Pennsylvania Game News - December 2024 - 16

Joe, ever prepared, had brought a portable
ground blind. We set it up as our
sanctuary against the elements, what
with below-freezing temperatures in the
forecast.
Now, on the eve of deer season, I
found myself standing at my parents'
doorstep, a bridge connecting past and
present. The air carried the familiar,
comfortable aroma of simmering pasta.
As we stepped inside, my parents welcomed
us with a warm embrace.
That night I lay in my childhood bedroom,
the excitement of the hunt in the
air. Would deer grace us with their presence?
Would Charlie's fi rst shot carry
through the hills? Sleep eluded me as it
usually did on such occasions, but this
was diff erent. I was no longer the boy
dreaming of deer; now I was the guide,
the mentor, the one tasked with inspiring
a love for the outdoors.
At 5 a.m., the alarm ripped apart the
quiet. Charlie joined me in the kitchen,
the scent of brewing coff ee and hot
chocolate surrounding us. My parents
appeared, their eyes brimming with
memories of their own, of son turned father,
as mom prepared a hearty hunter's
breakfast to fuel the adventure ahead.
We ate quickly, driven by excitement.
Our goals for today were simple: experience
warmth, togetherness and a deep
love for nature that would endure beyond
any hunting trophy.
In the vehicle, we headed toward the
spot that would be the canvas for our
story. Then, arriving at the parking lot,
we began. We gathered our gear and
climbed the hill, our boots crunching on
the frozen path.
Our blind welcomed us, the perfect
spot from which to sit in quiet darkness
and watch the sky brighten. While awaiting
the sun, my father's face appeared to
16
me as I recalled our fi rst deer hunt, when
I was the thrilled 11-year-old. That was
a rain-soaked day when dad harvested a
forked-horned buck, launching my passion
for deer hunting.
Other memories, of departed relatives,
laughter and deer hunting tales, followed
as daylight gradually unveiled the contours
of the forest.
The sound of the fi rst distant shot
rolled across the hills, prompting me
to lean in toward Charlie and ever-sosilently
say, " let's count the shots. " Our
breath hung in the cold air, visible as we
exhaled. His thumbs-up signaled a silent
pact that we were in this together.
Then suddenly our reverie was interrupted
by crunching leaves. Deer swiftly
approaching set our hearts to racing. I
handed him the .30-30, just as a graceful
doe and a small buck appeared. No clear
shot presented itself, but that hardly mattered.
The moment was enough to light
the fi re of a newfound passion.
As the morning wore on, another
hunter appeared, posting below us. Charlie
and I exchanged a few words and decided
to shift to a new location off ering
perhaps new possibilities. We moved,
settling in again as the sun climbed and
warmed our faces, when a text message
from Mike told of his success. Hunting
about a mile away, he didn't need our
help, but he welcomed us to return to his
truck and share in his moment.
First, we veered toward warmth and
hot slices of pizza at a local restaurant.
That was diff erent from the days of my
own youth, heavy on mile-long hikes
and the unwavering practice of staying
in one spot for the entire day. But writing
our own diff erent script, we embraced
comfort and camaraderie.
Around 11:30 a.m., we drove to
where Mike was parked and waited for
Pennsylvania Game News - December 2024

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