Stories from Hunter Ed

[Frequently Banned Troll]

I've been to a hunters ed as a tag along friend/parent numerous times in MT, then to the Kingman AZ class for the lifetime bonus point. Lots of great volunteers doing this for the kids.

However, by far and away the most memorable experience from one of these sessions was in Livingston MT, a dozen or so years back - the "bowhunter's ed" class my son attended.

There was this instructor - a woman that was roughly 5'6" and a deuce and a half and appeared to have popped right in from a weeklong bender at the Vista View trailer park. She was wearing a thankfully loose fitting (probably a XXXL) T-shirt with print on the front "Double Ds - Comin' at ya!" Craziest thing I've ever seen. I don't remember a damn thing about what anybody said during that course other than her instructing the future young bowhunters to not fill up with gas on the way to the tree stand.

 

[thomas89]

I was 11 when I found a Hunters Safety course I wanted to take with a buddy of mine, and after scraping together the $10 course fee, I was disheartened to find out he was a few months too young, but his older brother was old enough to take it with me. His dad was fighting esophageal cancer at the time, so after getting the green light from my folks to be our chauffeur's, it mostly fell on my parents to take us to and from classes.

For a kid that disliked elementary school, I sure loved Hunters Safety. Some of the highlights I remember were shooting clays with an Ithaca SKB 20 guage my dad sent me with, shooting an M1 Garand at the field day, and following a "blood trail" as part of the final test. I was dinged for not "checking" the shot out 3D deer target was actually dead at the end of the blood trail. Wouldn't you know it, I've dilligently checked every single animal I've shot ever since, remembering that instructors voice coming out of the weeds, "ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS make sure they're dead." His dad felt good enough between treatments to pick us up on that last field day after graduating, and took us a to a local root beer stand for a celebratory mug of root beer.

That fall was my first season carrying a gun, my dad had a gunsmith install a youth stock on his old 870 Wingmaster. He preached at me to always shuck the chambered round out and leave the action open when we'd stop for a break or lunch. It was one of these times I shucked the 12 ga Brenneke out, set the shotgun against the bench, leaned down to grab the shell, and as I looked up, wouldn't you know it, a year and a half old doe was standing there staring at us at 20 yards. I managed to whisper/yell "there's a f@$%&*( deer standing right behind us, Dad!", and in one motion he drew his Ruger Redhawk .44 magnum, twisted to rest on the bench, and (after a bit of a struggle finding the deer) dropped that doe just like that. I know he got a bit of a an earful from my mom about why did he shoot the deer and not me, but I couldn't have cared less, it's always been a team effort hunting together.

I was quite content with my first season toting a gun, but quickly was green with envy when my buddy's brother told me he'd filled his free doe permit given to all graduates of Hunters Safety. I can still see that polaroid, that tiny little doe and my buddy's brother standing there with his very sick dad. Unfortunately it took his dad's passing that spring to remind me it wasn't ever about the deer and I've always felt a little sting thinking back to how jealous I was of that little deer.

Dusty in here boys, thanks for the memories.