Sharing the Experience
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I’ve reached the age where I get more enjoyment from being with others in the outdoors than going alone — not always, but more often than not.
After I crashed my four-wheeler a few years back, my wife insisted that if I went boating — whether waterfowl hunting or catfishing — I not go alone. I offered some token resistance, but truthfully, I felt a little better with company. She didn’t realize at the time that her insistence would often make her my fishing and hunting partner — and I was glad to have her along. I’m not sure she enjoyed the early morning, cold duck hunts as much as I did.
It goes back to my early roots. I grew up hunting doves on our farm, where opening day was almost a circus — friends of my dad would gather, and we’d sit in lawn chairs, enjoying the fellowship that was only interrupted when a dove flew by too close. It was an amazing way to kick off the fall hunting season. That part hasn’t changed. Even after 60 years, the fellowship remains one of the best parts of the experience.
Each fall, we make a waterfowl trip to South Dakota. The group size varies depending on work and school schedules. Don’t get me wrong — the hunting is a major part of it. Some years, we take more ducks up north than we’ll see the rest of the season back home. But we get just as much enjoyment from camp life and the good-natured ribbing. There’s something special about sharing a marsh with good friends, watching ducks work your decoys, or seeing a feisty 50-pound Springer Spaniel do his thing retrieving.
I’ve hunted ducks alone more times than I can count and no doubt will again. But this year brought great news: a good friend is retiring, and we’re already talking about more hunting and fishing together. Duck blinds are made for the social side of waterfowling, especially for us older hunters.
This spring, I spent some great days watching for snow geese. The conversation ranged from religion and salvation to making good chili. Just imagine what I would have missed had I been sitting alone in the blind.
Sure, there are hunts where solo is better — maybe in a bow stand or sitting under a tree, picking off squirrels feeding on the mast crop — but that’s the exception. I no longer care much if I get a deer during firearms season. Don’t get me wrong — I still enjoy packing a rifle and sitting in the stand and will keep doing it as long as I can. But these days, I’d rather sit with my grandson, watching for deer while sipping hot tea. I can only imagine what it would have meant to me to hunt with my grandparents or even just one more time with my dad. Hopefully, long after I’m gone, my grandson will remember these moments fondly.
We were unsuccessful during the youth turkey season last weekend, but I was thrilled to learn he can join me for the opening morning of the regular season. Part of my excitement, I must admit, was having help with the gear — pop-up blind, folding chairs, decoys, and shotguns. A stout 13-year-old will be more than welcome.
Catfishing on the river is certainly easier with two in the boat than one. When anchored cross-current, it helps to have someone toss the bow anchor while I handle the stern. Late this winter, we had a great time fishing for bluegill and enjoying fellowship. But I doubt I’ll ever go ice fishing alone — unless it’s on my backyard pond. Too many things can go wrong on the ice, and being alone only increases the risk.
Beyond safety or convenience — like loading a deer into the truck — sharing hunting experiences is priceless.
On our living room wall hang two wildebeests. One is a golden wildebeest my wife took in South Africa. I stood behind her as her professional hunter whispered when to take the shot. The animal was facing her, and they waited for it to turn broadside. It let out a strange snort-huff mix a few times. Eventually, the PH whispered, “You must take the shot. Although we don’t like front-on shots, I have faith in you. Aim just below the beard — see that weed in front of its chest? Aim at the top of that weed.”
I often think about that moment when I look at the mount.
The black wildebeest beside it is mine. We had been tracking a bachelor group through brush for nearly half a mile. Three bulls veered off to my right, and when two emerged, our PH stopped them at just over 100 yards. I took the shot. Animals in Africa are tough — the bull ran another hundred yards before slowing down. My wife gave me a play-by-play through the binoculars: “He’s slowing… now standing… he laid down… he’s back up… now down for good!”
That trip brought African sunsets, mountain vistas, and floating down rivers in search of game — all unforgettable. But those two wildebeests on our wall represent more than trophies. They are reminders of a shared adventure and a memory that will outlive us both.
And while it was special, being able to share it made it better.
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