Once again the season is here; all the anticipation has worn me down this year. As in years past I will be making the trip up to GWNF and camping in the North River Camp ground. This year marks my 42 year and as always I never feel ready. I will have my side kick and best friend Zach (my son) with me. Although it’s a battle with mom every year we somehow always seem to sweat talk her into letting him go. I think she already know she’s going to say yes, but like to hear us beg. Her being a teacher does not help our case when it comes to missing 4 days of school. There should be about 10 or more this year, the regulars and a couple of first timers, guess who’s washing dashes ha-ha. Nov, 1969 was my first time going with my dad; a lot has changed since that first trip.I remember getting there Friday's , you scouted Saturday and Sunday, because the season open on Monday, there was no early muzzleload season. I remember wearing Leather boots from Sears, blue jeans and flannel shirts, over them the brown hunting pants with the matching hunting coat and red beanie cap. Blazed orange was a few years off and at that time everyone said red was the safety color. I remember my dad pinned a red bandana on the back of my hunting jacket because the pants and coat were brown , (kind of crazy now that you think about it). Back then your hunter’s education class came from your dad or whoever you were hunting with. That first morning I was so excited that I could not wait to get into the woods, only to be begging to go to the car after about two hours of freezing my tail off. I don’t think I had ever been that cold in my young life. Once the sun made its way over to my dad and I my hands , toes and face warmed up a little, but by 930 my dad could see it was time to get me up and moving. For the next 5 years I sat with my dad, he would tell me stories and teach me life’s lessons. Each year I would sit a little further away from him 10 yards, 25 yards ,50 yards and finally just over the knoll out of his sight, but if I stood on my tip toes I could still see him below me. I know now I must have scared more deer away from him then I will ever know. I don’t think he minded, just I did not when Zach started hunting with me. Zach’s now over that knoll and some. We still have access to each other by texting, but I miss both, sitting with my dad and Zach. Time moves fast. Thanks Dad for all you ever give me, forgive me for the times I was too wrapped up in me to notice you were feeling what I’m now. To all, please remember the ones who put you in the woods, who gave countless hours to make you who you are today, be safe, Shoot straight and God Bless.

Tim

Great post Tim and good luck to you and Zach on the annual hunt!!

Thanks Tim !

Very well said !

Nice Post Tim !!
Good read !
Good luck to you and Zach

Must say I am a little envious of you. My dad taught me to shoot, but I taught myself to hunt as a teenager. Don't have those kind of memories. Wish I did. However, I am starting to have my own memories with my son. He is 7 and just passed his hunter safety course this summer. This past weekend was the youth hunt in MD and I took him out both days. We saw deer each time out but couldn't close the deal. Seems the deer were moving and wouldn't stop long enough for a shot. I am proud that he just didn't fling a bullet their way. I can see each time a deer was in front of him that he was getting closer and closer to pulling the trigger. Since the rifle is a little heavy for him he has to use a shooting stick and move both when needed. I found myself getting a little frustrated then would get hold of myself. I keep forgetting he is 7. I was pretty proud that he hunt in the tree with me for 4 hours Saturday morning in the cold without his DS.

It is stories like yours that is making me relish my time even more with my own son.

Hoping you and Zach have many memories to go. Good luck this weekend!

Vic