People who don’t hunt or fish just don’t get it, and it is almost impossible for us who do to accurately explain some of the reasons why we are so committed. One of those reasons is family.
Unlike other sports or hobbies, the outdoor sports, especially hunting and fishing, create a bond between family and friends that is like no other. The memories created, and the traditions fulfilled every season cannot be duplicated.
I was fortunate when I was young to have family that hunted and fished. My grandfather on my dad’s side hunted while my grandfather on my mother’s side fished. My best memories, in fact almost all of my memories, of them are of being in the outdoors. Maybe it is selective, sort of self-editing of the memory banks, that we end up with certain themes in our heads. Rabbit hunting with no one else but my Pappap, trolling for small mouth at the lake house and eating hard-boiled eggs on a rock as big as a house along Slippery Rock Creek are my memories of my grandfathers.
While we don’t get together as often as we use to, memories of rabbit and deer hunting with my father and brothers are vivid and numerous. Small towns and out-of-the-way places such as Backus, Dice Run and the Thirteen Rabbit Farm have memories for me because of hunting and family.
As my six children continue to grow up, our memories also continue to grow. Some of these I have shared in this column. The “Oh My Gosh, I’m Going to Die Stand” and the "Swamp Stand" have made for some great deer hunting memories and stories, including my daughter’s second deer.
“Dad, Uncle Marty put me up in this stand. It’s squeaky, and boards are coming loose. There’s no shooting lanes, I can’t see anywhere, and there’s poison ivy all over the tree.”
‘“Breanna,” I said, “That’s one of the best stands. Tough it out.”
“Daddddddddd, I don’t like it.”
“Do you want me to come and get you?”
“Yea, Dad. Uncle Marty is going to get up in the stand after I get down.”
With that said, I started off in her direction, grumbling as I went. I hadn’t gone 50 feet when — bang, bang — two shots rang through the woods in her direction. This time when the cell phone rang, she was too excited to talk. I don’t think she said three coherent words, but I knew what happened. She got her deer. Within a minute of her first call, a very large doe came through the swamp, practically running underneath her stand. She hit it both times, dropping it about 20 yards away.”
Growing up with me as her father and five younger brothers, Breanna has had no choice but to hunt and fish, and she has done both well, making great memories along the way. She doesn’t get out with us as much as she use to with her busy life, but she has assured the family memories of hunting and fishing will go on for some time.
Clyde Joshua Edmiston, my first grandchild, I look forward to making these memories with you.
Mike Barcaskey can be reached at mikebarcaskey@outlook.com.