Small Kids and Hunting
Wednesday, April 15, was opening day of spring turkey hunting season here in Paradise. Sometime that morning, I caught an email from one of my local heroes, Aaron Kuntz. Aaron and four-and-a-half-year-old Sophia had gone turkey hunting.
His story took me on a rich journey through a huge jumble of memories. Wandering through those early moments, watching again the discoveries of those who became the best hunting and fishing and outdoor partners a guy can have, was at once joyful, funny and deeply poignant.
As you know, I have been in on the rearing of a big handful of Hucklings. Today, they are scattered across the West making their lives work; some rearing their own outdoor partners. Still, those very early times afield – those times they absorbed our traditions and patience and their place with the earth and safety in all aspects of being outdoors – are as fresh as yesterday.
As my now-adults learned to hunt, they seemed always about to bolt for the outdoors. I still remember my own yearning for balance between indoors and the earth and the wild – how The Old Man would look at me and say something like, “For cryin’ out loud, will you at least pretend you don’t mind being inside for a while?” I have always liked that look on a kid.
Tim was fascinated with dirt and bugs and birds and electronics, about the time programmable calculators hit the market. It was touch and go for a while there, but he grew into a fine outdoor loving techno-guy. He started deer hunting at 14, the legal age to do so in Colorado. That first year, deer after deer slipped out in front of him, while he examined “a lot of fresh tracks.” Undaunted by the ribbing he took, he just said, “Wait’ll you see the buck I get next year.”
That second year, he persisted through our Southwest Colorado host’s insistence that there weren’t any really big bucks around. Opening day found us a few hundred yards apart in patches of pinion-juniper woods. I followed a set of shots that sounded like his little 6mm, and found Tim standing over the biggest buck I’d seen in a couple decades. I helped him get it dressed, erasing the six-foot-high question mark hanging over his head as I walked up.
Daughters Michelle and Nicole always loved our family’s annual antelope hunt to Wyoming. Starting at about age six or seven, they made a point of taking eyeballs or brains or some other piece of one or more antelope to their science teachers – a sort of bribe for waiving a few days of absence. Nicole loved the stalks and the outdoor life, but passed on hunting. Michelle couldn’t wait for her first antelope hunt.
By Noon, we’d made several long stalks to no avail. At the “shining” time, as the sun was setting and the white fannies of the antelope shone brilliant in the last rays, we found several antelope over a hill. I’ve never seen anyone so focused on a stalk or a quarry as Michelle.
In Zen it is said that, when Spirit and Physical are in balance, the bow will release the arrow itself. I believe the same to be true of a rifle. After an interminable silence, her rifle spoke. I hugged her, and said, “Great shot!” She sat up, looking back and forth between the antelope and me a couple times, and asked, “Did the rifle fire?”
Anna and Tena loved the hunting trips, but ate up the fishing and camping. Any fishing trip ends with them counting more and bigger. Tena and hunting hubby Chris are rearing world class outdoor kids.
Edward, Last of the Hucklings, was 18 months old when I took him on his first duck hunt. We were somewhere down along the Arkansas River in southern Colorado with Brad Johnson. Brad was editor of the Douglas County News Press, and the guy who got me started writing these weekly versions of my reality – sometime in 1988. Anyhow, the kid had a full, if tiny, camo outfit and was perched where he could look over our shoulders as birds came into our decoy setup. He would hoarsely whisper “Biwd.. Biwd!” or “Dack!” or “Qwak!” as mallards swept in. He laughed at good shooting and would frown at every miss. I was convinced then, as I am now, that he had been there and seen all that in some earlier time. Be that as it may, I still smile at memories of that day. And I would give most anything I own to have that day – or any of hundreds with one or another of my small Hucklings – again.
Here’s Aaron’s story – that turkey morning email.
“Sophia and I ventured into the woods this morning at about 4:45 AM and found ourselves surrounded by gobbling turkeys as the sun began to rise. By 5:45 we had three gobblers zeroing in on us from three different directions. By 6:00 AM Sophia heard footsteps just over the edge of the bench in front of us, she said ‘dad I hear something walking’ and before I could say anything the turkey let out an ear ringing gobble just out of sight at about 50 yards away. Just then I could see his head floating through the trees as he worked directly at us in full strut. I told Sophia to tell me when she could see him. I watched him work his way in to about 20 yards when Sophia whispered ‘I see him dad…shoot him!’ …be sure to ask Sophia to tell you her first hunting story next time you see her.”
