My Dad, My Hero
It was a typical day at grandma's house some 20 years ago; playing in the dirt and gravel, throwing pine cones down the abandoned railroad tracks, catching snakes in the barn, things a normal 5 year old boy does in Southeastern Ohio. I was a pretty outdoorsy kid long before I bow hunted. But something clicked; something was different about that day my dad showed up to pick me up from my Grandma Barb and Papaw Frank's house with a recurve bow in his hand, sized to fit me.
With simple fiberglass limbs with a green finish, a tan finished grip, and black string, it wasn't much to look at but it did the job. Up until this point I'd only shot a small cheap-o recurve that shot arrows with suction cups as points. So when dad came strolling down the walk with that green beauty in his hands it was history in the making. My eyes lit up like the 4th of July and I've loved archery and bowhunting ever since.
>>>=========>
This was the first true memory I have with my father, Joe, in relation to archery and hunting. But from that day forth... the rest was history. When it came to the outdoors we did everything together. We shot bows together; we held little private archery competitions in the backyard shooting arrow-for-arrow lots of times (I'm sure he was missing the mark on purpose to let me compete.) He would take me turkey hunting so I could hear and feel the rumble of a longbeard's gobble on early spring mornings; although I'm pretty positive I either fell asleep or got too cold before they pitched down each time. He was always bringing home giant bucks he'd harvested in the fall to show me and teach me before I grew old enough to hunt them myself.
Dad never pressured me into hunting or the outdoors. He gave me opportunities to try them and experience them for myself, but always gave me the choice if I didn't want to. This might seem strange since he has been bowhunting with a recurve for 40 plus years and been an avid outdoorsman his entire life. I feel he never wanted to burn me out on it and he wanted it to be my choice, not his. Well as his luck would have it, I fell in love with bowhunting and the outdoors right from the start. Once I grew to a ripe enough age to bow hunt for myself, dad put me in the position to succeed. And succeed I did.
With simple fiberglass limbs with a green finish, a tan finished grip, and black string, it wasn't much to look at but it did the job. Up until this point I'd only shot a small cheap-o recurve that shot arrows with suction cups as points. So when dad came strolling down the walk with that green beauty in his hands it was history in the making. My eyes lit up like the 4th of July and I've loved archery and bowhunting ever since.
>>>=========>
This was the first true memory I have with my father, Joe, in relation to archery and hunting. But from that day forth... the rest was history. When it came to the outdoors we did everything together. We shot bows together; we held little private archery competitions in the backyard shooting arrow-for-arrow lots of times (I'm sure he was missing the mark on purpose to let me compete.) He would take me turkey hunting so I could hear and feel the rumble of a longbeard's gobble on early spring mornings; although I'm pretty positive I either fell asleep or got too cold before they pitched down each time. He was always bringing home giant bucks he'd harvested in the fall to show me and teach me before I grew old enough to hunt them myself.
Dad never pressured me into hunting or the outdoors. He gave me opportunities to try them and experience them for myself, but always gave me the choice if I didn't want to. This might seem strange since he has been bowhunting with a recurve for 40 plus years and been an avid outdoorsman his entire life. I feel he never wanted to burn me out on it and he wanted it to be my choice, not his. Well as his luck would have it, I fell in love with bowhunting and the outdoors right from the start. Once I grew to a ripe enough age to bow hunt for myself, dad put me in the position to succeed. And succeed I did.
By age 15 I was consistently shooting big, mature deer and I'm still not sure who was more excited, myself or him. The look on his face was always priceless and made me feel good inside each time we'd walk up on another buck after trailing him through the woods. His expression always let me know I'd done good, and made him proud. That in itself was just as if not more rewarding than the feat itself of harvesting the animal. As we continued to hunt together, I continued to shoot bigger and more mature deer to the point where dad would rather see me with a buck in the bed of my truck as opposed to his.
Turkey season was no different besides we'd actually hunt in the same blind together most of the time as opposed to separate stands like deer. Turkey hunting was a time to goof off and have fun. We've never taken turkey hunting as serious, but still always harvested birds on a consistent basis. The best parts were just passing time waiting on the birds and laughing and making jokes within the blind's four walls.
But it wasn't just whitetails and turkeys we loved to bond over. At age 16 I got to embark on my first ever hunting trip out-of-state with my father. We took a road trip to Steamboat Springs, Colorado to chase Rocky Mountain Elk with our bows along side my dad's two brothers. It was an experience I'll never forget and always thank my dad for taking me on. It is still hands down the best hunting trip I've ever been on. The day before my uncle would down his respectable 5x5 public land bull, I had a bull at 10 yards, bugling in my face. I can remember holding my bow at full draw for what seemed like 2 hours but was probably only 2 minutes as I shook so bad the spruce tree I was leaning against was shaking too. Dad cow called 100 yards behind me as the bull stared at me before passing in my shooting lane where my arrow clipped a branch before hitting its mark. The bull was hit in the shoulder but not fatally. He walked away only with a sore shoulder. It devastated me I couldn't seal the deal but it was still an amazing moment that I will never forget.
Since then we've went on countless hunting trips from Wyoming chasing after pronghorn, Quebec for black bear, back to Colorado for pronghorn, and now this fall we're headed to Illinois for a whitetail hunt. Through these experiences and through listening to his words I've become the bowhunter I am today. His knowledge of the woods surpasses so many. We always joke that he knows more than most celebrity hunters you see on TV but it really is true. To fully appreciate what you've accomplished, it takes dedication, hard work, and the willingness to learn about your quarry. Dad always took the time to do that. After 40 plus years of reading, studying, and hunting through trial and error, the man knows how to bow hunt whitetails better than anyone I know. I've just been the fortunate one to be able to learn from the best and soak up the knowledge he has given. Despite learning something new from him each time we enter the woods I'll probably never learn it all from him, but I'm sure trying.
I can't imagine going hunting without my dad. I just hope that one day I can be the dad to my son/daugther that my dad was for me. Dad always says when I punch a tag, and harvest a game animal, whether it be a big buck or a strutting longbeard, "You're my hero." But I hope he knows at least after reading this, "No dad, you're MY hero."
Turkey season was no different besides we'd actually hunt in the same blind together most of the time as opposed to separate stands like deer. Turkey hunting was a time to goof off and have fun. We've never taken turkey hunting as serious, but still always harvested birds on a consistent basis. The best parts were just passing time waiting on the birds and laughing and making jokes within the blind's four walls.
But it wasn't just whitetails and turkeys we loved to bond over. At age 16 I got to embark on my first ever hunting trip out-of-state with my father. We took a road trip to Steamboat Springs, Colorado to chase Rocky Mountain Elk with our bows along side my dad's two brothers. It was an experience I'll never forget and always thank my dad for taking me on. It is still hands down the best hunting trip I've ever been on. The day before my uncle would down his respectable 5x5 public land bull, I had a bull at 10 yards, bugling in my face. I can remember holding my bow at full draw for what seemed like 2 hours but was probably only 2 minutes as I shook so bad the spruce tree I was leaning against was shaking too. Dad cow called 100 yards behind me as the bull stared at me before passing in my shooting lane where my arrow clipped a branch before hitting its mark. The bull was hit in the shoulder but not fatally. He walked away only with a sore shoulder. It devastated me I couldn't seal the deal but it was still an amazing moment that I will never forget.
Since then we've went on countless hunting trips from Wyoming chasing after pronghorn, Quebec for black bear, back to Colorado for pronghorn, and now this fall we're headed to Illinois for a whitetail hunt. Through these experiences and through listening to his words I've become the bowhunter I am today. His knowledge of the woods surpasses so many. We always joke that he knows more than most celebrity hunters you see on TV but it really is true. To fully appreciate what you've accomplished, it takes dedication, hard work, and the willingness to learn about your quarry. Dad always took the time to do that. After 40 plus years of reading, studying, and hunting through trial and error, the man knows how to bow hunt whitetails better than anyone I know. I've just been the fortunate one to be able to learn from the best and soak up the knowledge he has given. Despite learning something new from him each time we enter the woods I'll probably never learn it all from him, but I'm sure trying.
I can't imagine going hunting without my dad. I just hope that one day I can be the dad to my son/daugther that my dad was for me. Dad always says when I punch a tag, and harvest a game animal, whether it be a big buck or a strutting longbeard, "You're my hero." But I hope he knows at least after reading this, "No dad, you're MY hero."
