to find a way to go on.  We knew Dad wouldn't want us anywhere but up on the hill, as this was what we did-what we were meant to do every year.  We hunted in Dad's honor that year.  My brother took a nice spike off his tree stand at about 8:30 the first morning.  My stand was only about 400 yards from his, so I went to check on him.  He's a good shot, so there was no need to be concerned.  I decided to just climb up in his stand in stead of walking back to mine.  Dale was barely out of sight dragging his deer back to the cabin when I looked down at his gut pile, and there's another spike standing there sniffing it.  Dad must have been smiling, as we had taken two shots, and had two bucks on the ground and it wasn't even 10:00 yet.  I was relieved that I hadn't let Dad down.  We called all the original members of our camp the Olde Guarde, and the boys were proud of us on that day, I'm sure. 

We broke camp by noon and made our way back home.   Our camp was in Central Pa. and we lived in Youngstown, Ohio.  I was home and on stand with some buddies in Ohio by 4:00.  In a  stroke of sheer luck, somebody ran a gnarly old 7 point buck right up to me.  My old 870 roared once and the buck was down. 

Once again, I'd done right by dad.  It was a very bittersweet day to say the least.  I'd have given back all three of those deer for one more chance to hunt with Dad. 

Here's to all those who are missing someone in camp this year.  I hope you have a good hunt in their honor.

[Boar]

Very nice story, and a honarable tribute to yur dad.

[gophergunner]

It always hits me very hard these last few days before deer season.  I can remember Dad's pile of gear gradually accumulating in the dining room the last few days before he headed out to the cabin.  Dad would start packing a week before deer season and still manage to forget his ammo.  I'm not joking when I say we probably had 20 different boxes of 300 Savage ammo with one empty casing in the box.  Our camp is in Central Pennsylvania, and we'd always stop at Mrs. Cornelius's General Store in the tiny town of Sabula on the way up the mountain.  She always kept a box of 300 Savage ammo set aside for Dad as she knew he'd be in for it.  All the guys that hunted with us over the years are gone now.  The memories sure come back this time of year.  There was Bud who was the curmedgeon of the group, and along with my dad, the best hunters of the crew.  Bud's old 270 put a lot of meat on the table. There was Bert, another carpenter like my dad.  The main thing I remember about Bert was his giant hands, much like my dads.  All that hard work must grow big hands.  Charlie Fox was the one who showed up every year with a different fancy gun.  Never killed many deer, but was a good guy just the same.  Gamble was a good hunter, but hung up his gun early on.  He had taken a nice 8 point one year, and his son was crawling around on it at home.  The little guy got sick and died, and Bob never went to camp again.  The Model 99 I have is Bob's gun.  It's one of those ones that I'll never part with.  Dad hunted with a 99 too, and it now resides at my brother's house.  Try as I may, I've never been able to get him to trade with me for that gun. 

Good luck to everyone this weekend, and to those who are suffering a bit out there, I feel your pain, guys. 

May the wind be in your face, the sun at your back, and a nice buck coming down the trail.

[dakids]

Thank you.