Thrill of hunt changes with age

opinions

December 21, 2013 - 12:00 AM

Deer hunting has changed — at least for me.
For more years than I can remember, I’ve taken off the first two weeks of December to hunt.
With the explosion of the whitetail population 40-odd years ago, it doesn’t take much hunting to find a deer. At dawn and dusk they pop up like the proverbial mushrooms on a warm, humid night.
However, nowadays it’s hard for me to find one that piques my interest. In the past five or six years I’ve harvested — to be politically correct with the process — just one buck.
He wasn’t a particularly outstanding representative. Rather one that had, in a friend’s words, “an ugly old rack,” which prompted me to think he should be removed from the gene pool.
Last year, just ahead of hip replacement surgery, I went out few times and was determined this year to make up for my tardiness.
Then, when deer season arrived, the weather turned frigid. There was a time when cold weather had little effect on me. But now, at age 70, I’m not so hardy, even when I’m bundled up to the point that I don’t dare fall down for fear of not being able to get back up.
Wife Beverly and I spent opening day in a small cabin on son Bob’s farm north of Chanute. It has electricity — a small heater helped — and sliding glass windows. Consequently, we weren’t too uncomfortable.
A fair buck materialized at about 4:30 and spent the next 20 minutes nudging corn kernels from a feeder. I let him go, figuring a better one would be along. The next few days passed in much the same fashion, does and small bucks, along with a bobcat and a couple of coyotes.
Late last week, with the season drawing to a close, I got a little more serious. Friday evening I took grandson Noah to a camouflaged tent near a feeding spot and retreated to the comfort of the cabin.
At 5 o’clock I got a text — the Internet is everywhere — from Noah that two little bucks were nearby. Five minutes later my cell phone vibrated. The message: “I shot one, Papa.”
Off I went and when I arrived, Noah was standing beside a mighty fine  buck — 18-inch spread and tall tines on a robust body. A real trophy.
Truth be known, his excitement was more pleasing for me than any buck I could have encountered.
— Bob Johnson

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