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Ever wonder if the time you spend with the kids outdoors has any impact on their overall view on life? My son who is turning 18 in April wrote this story for his english class. It was suppose to be about a life changing or impact moment event. Please note here in Missouri the youth hunt weekend hours are from sun up to sunset. Anyway for your reading pleasure ....................



My Fuel to the Fire

My Dad and I first arrived at Cedar Grove on a pleasant, Friday afternoon. As I stepped out of the car, I became overwhelmed with a culmination of sights. I noticed the old, rusty pop-up camper where I would be sleeping for the weekend and the inviting campfire ring behind it. From there, my eyes were drawn to the right, and the Current River was peacefully flowing a short distance away. Surrounding the campsite itself were a variety of colorful flowers, staggering trees, and massive rock formations suspending from the endless ridges that engulfed the area, all beginning to reemerge with the presence of wildlife as winter had surrendered to spring a few weeks before.
After letting my eyes settle on the scene that lay before me, my Dad and I unpacked our gear and greeted the other people who would be joining in on the trip: in the camper with us were my Dad�s longtime friends Mark and his brother-in-law Chris. Mark owned a piece of land in the country, and my Dad and I had spent countless weekends on his property hunting and fishing since I was a toddler. Therefore, having him on any outing was always exciting for me. Chris, who I had also known for several years, was standing next to the fire stirring an enormous pot of chili that would be served as dinner later that evening. Soon after, Chris introduced my Dad and I to his friend Mike and his son John, who had brought along his buddy from college, Andrew. I soon realized that I was going to be the only �kid� in attendance, however, I was not going to let an age difference impede my enjoyment of the exciting events that were to come throughout the next couple of days.
The night proceeded to carry on as as most camping trips do. The seven of us overindulged in Chris�s delicious homemade chili, much to the regret of our stomachs a few hours later. Following dinner, I sat around the campfire listening to my Dad�s unforgettable stories about him and Mark from back in their younger days. Then I observed the group as they took part in the bibulous actions and smoking habits that are associated with most older men and their �weekend getaways.� I had wanted to take part in the fun, but sooner than later the moon rose too high in the night sky and my eyelids grew heavy. So I let the group be and headed back to the camper in order to rest for the long day ahead. At the moment it had seemed as if this would just be a typical weekend in the outdoors fishing, building campfires, and spending time with the guys, but little did I know that the following day would result in a life changing revelation for me.
The sun peeked over the horizon and my slumber grew faint. Upon morning�s arrival, I was presented with a mouth-watering breakfast of cheesy scrambled eggs, golden potatoes, and thick, juicy sausage links, the perfect way to begin any trip. Following the meal, my Dad and I gathered up our fishing equipment and loaded it, along with all the other essentials we would need for the float, into our canoe. The next several hours resulted in a blur of excitement for me as I caught several trout from the crystal clear waters; visited the historical Welsh Springs, a natural, freshwater spring that was believed to have magical, therapeutic powers; and took respite by sitting on the shore eating lunch while the sun�s rejuvenating rays glanced upon my skin. The opportunity to get away from the chaotic and distracting life that urban-civilization bestows on the world and enjoy the tranquility and blissfulness of mother nature were what made times like these worth it. I thought the day could not possibly become any more exhilarating, but the true highlight of the weekend came in the series of events that followed.
Trout fishing and eating like kings were not the only activities planned for the trip. That weekend also brought along with it the annual youth turkey hunt, and, fortunately for me, my sixteenth birthday was still three days away, making me an eligible participant. Immediately after my Dad and I docked our canoe at the end of the float, we rushed to the car and quickly gathered our hunting gear in order to set out as early as possible before sunset arrived. Once we were ready, my Dad started up the engine, and we began to search for a suitable hunting spot. The road which we took slithered like a snake before us as we passed ridge after ridge and field after field. Although there were numerous sites that my Dad suggested would be fitting, I had had a hunch in my mind, a guiding, inner voice telling me to return to the first hillside we had passed and that fortune would favor me there. Consequently, I informed my Dad of this underlying intuition, and he agreed to my request.
Upon our return to the place where my emotions had guided me, I, carrying my twelve-gauge Beretta shotgun, and my Dad, the wooden box call we would use to draw the turkeys in, began walking on a dirt path to complete our quest. Beads of sweat began oozing from my skin due to the scorching heat, and my legs rapidly grew weak and in need of rest. I had wanted to give up, but once again a unfathomable inkling worked its way into my heart and urged me to keep pushing on. So I pulled my boot straps a little tighter, wiped the glistening sweat off my forehead, re-adjusted the gun sling wrapping around my chest, and continued on the voyage. Sure enough, no more than twenty minutes had gone by before we heard it: the exhilarating chant of a turkey�s gobble. Almost instinctively, we camouflaged ourselves by crouching behind a pile of brush that sat next to the trail. My dad stroked his call with absolute consonance and, in short, those distant cries grew louder and louder and became closer and closer. Only a short time had passed when the turkey finally revealed itself. In full strut the bird pranced on us, drawn to the irresistible lewer of a hen�s mating call that had been generated by my father. My heart beated furiously as the adrenaline kicked in, my grip on the gun grew tighter, and my eyes focused, without any hint of a possible diversion, on the prize that stood ahead. My mind went in a thousand directions in the moments that followed, but what I can recall is a loud bang, a ruffle of feathers, and almost simultaneously, dead silence. My heart had stopped, and before my mind could even ponder, let alone react to the circumstances that had just occurred, there, no more than thirty yards away, lay my first dead turkey.
The bird was a nice sized tom, a full twenty-two pounds with three-quarter inch spurs and a ten inch beard. The reactions on the faces of the others when I showed them my feat were priceless. They all congratulated me with uttermost enthusiasm and excitement, and I was all smiles from then on. The thrill continued to grow when the seven of us treated ourselves to a massive barbeque dinner of New York strip steaks and fluffy baked potatoes with all the fixings. Later on, my father lit the campfire for the night, and we, reflecting on the great times that had been bestowed upon us that warm, sunny day, all came to reside around it.
This night was different than the previous one, however. There was something more which presented itself to me, the sudden realization and understanding of where my place was in life. No longer was I the one who would be sitting back hearing my father tell his stories of the past, but I was now the story teller, giving my account of the hunt from that afternoon. No longer was I the one sitting at the dinner table having the food cooked and brought to me by someone else, but later that week I would be providing a meal for my family with the turkey and trout that I had acquired. And most memorable to me, no longer would I be the one observing the adults celebrate the hard day with an ice cold beer and a sip of whiskey, but this time, as the bottle worked its way around the ring, it was placed in my lap, so that I, too, could reward myself for my accomplishments. I was no longer simply a �boy� anymore, a tag-along on an outing with my Dad and his buddies, but I had ascended to the ranks of a man. Not only did I now belong with the new friends that sat around me, but they accepted me as one of them, treating me as an equal.
In the heat of all the camaraderie, excitement, and stinging sensations of those evil spirits on my tongue, I became aware of the episode occurring in front of me: the roaring fire, the sparks, the smoke, the smoldering embers, all of them representations of the cycle of life that every person endures. In the same way that my father had lit the fire with a burning match in the palm of his hand, all humans, whether by a higher power or some complex biochemical reaction, were ignited into existence by those that came before them. Then the fire that is life itself is nurtured and kindled so that it may grow and prosper. Given enough time, all fires can be fueled enough to survive on their own, no longer in need of a guiding hand. As maturity was slowly settling itself upon me, I, also, would one day no longer need the protection and nourishment provided by my parents. I would need their occasional help from time to time, in the same manner that any campfire needs to be periodically stoked to keep it from going out, but what mattered most was that I would be an adult, in an unwavering battle of hunches and inner feelings that I must trust will lead me to success and prosperity.
Eventually, as all campfires do, the heat and flair they had once provided so vibrantly begins to diminish. I looked over to my father and his companions and understood where their place was in life; they were slowly losing this same liveliness and energy as old age began to set in. And finally, even the greatest and hottest of fires will burn out, and nothing will be left to signify their existence but a pile of ashes. Life�s grip on all of us will one day grow too loose, and we, as well, will return to the ground from which we were first brought forth and become nothing more than a heap of dirt, a glimpse of what used to be.
Luckily for me I was still in the growing stage of the journey. My life had brighter and more fiery days to come, but in the mean time I was stuck in adolescence, trying to imitate the behavior that was portrayed by the generations before me in hopes of gaining their same good fortune. However, I also learned that even adults do not always know which paths to take in life, and that more often than not we must simply follow our own hearts and let our emotions guide us into well-being, in the same manner that I had followed my gut by choosing which location to hunt at earlier that day. The path to adulthood is not an easy one. The trek is full of traffic jams to penetrate, potholes to swerve around, and road blocks to avoid smashing into. What matters most is not if we are able to overcome these obstacles and challenges, but the fact that we give our absolute best in the attempt to conquest them and that we learn from the mistakes we make in the process. As all pleasant things do in life, this camping trip eventually came to an end, but the memories I obtained and the impact the adventure had on my life would last forever.

Man!

I thoroughly enjoyed reading that!

Better written than most hunting magazines!

What an adventure! He totally took me there with him.

Thanks a TON for sharing this...

I would also like to point out, a "SIP" was all he was aloud to take. But it had been well earned!

Very cool Jim!!!!

Bringing up the right way....I love it.

He did an excellent job on that piece and big congrats to him.

Bump because it's just that good

here's the hunter with said bird.

Happy kid!

Beautiful bird.

That is a really cool story! Thanks for sharing!

i should say that he got an "A" on it and is for a college credit class. next fall i'll be down to just one of three in the house as this kid and the older one will be away at college.

You should be a proud Dad, hell of a young man you have there

Great, well written story!

Thank you, and both mom and dad are very proud. He also finished up is Eagle Scout and pulled a 4.25 or better GPA. He's focused on college in the fall but he is really focused on spring break next week and has more than earned the fun he will have down in FL.

BTW he is a real kid and has gotten into his own fair share of trouble but nothing too bad, also he has been smart enough to learn from those mistakes. Me on the other hand while working with him and his two brothers keep getting grayer (has gone white) and more feeble.

Good story.
And yes Time in the woods and on the river definatly helped shape my son.

Great read!

Email that to the NWTF bet it gets printed.

Having made that same float countless times, I simply smiled as I read the story. Thanks for sharing!


X-VERMINATOR

i guess i should have also mentioned that when i shot my very first turkey back in 1983 it too was on a hunt while floating the Current river and was no more than a ridge over from where my son shot his first bird. that float trip was a spur of the moment deal and i didn't even think about the fact that he would be hunting some of the same ridges i did so many years ago.

People often talk about the trophy area above Cedar Grove, I on the other hand, have always loved Cedar Grove to Akers.. Plenty of big trout and lots of birds, albeit rough country. If you know where to look, there is also some damn good deer hunting as well. I found one of the largest sheds I have ever found along that stretch!

Thanks for reviving old memories, I think I'll make the trip again sometime soon!


X-VERMINATOR

my trip back in '83 was from the start of the trophy waters at Montauk just above Baptist Camp and we camped next to Ashley Creek and hunted way back up behind there. i have deer hunted back in there years ago around the same time too and it was hard work. i am always torn between the Current river and the Jacks Fork, two just drop dead gorgeous stretches of water anywhere.