Living up north has it challenges for keeping older hunter’s interests. Especially as their family moves away, and friends either quit, or pass on. My father was never really into hunting. But I know how I got him interested in it at age 65.....BBQ.
Several years ago when I brought a feral hog home and smoked it, he was hooked. Plus, in Oklahoma, there’s no season or bag limit (however, there are a few restrictions for deer season). So he can go out on a nice day and walk/hike around the thousands of acres of public land, or go to some private land we have and sit at a feeder. This has translated into him showing an interest to go deer hunting. And he has been a few times. Still not as interested as hunting pigs. But it’s there. He would rather watch them run around and play or mosey on past him than shoot one. I totally get it. He’ll be 72 this year. I’m 38 and feel the same way. Some of my best memories in the woods are with him. Sitting on a warm summer day under a shade tree on an old pond bank watching a feeder. Late to the game for sure. But as Cheech Marin said in Ghostbusters “Better late than never.”
Hunting doesn’t have to be freezing your ass off, sitting on an old tree stump, when it’s 10 below zero. But if that’s the hand you’re dealt, don’t fold it. Play it. We only get so many sunrises and sunsets. One day, we will all be laying in a bed thinking about how we really didn’t feel that bad. We were just being lazy.
I’m taking care of a man who is a 101 year old WWII vet who saw combat in France and the South Pacific. He has CoVid (he’s going to be just fine). I sat down with him the other night and started talking about all the things he’s done in his life. All the things he saw in the war, and all the things he did out of the Army that time permitted. I may or may not have put off charting to talk to him. Don’t judge. I don’t give a damn about billing. I care about the people.
During our conversation we got on the subject of fishing. He spoke about how there was this jetty by a bridge he and his highschool buddies went fishing at many times before the war. To see his eyes light up talking about the fish they caught. Even when it was freezing cold outside. He was like a kid again. He spoke about how his buddies made a pact after Pearl, that after the war, when they all made it back (sadly some didn’t) that they would all go back to that jetty and go fishing again. And they did for many years. It was their reunion. Slowly, over time, his friends didn’t make the trip. They would be sick. They would pass on. But the ones who could, did. Now it’s just him. He kept going until he couldn’t physically make the trip anymore. I asked him why he kept going back even by himself (up until his mid 90’s). He didn’t pause one second to think about his answer. I didn’t remember all of it. But when I left his room, I wrote down everything I could remember....
“Because that was our spot. That was our time. Even when my friends weren’t there anymore, they were still there. Do you understand? You said you like to hunt and fish. Well son let me give you some advice from an old man. Go. Every chance you get.....as long as your wife says it’s ok (I’m not married but sound advice). It doesn’t matter if it’s freezing cold or hot as the sun. Make them memories. Even the painful ones. Someday you’re going to be like me. And those memories are all you’re going to have. Now I’m in this bed in this godforsaken hospital. Look at me. I’ve got all these wires hooked up to me. I don’t know what any of this does. My wife is gone. My friends are gone. My family isn’t allowed to see me. Here I am. But I’m 101 years old. Can you believe that? I can’t.” He chuckled. “All the things I’ve done. And all I want to do is go fishing”.
That memory will last me the rest of my life. And it was so worth staying over after work to chart. Someday, my father will be gone. But I will still go sit on that pond bank with him as he cusses and swats at those mosquitos. If I shoot a pig, great. If I don’t, still time well spent. Never liked coffee anyways.
Several years ago when I brought a feral hog home and smoked it, he was hooked. Plus, in Oklahoma, there’s no season or bag limit (however, there are a few restrictions for deer season). So he can go out on a nice day and walk/hike around the thousands of acres of public land, or go to some private land we have and sit at a feeder. This has translated into him showing an interest to go deer hunting. And he has been a few times. Still not as interested as hunting pigs. But it’s there. He would rather watch them run around and play or mosey on past him than shoot one. I totally get it. He’ll be 72 this year. I’m 38 and feel the same way. Some of my best memories in the woods are with him. Sitting on a warm summer day under a shade tree on an old pond bank watching a feeder. Late to the game for sure. But as Cheech Marin said in Ghostbusters “Better late than never.”
Hunting doesn’t have to be freezing your ass off, sitting on an old tree stump, when it’s 10 below zero. But if that’s the hand you’re dealt, don’t fold it. Play it. We only get so many sunrises and sunsets. One day, we will all be laying in a bed thinking about how we really didn’t feel that bad. We were just being lazy.
I’m taking care of a man who is a 101 year old WWII vet who saw combat in France and the South Pacific. He has CoVid (he’s going to be just fine). I sat down with him the other night and started talking about all the things he’s done in his life. All the things he saw in the war, and all the things he did out of the Army that time permitted. I may or may not have put off charting to talk to him. Don’t judge. I don’t give a damn about billing. I care about the people.
During our conversation we got on the subject of fishing. He spoke about how there was this jetty by a bridge he and his highschool buddies went fishing at many times before the war. To see his eyes light up talking about the fish they caught. Even when it was freezing cold outside. He was like a kid again. He spoke about how his buddies made a pact after Pearl, that after the war, when they all made it back (sadly some didn’t) that they would all go back to that jetty and go fishing again. And they did for many years. It was their reunion. Slowly, over time, his friends didn’t make the trip. They would be sick. They would pass on. But the ones who could, did. Now it’s just him. He kept going until he couldn’t physically make the trip anymore. I asked him why he kept going back even by himself (up until his mid 90’s). He didn’t pause one second to think about his answer. I didn’t remember all of it. But when I left his room, I wrote down everything I could remember....
“Because that was our spot. That was our time. Even when my friends weren’t there anymore, they were still there. Do you understand? You said you like to hunt and fish. Well son let me give you some advice from an old man. Go. Every chance you get.....as long as your wife says it’s ok (I’m not married but sound advice). It doesn’t matter if it’s freezing cold or hot as the sun. Make them memories. Even the painful ones. Someday you’re going to be like me. And those memories are all you’re going to have. Now I’m in this bed in this godforsaken hospital. Look at me. I’ve got all these wires hooked up to me. I don’t know what any of this does. My wife is gone. My friends are gone. My family isn’t allowed to see me. Here I am. But I’m 101 years old. Can you believe that? I can’t.” He chuckled. “All the things I’ve done. And all I want to do is go fishing”.
That memory will last me the rest of my life. And it was so worth staying over after work to chart. Someday, my father will be gone. But I will still go sit on that pond bank with him as he cusses and swats at those mosquitos. If I shoot a pig, great. If I don’t, still time well spent. Never liked coffee anyways.
