If I asked she or ye, what’s yer favorite hunting or fishing memory and with whom, would it be a gramma or grampa, mom or dad, son or daughter, brother or sister, a solo adventure perhaps, but we all know one, more than any other, is the tops.
You see it like no other, the moment, the instant, the embrace of gratitude, high fivin’, lung hoot’n and hollering, can you believe it, oh my goodness, and there before the thought of those, is indelibly etched in mental stone, the one memory of an outdoor outing, that far surpasses anything else.
And you can to this day, so clearly recall the air, the weather, your clothes, sunshine, heat, rain, sleet, snow, bugs, moonlight, tripping, aching, or Lord knows what all else, but it’s so ingrained in you.
And this week, a pal stopped by, he said, “I’d like a you and me duck hunt, once more, before you and I, are forever gone.”
I said, “Buddy, we had our days, and they were spectacular, but you know I can’t hunt like that anymore, I have titanium knees, brother I’d love to, but that kinda duck hunt, is no more in my old carcass.”
He then said, “And it almost crushed me, you’re my favorite hunting memory.”
I didn’t know what to say, but I knew what I felt, what a tremendous compliment.
- The Trout Whisperer
