2 minute read
Deer, Dad, and Opening Day
Outdoor Adventures - Deer, Dad, and Opening Day
By Pete lathrop
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For as long as I can remember, something between dread and glee struggles within me when fall comes around. I can’t quite explain it. When the first signs of color form on the maples and the slight drops in temperature take place, I begin to think about the brevity of the few warm months of northern Michigan and begin to prepare for the coming winter. That’s the dreadful part. But the beginning of autumn also brings about warm memories of conversations with my dad about the coming hunting season. The deep love of the outdoors and pursuing the elusive whitetail deer brought a special bond between us. Dad has been gone for a while now, but I still talk to him while driving my pickup to work in the morning. I can hear him ask me if I’ve found a spot to hang my stand or if the acorns are heavy or not. That’s usually when I go on autopilot and, inexorably, find myself walking the next day to my old hunting grounds to prepare for the coming season. I bring my pruner to cut away any new growth in my shooting lanes. I look for early scrapes or rubs from the bucks. I sometimes ask dad where he’d sit. Then I’ll find a new spot to hang a stand. To me, deer hunting season is more than just pulling the trigger on a prize buck. It’s full of tradition, emotion, and anticipation. This “right-of-passage” that begins with a 12-year-old child is beyond mere sport; It brings with it something that drives people, like myself, to hang on to memories, drives me to value family, and honor the animal I pursue. The inner feeling when deer season approaches is almost tangible. That strange combination of old memories, the love of a son for his dad, the waning moments of warmth, the frost on the field grass, and the deep tradition of hunting is an indescribable paradox of dread and glee. And that’s the mystery only a true hunter experiences.
