Nov. 2007 - Volume 68, Issue 11
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Grandpa’s Ten Pointer continued...
My grandpa, who I am proudly named after, was 91 and had been in failing health for some time. We made the trip to Iowa that past Thanksgiving to say our final good-byes. I wanted him to see both of his great-grandchildren, the oldest of which is also named after him. I knew then it would be the last time we’d see him down here.
I had tried to prepare for this moment because we knew it was coming. But it’s still a shock when it finally happens. I consoled Mom as best I could, and we discussed the funeral arrangements.
“Wednesday afternoon,” she said. I told her we’d be up Monday. Thankfully, I was surrounded by a supportive family. Most everyone on my dad’s side knew and loved Grandpa, and they mourned his loss along with me.
By Sunday morning, New Year’s Day, the initial shock of Grandpa’s passing had worn off, and we continued to enjoy time together with our families. Everyone else was heading back home that day, so we said our goodbyes and Katie and I started packing for our trip to Iowa.
I then remembered leaving my stand in the woods. I wanted to retrieve it before we left, so I decided to hunt from it one last afternoon and bring it in after dark. A quiet evening in the woods was just what I needed anyway—a chance to reflect and enjoy the solitude after an emotional weekend.
As I drove to the cattle gate where I enter the farm, I noticed a beer bottle in the road. For a second, I debated whether or not to mess with it. I preach in my hunter education classes about leaving your hunting ground in better shape than you found it, and Grandpa always taught me that actions speak louder than words. So I tossed the empty bottle into the back of my truck and continued toward my stand.
By midafternoon, I was safely strapped in my tree and ready to enjoy the hunt. The weather was calm and the woods were unusually quiet.
After about an hour, movement from the side caught my eye. I looked back and glimpsed another buck moving through the tall grass. He was in the same area where my big 10-pointer came from.
As I peered through my binoculars, I was thinking, “There’s no way it’s him. That brute has got to be in the next county by now.” But sure enough, there were four points on his left side, six on the right. It was him. And he was coming down the trail right to me!
After an excruciating 10 minutes, he finally worked to within 20 yards and was walking past a giant sycamore tree. As soon as his head disappeared, I drew my bow. In the quiet calm of the woods, the friction of the arrow sliding against the rest made just the slightest noise. Unfortunately, it was enough to stop him in his tracks.
About This Article
Author
Randy Doman is the conservation agent for Dade County. He enjoys a good old-fashioned hunting story, and he feels blessed to enjoy the natural resources handed down from the previous generation of conservationists. He's also grateful for the privilege to protect them for the next generation.
