Pennsylvania Game News - December 2009 - 4

and is preparing dessert. Of course, when we return I always feign surprise that she didn’t wait for me to help. The dogs were enjoying their romp in the snow, and they spent more time than usual looking for deeper spots to roll in and new spots to mark their territory, so our return to the house was a little later than usual. When we got back, JC had dished up dessert, and a new stack of logs in the fireplace was cheerfully popping away. I had begun to look for a cookie when I noticed an old wooden crate with a red and green bow on top in front of the fireplace. JC then mentioned that someone had left the box on our deck in front of the patio doors. I asked where the box came from and she replied she didn’t know, but that my name had been written on the gift tag attached to it. Later, when JC got up to bring in more logs I asked her to open it. When she opened the box an envelope was inside with a short handwritten note from a man who had been a mentor to me during my youth and whose loss I had mourned deeply a year earlier. The envelope was dated December 22, 2006, two days before his passing. Then I had pushed those sad times to the back of my mind and lived with only the good memories when thinking about him, because it still hurt when I remembered. The note said, “Dear Harv, of all the people I know or have hunted with I can think of no one who would appreciate more than you the treasures contained in this box. They are now yours, my friend, to do with as you wish. Look me up when you get to Tinkhamtown. Merry Christmas, your friend, Doc.” Inside the box were books written by Gene Hill, Corey Ford, George Bird Evens, Tom Turpin, Gene Nunnery, Ben Rogers Lee and two Pennsylvania authors whom I have had the pleasure of meeting and whose work I have admired greatly over the years, Roger Latham and Bob Clark. Most of the books were out of print, signed, first edition copies — worth a small fortune on today’s market. I leaned back in my chair and thought of my friend and the Christmas treasure sitting on the floor before me. Doc had spent his life as a bachelor, and he managed to amass a sizable fortune that he spent on hunting and fishing trips that most of us only can dream about. I remember Doc once jokingly saying if there was a way to take it with him he would find it, and being as cagy a businessman as there ever was, he had probably given the idea of leaving the books to me much thought, and I’d bet he had a reason for doing it other than our great friendship. I had to chuckle to myself as I remembered a prime example of his cunning. One fall morning Doc and I found an old abandoned orchard absolutely loaded with grouse. Doc had limited out first, by skillfully downing two of three birds his dog Gage pointed. His shots were spectacular, one quick straightaway and the other as he stood on one leg and spun around shooting a bird that had flown over his head. I remember remarking to him during a break later that day about the beautiful double he was carrying, and he told me the story about how he had come to own it. It seems that several years before, while he was at a roadhouse in South Carolina, two southern good ole boys had tried to fleece him out of 50 bucks for a rusted double barrel shotgun they believed to be worthless. Unknown to them, though, Doc had been in the men’s room before they met, and had overheard one telling the other he had paid only GAME NEWS

Pennsylvania Game News - December 2009

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