A buddy that works with me and I were discussing 2018 turkey season and making sure we both get time off to satisfy our turkey hunting needs during the upcoming season.... based on our positions within the company, it doesn’t seem we will be able to get the time off together, so ensuring we both get the time off we want will require cooperation..... what ensued was actually a great exchange about why we hunt and what we consider a “trophy” or a great memory...
There seems to be an influx of millennial hunters these days, which, while good for the sport, usually causes the usual “trophy hunting” debate...
Buddy and I were talking about what we would consider a trophy..... this is what I texted him back.... its not the be all and end all and it’s just one guy’s opinion, but here is what I texted him back.... sorry for the long read, I wanted to paste the actual text..
Yup..... we did “campsgiving” in October...... looks like we are doing a New Years bash at camp as well....... three days around a roaring wood stove swapping stories and hunting rabbit......
The biggest trophy I ever shot in my life was my first actual hunting kill at 14 when dad was mentoring me.....
We were hunting upland and rabbits at the old cottage and walking along the “little stream trail”..... as you know, hunters have stupid non descriptive names for every trail and area or watch we hunt..... lol.....
We didn’t have much money, so all I had was a pair of coveralls, a crossing guards vest, an orange ball cap and a pair of the old fashioned kodiak steel toed boots...... my gun was a Cooey 84 single that, to this day sits at the door in dad’s garage..... (I need to wrestle that from him)..... and a beige box of old Canadian tire supreme shells that cost me two weeks allowance ....
I was on top of the ridge and dad was on the bottom near the stream.......
I had hunted with dad many hours and was allowed to hunt alone for many more and I can’t even tell you how many grouse and woodcock I missed..... hell, I missed a grouse on the ground..... lol
Anyways, a woodcock flushed near the stream and dad missed it with his Stoeger double (I mentioned we didn’t have much money, and this was a high end gun to dad)...... he actually got that gun because a guy at work was having money and family troubles and pawned it to dad .....(dad still has it, and I need to wrestle that one off of him too)...... it’s already willed to my oldest...
Anyways,after dad wiffed, the bird came my way and I folded it.....
What happened after will always stick with me..... I was in shock and dad was amazed, but there were no high fives or jumping around...... I calmly (while shaking) walked over and picked up the bird...... my dad took the time to explain to me that I had just taken a life and reiterated the importance of that and reaffirmed that we would eat it......
looking back now, a bacon roasted woodcock breast was little more than something that belongs on the end of a toothpick when split between four people..... but the family sure enjoyed it..... and loved the story as well.....
I owe a lot to dad, but he doesn’t hunt anymore...... he encourages my endeavours, questions me in regards to his version of “ethics”, like running dogs for deer, but he is pretty open to stuff.....
Would give my left nut to hunt with him again.....
