Outdoor Devotion: Trophy

Hang around in outdoor circles very long and you’ll hear certain words and phrases. One word that is used to the point of being overdone is “trophy.” Enthusiasts such as ourselves spend a lot of time and energy pursuing trophy bucks, fishing on trophy streams, etc. When I first started my sporting escapades I too was after the heaviest creel, the largest buck, the tom with the longest beard and spurs and other outdoor trophies.
Ironically a trophy, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. On a recent, Alabama turkey hunt with my eldest son, Si, I realized that over the years my definition of “trophy” has changed.
Although we didn’t harvest a bird, or even hear one gobble for that matter, here are some true trophies I took on that hunt:

• The wonder in his eyes as he watched a yearling doe munch rye fifty yards from our blind, oblivious to our presence.
• The sound of his raucous laughter as we drove just a little too fast on the four-wheeler.
• The ecstatic joy on his face as Mr. LC taught him how to drive the Kubota.
• The groggy stupor as he struggled to get out of a comfortable bed way before the sun got out of his.
• His sweaty, end-of-the-day aroma frequently accompanying a little boy that has played hard in the outdoors.
• The sound of him wrestling with his gloves and facemask, snapping limbs of a pine tree, wiggling in the leaves, whispering silly questions and chewing a crisp apple as I strained to hear the morning’s first gobble.
• The mischief in his eyes as he tried to sneak snacks out of my turkey vest.
• The ravenous way he attacked his egg sandwich, apple, poptarts and powdered sugar doughnuts for breakfast.
• The sweet, innocent tone to this voice when he ask, “Daddy can I hold you hand?” as we walked out of the woods after dusk.
• His sincerity and the strength of his hug as he said “Thank you Daddy . I had a great time with you.”

Recently a friend told me the story of two cousins. The eldest brother had a little boy and wanted to start taking him along on his outdoor adventures. The youngest pitched a fit, stating the boy would make too much noise, get tired too quickly, and would make a general nuisance of himself. Several years later, the youngest cousin wanted to take his son along to hunting camp. Long forgotten were the words he had spoken to his brother regarding kids in the outdoors. Apparently having a child of his own changed his perspective. Funny, having children has changed mine also!
God has trophies as well. He doesn’t have taxidermy hanging from the walls of His home but Heaven is full and will be full of things He treasures. Just thinking about the things He created: mountainous splendor, meandering rivers, creatures in all shapes and sizes, starry skies, majestic sunrises, etc, etc. etc. you know that God enjoys beautiful trophies. However, what He prizes most in this world is YOU! He passionately pursues people because having a relationship brings Him (and us) true joy. This pursuit has cost Him more than we can ever imagine. But the Lord was willing to give up the best that He had for us, His trophy.

For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16

1.26.08 Forsyth County Waterfowl Hunt - The Last Hoorah

Having work assignments most of the day on Saturday, I hoped to squeek out a last-minute waterfowl hunt before the close of the season. Mark and his son Bailey had hunted this pond in the morning seeing plenty of mallards, some mergansers and a flock of geese. They were unable to get a shot but were confident that would change in the afternoon.

I rushed home from the office, picked up my oldest boy Si (it was his turn on the rotation), grabbed a bunch of gear and headed to our rendezvous point. Bailey had other plans so Mark and Mark M. were stationed on a point in a makeshift blind. From afar it looked like they were covered up in geese. As we walked closer it was apparent these were decoys. The set looked great. Surely we'd get a shot a some birds this afternoon.
Mark M was quick to show us a fine, bull mallard he'd taken just prior to our arrival. He could only stay a while longer, he muttered something about a "date night" but at least he'd scored. With his departure we settled into our spots, awaiting what would certainly be a great shoot.
As is common in waterfowling, deer hunting, bass fishing, or any other activity afield, ideal conditions do not necessarily equate with a full cooler. We hunted the rest of the day, having a great time cutting up and fellowshipping with each other, but never saw another bird.

With things so slow a decision was made to break one of the cardinal rules of duck hunting: never pick up the decoys early especially on the final day of the season. We gathered, stacked, and stored several dozen dekes and made our way to our trucks. As we rounded the final curve in the pond and were about to cross the pasture something caught the corner of my eye. Wouldn't you know it, a hooded merganser drake plopped down into the pond and began to preen, completely unaware of two men, a boy standing right out in the open. Unbelievable! Mark quickly loaded up and Si put his ear protection on. I shouted and waved my arms frantically and when the hoodie jumped he made an arc and rather than flying away from us, veered right over us. Mark made a beautiful second shot and the duck plummeted into the chilly waters. Ike rocketed off the bank, swam a beeline right for the drake and had it retrieved and in Mark's awaiting hand in short order. What a beautiful bird. And what a great way to end the hunt and the season.

1.17.08 "Snow" Goose Hunt

Ever had something just "felt right"? A favorite pair of boots, the smell of the air right after a rain shower, a well worn recliner, or maybe breakfast at your grandma's house. This morning was one of those moments. Daylight found Mark, his dog, Ike, and me sitting along the bank of a local farm pond. We'd thrown out just four mallard decoys and were waiting on the shoreline for some geese or quite possibly some ducks to show up. Two pair of long johns, sock liners and wool knee highs, a pair of goretex bibs, a waterproof parka, a wool shooter's sweater, warm gloves and a thick toboggan made sitting on the bank pretty comfortable. Wind-forced waves caused the decoys to dance perfectly. And, in spite of sleet bouncing of the back of my neck, all was right with the world. This was what duck hunting weather was supposed to be like.

Water the color of liquid lead.

Steely clouds camouflaged the sunrise.

The air smelled of cold, damp and faintly of a fire from a distant chimney.

Frozen rain hitting the pond, icey branches creaking inthe wind, crows arguing with one another and an occasional car traveling very carefully down an adjacent roadway.

Just after sunrise a small group of mallards dropped into middle of the pond. They came from nowhere and were in the water before I spotted them. I asked Mark, "Hey man, what was that noise?" and looked over to see him staring at something, left hand tightening on his Benelli, right hand reaching for one of the calls hanging from his neck. Ike was staring in the same direction, quiet and still except for the involuntary spasms of excitement ranging through his body. Following their gaze past our four faux ducks I saw three larger-than-life ducks swimming eighty yards from our location. The hen was fussing mightily at the other two for the error of their ways. Mark tried to lure them within range but like phantoms they were gone as quickly as they came.

An hour later sounds of geese in flight filtered across the farmland. They were coming our way so we hunkered down and anticipated their arrival. Sure enough a large flock, over thirty birds, was coming right to us unfortunately they veered to our right, circled around a stand of hardwoods and landed in a hayfield a hundred yards behind us. Lickity-split Mark was up, "I'm going after them. Maybe I can sneak up on 'em." We mapped out our plan and put it into action. Mark would try to sneak to the right while Ike and I would stake a spot to the left on the edge of a small clump of trees. Hopefully he would get within gun range and upon shooting would spook the now feeding geese toward our ambush.

Ike whined as we waited. It seemed like an eternity but in reality only ten minutes pasted until I heard the alarm call of one of the flock's sentries followed by the raucous cries of geese on the move. However, even as the geese flew away there were no shots. Just then, two more geese flew into view and they were coming right at Ike and I. Just as I was about to shoulder my gun, a three simulataneous booms rang out and the lead goose dropped to the ground. The other kept flying and when it came within range I attempted to draw a bead on it's outstretched neck. Little did I know that my sling had become wrapped around my parka preventing me from shooting. Eventually, after getting untangeled I raised my twelve's barrel but it was too late.

I released Ike who took off after the canada while Mark walked up grinning from ear to ear.

Not exactly the hunt we had in mind but a great time nonetheless. I can't wait for our next winter storm.

12.22.07 Davidson County Waterfowl Hunt

Mark W. and I decided to give the ducks another shot. I ended up using my Nikon more than my Benelli. Mark was able to double up on a pair of mallards but I wasn't quick enough to get it on film. Luckily I got plenty of other photos (ended up with over 150 pictures).

Who says you have to kill something to have a great hunt? Of course you can't eat pictures....

12.15.07 Davidson County Duck "Hunt"

3:30am Back in college 3:30 was a "late night". This morning it was time to get up. The third split of the North Carolina waterfowl season began today so it was up and at 'em way before the crack of dawn.
4:25am I meet MarkW, MarkM, Keith and Ken at Ken's house and lump my two bags and floating gun case in Mark's already stuffed Suburban. Funny how awake you can be as you cut up and reminisce with good friends. I hope a tightened the lid down on the thermos. Hot chocolate does very little for hunting garb or shotgun shells.
5:15am Only two other vehicles at the public ramp. That's either a good sign or a bad one. 40 degrees but 15 mph winds make it seem a lot colder.
5:30am Blind preparation and decoy presentation
6:00am The wait begins. Someone was supposed to bring provisions to make breakfast. This would have been a great time for that if only...
6:45am Time to load the guns and pull down the face masks. Legal shooting begins in 10 minutes and with weather surely ducks will pour into the setup momentarily.
6:55am Nothing
7:30am Nothing. Time for some hot chocolate.
8:00am Nothing. Time for some snacks.
8:30am Nothing. Ike (MarkW's lab) wants to play fetch. Search begins for the retreiving dummy. Some hot breakfast would be nice...
8:45am Nothing. Ike tires of playing. Licks hot chocolate off thermos.
9:00am Another flock of commorants skim the decoys. Sea gulls are flying really good today.
9:15am Nothing. Keith find an old soccer ball lying by the blind. Soccer game ensues.
9:20am Nothing. It's hard to play soccer with waders on.
9:30am Nothing. Time to go. They're still serving breakfast at the diner.
9:35am Just finish picking up decoys and some mallards fly right over the boat.
10:00am Boat loaded, suburban repacked. Five "hunters" head to breakfast, empty-handed but happy.

A motley crew of camo clad warriors await the arrival of some ducks.

Snack Time! Vienna Sausages (correctly pronounced Vy-ee-na) and granola bars make an excellent gastrological experiment.

Ike launches with reckless abandon to fetch a retrieval dummy.