I stood in the dark
timber, my first elk in more years than I can remember lay dead at my feet. I
radio back to camp to let them know to bring the packs my way and check in on
how everyone else has done. “Dad got a bull this morning” says my brother.
“Is it a nice one?”
“Yeah” he answers.
“A wall hanger?”
“Definitely.”
Suddenly I forget my own joy and revel in something
deeper. To understand what I was feeling
at that moment I need to take you back to the beginning. The very beginning.
If you don’t know my dad, your life is dull and dreary.
O.k., maybe it’s not that drastic, but you are missing out on one of the most
amazing men who deserve the title “man”.
My father hasn’t cured cancer or thrown a Super Bowl winning touchdown.
What he has done is everything he can with what he has. He doesn’t have a college education, but he
has the most amazing work ethic and drive of anyone I have ever met. That isn’t
just a fluff statement that everyone says about their dads. My dad has worked
60+ hours nearly every week of his life, and back when he did game season it
was probably closer to 80-90 hours a week for 3 months straight. Forget days
off. Forget weekends. He worked. Even
now at the age of 60 he is putting in over 60 hours a week. And through this he
wasn’t an absentee father. He was there for us anytime we needed him, he was
involved, and he cared. His reward for
all this hard work was one week a year. That week was hunting week. I remember watching every year as the group
loaded up the Jeep with the old canvas tent and kerosene stove and headed out
in the dark the day before the season. Six days later they would come back,
tired and dirty, but always happy. And the stories. It was like they stepped into an alternate
universe detached from the one I lived in, and I couldn’t wait to hear their
fantastical stories. I was in love with hunting before I ever went hunting.
And then I went hunting. It was here I learned the most
amazing life lesson: who you are in your daily life is who you are in the
woods, just more raw, more honest. My
dad’s work ethic didn’t go away at hunting camp, it showed through as the
natural part of him it is. He is the
first one up, cooking breakfast. As soon as an elk is down he is the first one
to get there to start quartering it, tying it on packs, and shouldering one of
the heaviest packs back to camp. In
hunting camp his love for me and others showed through in all these selfless
acts. Whenever we hunted together he always let me shoot first when we came
across elk. He would come back to camp early, losing those last couple hours of
hunting to put dinner in the oven.
Year after year he hunted hard, made sure everyone else
enjoyed hunting camp, and waited. He will be the first to tell you that hunting
is not about killing a certain species or shooting a trophy animal. However, every hunter has that hope, that
unspoken goal. For my dad I believe it was a trophy bull elk. The area we used
to hunt is certainly not known for producing giant bulls, and so my dad waited
8 years to draw in Unit 61, an area that gives out limited bull tags to
increase the size of the bulls in the area. True to his form he hunted hard for
5 days, leaving camp in the dark, hunting all day, and coming back in the
dark. Even truer to form he gave up a
couple hours of the last day of his hunt to help my cousin find his missing
GPS. And then he was rewarded with a broad-side shot at a giant bull on the
opposite ridge. A single shot and the bull dropped, and rolled down the hill
and out of sight. They weren’t able to find it that night, and the entire camp
went over the next morning, the last morning to help find it. We didn’t. I
remember being angry at God. I am not proud of this moment, as I admit it was
insanely immature of me. But it just didn’t seem fair. No one “deserves” to
kill an elk, much less a trophy elk, but I felt my dad deserved it. He never once complained. Not once did he
mention feeling sorry for himself, mad, frustrated. Instead he started applying
again. He waited another 7 years. This
time was different. He never even got a shot, never saw a trophy bull. Again,
not a single complaint. This looked like
it was his last good opportunity as waiting another 7-8 years maybe wouldn't be
feasible, although I would never doubt his ability.
And so here we are this year, in a new unit that certainly
isn’t known for its trophy elk. Saturday my cousin got a bull and my dad was
there to help pack it out. Sunday morning my brother shot his first bull
(another sweet memory), and my dad was there to pack it out. And then Monday
morning, 15 minutes into the hunt, less than a quarter mile from camp, the
moment my dad had worked for in 42 years of hard hunting finally paid out. I wish I could have been there to enjoy the
moment in person, to help him pack that elk out too. Instead I was over a mile
from camp, earning my own elk. And it was the work ethic he taught me that
drove me there.
So congrats Dad, you deserve it. Not just the elk, but
whatever “it” is, you deserve it, you deserve it all. You have given so much to so many, especially
me and Kyle. We can never repay you, but I am unspeakably grateful to get to
enjoy moments like this with you.
