By Tom Jones

It was a cold Saturday in January as my son, Brent, and I were hunting whitetail deer. The frost was thick, resembling a light snow, and the temperature hovered around the freezing point. I was quite comfortable, however, Brent couldn't seem to sit still for any appreciable length of time. That didn't bother me, though, for you see he was only five years old at the time.

"Five?" You say. Yes, Five. My goal was not so much to hunt deer, as it was to begin what has developed into a lifetime of exciting adventures with my son. Some of my fondest memories are of outdoor adventures shared with my father. I wanted to continue the tradition.

Earlier, when I had asked my wife, Gini, about the possibility of obtaining her blessing as I would take Brent hunting she said, "this is my, "Baby," we're talking about ... if you will cover him in hunter orange I'll go along with it!" And "go along with it" she has through these many years.
Brent and I have grown up in the woods. She and our twin girls have been very supportive of our adventures and the time spent pursuing them. ... back to the hunt.

As "our" attention span was somewhat short, I decided to go back to the jeep and put away the deer rifle and get out the .22 rifle. We would kick some brush piles in hopes of jumping rabbits. As this allowed movement, Brent seemed to enjoy it more. As we were kicking the piles, ready to chase "Brer Rabbit" with a barrage of .22 pills, we heard a lone hound in the distance. From the sound it seemed that he was chasing something in our direction.
I cautioned Brent to crouch down near the brush and wait with me to see what was about to happen. From the far corner of the field we saw movement, which took the form of a huge 10-point whitetail buck. It was running straight toward us and to this day, I can close my eyes and see him as if in slow motion. I drew my heavy caliber handgun and waited. I couldn't help myself so I whispered to Brent, "Isn't he beautiful?"
The tall sage grass obscured Brent's view, so when I whispered he immediately stood up to get a better look. Of course "Mr. Bigfoot" decided to get out of Dodge in a hurry! My instincts allowed me to raise the handgun and fire. When I was able to recover from the muzzle blast I realized that the deer had outrun my bullet I'm sure that I did not have Buck Fever! HA!

It has been 19 years since "Big Foot" came into our lives, but we both still tell the story with great enthusiasm as though it happened yesterday. That's the way it is with our journey through life. We are making memories all the time, whether they are good or bad. It is so important to be sure that the memories that we make are worthy of recalling. It has been my privilege to be able to have a son who shares my desires and extracurricular activities.
Through the years I have had several men tell me after observing Brent in a hunting environment that they felt much safer hunting with him than they did hunting with many of their peers. I am also reminded of a sign that I saw at Mark's Outdoor Sports, which read, "If you take your son hunting, you will not have to hunt for your son."

We have hunted all manner of game including from squirrel, rabbit, raccoon, dove, quail, duck, pheasant, turkey, coyote, and deer. There are many other species that we plan to hunt. Through the years we have made a pact that no matter how busy either of us become, we will always make time for our outdoor adventures.
Even when Brent was in college he would often drive halfway across the state to meet me at our hunting club for a fantastic weekend. He graduated two years ago and has been very busy establishing a career. Our time for outdoor jaunts is not as frequent as it used to be, however, I think that we both work hard to make the quality even better.

For instance, last week we were at our hunting lease in Suttle chasing wild turkey. I'd like to explain what I mean by "chasing." We had been up for an hour and it was still only 5:00 a.m. I had encountered two separate gobblers in the same general area the week before and I was excited at the possibility of helping to direct Brent to one of them this morning. I owled and Mr. Tom gobbled. Our eyes widened at the same time and without any verbal communication we struck out for "parts unknown."
We were the only members present this morning so we knew that as long as we stayed within the geographic confines of our signed-out area we would be safe chasing this gobbler. We had traversed the woods for close to 300 yards when we stopped. I owled again and Mr. Tom replied.
He still sounded far away. I continued in the lead and as we rounded a curve in the old logging road something made me stop. To my horror, I heard the frantic beating of turkey wings as a hen flew out of the closest tree. I should have stopped right there, realizing that the gobbler would not be far away.
Sound is deceiving, especially if a turkey is facing away when he gobbles.

Being the father and thinking that I knew best I pressed on even though Brent gave me a questioning look. A few more steps and I realized why he had looked at me that way. I once again heard the massive beating of turkey wings as the gobbler we had been chasing and two more hens left their perch. If I could have found a hole big enough I would have crawled into it. Brent displayed his usual good nature by trying to help me recover and not feel so badly. We just sat down and waited for the woods to calm down.

Thirty minutes later we were on a different logging road about 50 yards away from the "crash site." Brent saw movement out of the corner of his eye, which proved to be the gobbler. He was milling around in the road about 80 yards away. When Brent saw the bird he told me to freeze. When the turkey moved to the side of the road we slid off into the brush and set up for the call. We called passively and aggressively and nothing seemed to work. I was calling and Brent was sitting at the edge of the road watching the turkey.
The old gobbler would move from side to side but he would not come in. We heard a hen to our right and it gave Brent an idea. He whispered to me that he was going to make a big circle to the right and then approach the turkey from the other side. I was to continue to call.

I could not see down the road from my position but I was not about to move and risk running the bird off again. I softly clucked and waited ... clucked and waited ... continuing probably 20 minutes until I heard another soft cluck, and then there was silence. Minutes passed as I strained to hear. Then the woods seemed to explode as a maximum payload of No. 5's left Brent's Browning Gold 12 gauge. I could hardly breathe until finally I heard an excited and out-of-breath voice come across the radio, "I got him. He's on the ground. Come on! "

Two and one half hours after we heard the first gobble Brent had claimed this bird, and he had devised and executed the plan himself. I did not do it for him. In many ways he has surpassed me in outdoor skills and I find that although sometimes I am still the teacher, many times I am the student. As a father and friend, I don't think I could be any happier. Life is full of give-and-take as well as teach-and-learn. I have told Brent on several occasions that one of my greatest desires is that God will one day allow him to have these same joys.
Yesterday was my birthday and as it is our custom, I wanted as many family members as could to assemble at one of our nice local restaurants for a meal and a great time. I encouraged everyone to order anything that they wanted for this was to be a festive family occasion. After about 90 minutes of great conversation and fellowship it was time to pay the bill. I knew that it would be expensive, but I didn't care ... this was what I wanted for my family on my birthday. Brent handed me a card which read something like this: I want to give you something that means the most to you ‹ time with your family. Dinner is on me. Happy Birthday!

I think that I will pick up the phone and call him and see if he has any ideas on what we can plan for our next outdoor adventure! Hello, Brent, it's Dad.