Traditions

It was 7:50 PM on a cool March evening. I had been walking for about an hour, stopping periodically to wipe the sweat from my brow and blow on a crow call. I had been scouting turkey for about 2 weeks, and this was one of my last places to go. Official sunset was 10 minutes ago, and as I dipped below yet another ridge it was getting pretty dark.

I knew where I was in relation to my truck, and also knew if I backtracked it would an hour and a half before I made it back. So I had a few options. Go back the way I came and cover old ground, keep following the fence line I knew would take me to a road over 2 miles away from where I parked, or strike out through the middle of woods I'd never seen, in the dark. Of course I chose option 3.

When I was a kid, my dad had me in the woods every weekend hunting whatever was in season. My dad always said by the time I was eight I had heard more turkey's gobble than most grown men, and he was probably right.Heck, I slept through more turkey's being shot than I can remember. My father and uncle were (and still are) epic turkey hunters. The whole year is spent waiting and obsessing over where the birds are and what they are doing. Even deer season is merely tolerated after a few weeks, just killing time until April. There I was, 7 or 8 years old, walking around behind my dad with him stopping from time to time to tell me "Pick your feet up" or "Don't yell if you see something, just tap my shoulder." At the time I couldn't even touch his shoulder, and was prone to kicking leaves while I walked through them. One time we were spot and stalking deer during bow season, and when I saw one I yelled "There's a deer!" at the top of my lungs. That particular doe nearly turned inside out getting the heck out of there.

One of my dad's favorite things to do was after a few hours in the woods, he'd turn around and tell me to lead us back to the truck. Of course, I was always too busy having fun to keep track of where we were in relation to the truck, but nonetheless he would insist that he was lost and it was up to me to find our way back. Most of the time I would boldly strike out in the wrong direction, but he did it often enough it forced me to start paying attention to my surroundings and making mental notes on how to get back. Something tells me that was the way he learned too, and I can imagine him and the grandfather I barely knew walking around the woods back in the 1950's, with my grandpa telling my dad "Pick your feet up" and "I hope you know where the truck is."

Now here I was some 23 years later standing in the dark all alone, grateful that I had those orienteering skills. Thanks to the skills and traditions my father steeped me in, I was able to cut across the woods, find a few landmarks, and walked directly back to my truck. Didn't even have to use the flashlight I had in my backpack, nor the GPS in my Blackberry. To me, technology is great, but I like to challenge myself.

I'm proud to come from a self-reliant family, and I am eagerly awaiting the day in the next 5 or 6 years when I tell my soon to be born son to pick his feet up while we're walking through the woods, and pass on a few family traditions.