Hi to everyone on the forum. I've been reading threads on here for awhile and finally felt like I had something to contribute. On a recent scouting trip in a new location, I rolled my car to a stop next to a truck to say hello. As I usually try to do when in a new area, I struck up a conversation in an attempt to foster some goodwill and introduce myself to a fellow outdoors enthusiast. Unfortunately the conversation did not go well, as it sometimes does, and I was left with a sour taste in my mouth and a great deal of anger and frustration. As I drove back towards my home, I kept replaying the situation in my head. I remembered all the times that I've gone hunting or fishing by myself and have felt isolated while doing something I loved. All of the times that I've had to deal with someone whose personality I would avoid regardless of what they spent their free time doing. That's when I started to think about all of the people who've been there to represent and teach the ideals that I've come to love about being an outdoorsman. The people who I would consider real stewards of the life of a hunter, a fisherman and a conservationist. In the following posts, I'm going to chronicle some of the key people in my life who have helped to shape my love for being outside. The people who have inspired me to continue no matter the obstacles.
I have mine, my Dad. He taught me everything I know. He is an outdoors man, he teaches the Hunter Safety Courses and he help with conservation ever chance he gets. I am 25 and always admired him and I wish I could do just as much as he has done to keep it going.
Hey TRyder, glad to have had you post on the thread. Unfortunately, I'm the first person in my family to hunt, but I hope to pass it down to my kids too. Hopefully someday people will use us as an example too.
When I first started hunting I cannot tell you how many people hunted the "wrong" way. I am the first person to hunt in my family as well so I tried to seek out people to learn from when I first started. I would say a good 80% of the people I talked with and were invited to go hunting with were just plain lawbreakers. I am not kidding. They would poach, load their weapons with more rounds than was legal, would lie about what they killed, would shoot deer at night, were downright rude to other hunters, etc. That is NOT the way to behave while in the woods or on the water. Kindness and a sense of community must become more prominent in the hunting world.
I moved to the Twin Cities in the middle of December 2009, it has been my third really big move in five years. It started in 2005 when I moved to Ames, Iowa from Ingleside, Illinois (just a bit North of Chicago) which I thought was a big culture shock at the time. A year ago, though, I moved with my fiance to Roseau, Minnesota at which point I understood what a culture shock really was. My first real outdoors experience took place in Northwest Iowa, hunting pheasants with one of my college roommates on his families farm. While this was the event that would push me along to become completely consumed with the life of an outdoorsman, my roommate was not the first person to get the bug planted in me. When I was 18 years old, I started working plain-clothes retail security in a suburb of Chicago as a way to pay for college. About six months into the job I got to work with an individual by the name of Freddy. Now Freddy was a special kind of person to start with. No matter the situation, Freddy was always able to put a positive spin on things and always had a funny story to share. A great deal of the stories I remember him sharing had to do with one of his passions in life which just so happened to be hunting. Since he hunted a lot with his family his stories were painted in a warm light and were always inviting since the people in them were so close. Even though I had little knowledge of most of the terminology he used, and had a hard time imagining some of the situations he had been in, I was still envious and intrigued by the bond he shared with his relatives and the good times they always seemed to have. The first memory I have is of the retention pond behind the retail store. One day, on our way back from chasing someone through the parking lot, Freddy noticed that there was someone fishing at what was essentially a man made hole intended to trap water in the case of a flood. Once we were able to get a break, we made our way straight to the back of the store. The man was still fishing there and Freddy introduced himself. The two had a quick conversation and wished each other a good day. Freddy walked back to the store with a wide grin on his face. Apparently, the pond was stocked with large mouth bass and was rarely fished and Freddy couldn't wait for the day he could bring a rod with him to work. I made a quick trip to the sporting goods section to purchase my first fishing pole and on the first sunny day we had, Freddy and I tried our luck at the pond. As the days wore on, Freddy taught me how to fish (although in that pond it was more like shooting fish in a barrel). He also taught me to respect the fish and taught me some of the basic etiquette of sharing a pond with other people. Another way that Freddy helped to ignite the fire in me, was by showing me a video he and his relatives had made while on a hog hunt. I had never seen hunting before this point (unless you count the movies...yeah, I didn't either), and the footage had my skin crawling and the hair on the back of my neck standing up. I can't remember the specifics of the video, though if I recall it included stalking the animals and then shooting them and watching while the animals squealed and bled to death. For someone with absolutely no experience in what it meant to take the life of an animal, I nearly lost my lunch. It was how Freddy explained what happened on the video that intrigued me however. He didn't talk about the gruesome death or the gore of the kill. Instead his story was filled with the enjoyment he shared with his family members that were with him and the excitement he felt before he loosed his arrow. The description of the stalk stirred something inside of me that at the time I thought was fear but I now know is anticipation. The final memory I have of Freddy is not a joyous one, though the actions he took during this time still strike me to my core till this day. During the time I worked with Freddy, he was unfortunate enough to lose two of his very close relatives, two of his uncles. I have never seen a man or a family seem so strong as they did during a time where many families would have fallen apart. After a short while, Fred commemorated his uncles by having a tattoo of a european mount of the buck they had taken together. Above and below it, he had their names adorn his arm. It wasn't till much later that I would truly understand what that tattoo represented. A while back while living in Iowa, I heard that Fred is still enjoying the outdoors and working to share it with everyone he can.
Pheasant Hunting in Iowa When you grow up in a household where building a gun out of legos as a child brings a scolding from your mother, or where owning a gun let alone using it is considered a taboo your first experience using one against a living target can seem daunting. This was the situation I was faced with when I first with pheasant hunting with my college roommate Derek. Derek and his family farmed land in Northwest Iowa and when I mentioned that I had always dreamed of trying my hand at hunting it didn't take long for him to find an excuse to introduce me. The weekend before Thanksgiving I followed Derek the two and a half hours that it took to get from our apartment to the farm on a cold dark Friday night. I got a call midway through the drive, his mom and dad wanted to know if I wanted a T-bone or a pork chop for dinner. Not wanting to be a bother I said I would be happy with either one and was just happy to be getting a home cooked meal. When we arrived at the farm, not only did I have a T-bone waiting for me but a pork chop as well and a huge assortment of sides. Derek's mom made sure I didn't leave the table hungry either. Afterwards, we gathered in the living room and talked till just past midnight about the weather, school and the happenings around town and on the farm. About the time I didn't think I could keep my eyes open for another minute, Derek's parents said goodnight and I made my way to the couch for some much needed sleep. The next morning I was awoken at 6am by a grinning roommate. "Had to pound on the floor to wake you up," he said, "it was like trying to wake the dead." After we had a laugh, his mom called us into the kitchen where she had a pile of eggs, bacon, hash and pancakes already steaming on our plates. I leaned over to my roommate, "I can't eat all this, I'm still full from last night." "Don't worry," he said, "you'll be hungry by lunch, I promise." With that I made my way through the heaping plate of amazing food and followed Derek out to the muck room. Overnight, the temperatures had plummeted and there was a layer of snow on the ground. The good news was that the sun was supposed to come out by midday and the temperature was supposed to raise. The bad news was I hadn't brought enough clothes to stay warm. Derek's dad was kind enough to lend me a coat, a pair of socks and some different gloves. With that, a borrowed Remington 870, and a cheap blaze vest from Wal-mart I was set for my first pheasant hunting experience. I will never forget the fun I had that weekend. The time I spent walking corn rows and chest high grass with my friend Derek while his saint bernard mutt (yes he was really half saint bernard) wove back and forth in front of us. We both took home our limit that day, but I definitely missed more than I hit and my friend let me take most of the shots. My friend taught me how to clean the birds and when we met back at our apartment a week later we cooked them and I got to taste the wonderful nutty flavor of a corn-fed, Iowa raised pheasant. While I had considered Derek a friend before this experience, I knew it was something we would never forget and would talk about for a long time. In the following years we repeated this hunt before Thanksgiving, though not with as much success as that first year. Derek taught me what it meant to hunt with a friend, what it meant to be introduced to something and mentored without being patronized. He taught me the joys of hunting the land you grew up on, the land that your family owned and that hunting isn't about what you wear or carry into the field but who you walk that field with.
I hear you, I had someone set off a shotgun about a foot-and-a-half from my ear. I couldn't hear very well for about a day and never did regain all of my hearing. I've had a regional biologist for Pheasants Forever yell at me for loading my gun at the edge of the field instead of "in" the field before. I was upset to be reprimanded even when I was within the safety guidelines, but I'd rather someone be too safe than not safe enough.
Big Stick, First off, let me say, I enjoyed reading your chronicle. Your experiences brought back good memories. Like Brett, I reflected on those who have shaped and formed my experiences. I came to the following conclusion, “I have had some really good mentors!” I also recognize a continued need to improve, learn, and grow. Guys like you give me the inspiration to advance-thank you. From the sounds of things, you have a very firm foundation to build upon. Your parents have done well to forge you into a good hearted individual, and your friends have taught you the importance of sharing. You have seen “ugly” raise its head...it will continue to do so as you stroll down your path. I equate experiences with bricks (I construct for a living). As you gather bricks, discarding the nasty broken units, you will mortar them into place. You have within you the ability to build a new wonder of the world or a shanty. The choice is yours. Keep in mind, those structures which have endure time where built by “people” verses a “self”. Give and you will get. Step out. Go the extra mile. Set yourself above the crowd.
