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A Ben Story: Hunting with Grandpa
fishermanben
Member Posts: 15,370
Alright, I have one that I've been thinking about this one lately anyway.
When I was born and through my adolescence I had both of my Grandfathers. My Grandpa John had grown up on a farm, was young, lived on a lake and was always hunting or fishing. My other Grandfather was quite a bit older. Grandpa Fred used to fish, and quail hunt frequently; however, age was catching up to him and instead of being outside he preferred to spend his summer days watching the Cubs, and his winter days watching the Bears and Illini. He was never real active to begin with.
Both of my Grandfathers lived in the same town, and when I went down to visit family, I wanted to spend all of my time at my Grandpa John's on the lake. I could BB gun hunt, fish, shoot my bow, boat, swim, and ski. I would always have fun. It was a paradise for a boy.
My Grandpa Fred came from a long line of lawmen, gamblers, and bankers. He was the luckiest man I ever knew. At the card table, it was like he had a horseshoe stuck up his *. It didn't matter the game, he'd get aggressive when he'd have nothing, and it would turn into gold. Those who didn't know him would question his integrity. Everyone that did know him would stand up and say, "If you're calling Fred a liar, you can leave." He was highly respected by all of the people in the community--rich and poor. He was generous in all aspects, but he was a shark at the table.
My Grandpa Fred really did wish I'd spend more time with him, and I knew that. I'd be at his house in town, sometimes we'd play gin for hours, but in truth I wanted to be at the lake. I would get bored out of my mind at Grandpa Fred's house. I could smell the lake from town. I'd ask to go out to the lake and could see a look in my Grandpa Fred's eyes that was some kind of disappointment. I remember once he said to me, "Ben, don't worry. I know you just want to be a boy. Don't feel bad. Go fish." But his eyes told another story. He really wanted to be involved with me like my other Granddad. It hurt him that he couldn't.
Every year I would go on my hunting trip with my Grandpa John. If I got a deer, I'd call and tell my Grandpa Fred. By the time I got home, the whole town would know about my hunt. I'd walk through the door, and he would exclaim "THERE HE IS!!!" His voice would beam from the anticipation of me coming through his door. It was like he had been waiting for days to see me, and he had. He would demand pictures to show to his friends. He'd say, "Ben, I really wish I could've been there."
Well as time went on some unexpected things happened. Grandpa Fred's wife, my Grandma Francis, had passed away unexpectedly. Grandpa had been married to her for sixty-some years. He never thought that would happen and it left him in arrears. He moved up to my town and I'd go and visit him frequently. When I walked in the door it was always the same line. "THERE HE IS!!!"
Well, seasons passed, and it was once again time for me to go on my hunting trip. It was a bad year. It was the beginning of November, and it was a HOT one!!! There were millions of ladybugs that hatched. You'd be walking back to camp, stripping off all of your clothes, and the bugs would be swarming you. They'd bite, you'd smack them, and then you'd stink like the damn things. The deer weren't moving until night, and I didn't blame them.
Here I had started hunting on November 2nd, and it was already Sunday the 11th, and I still hadn't seen one deer from any my stands. It was my last morning hunt. After the hunt I would go back, and we'd tear down camp and head back home. The whole camp was skunked.
I went out extra early, and hunted all morning. It was a perfect morning for sitting. It was incredibly serene--beautifully silent. As the fog lifted, the sun came out, and like the previous days I knew that there would be nothing. Hunt over!!!...or is it?
Just before I was ready to come down, I could see in the distance a small buck approaching. He was a way off, but it was the first deer I had seen all week. As he approached, I realized that he was going to pass without a shot. The closest he came was about 70 yards. He passed, and kept on walking. He was on a mission, no doubt going to the pines to bed for the day. I watched him until he was about 150 yards past me and was leaving sight. I thanked God for letting me see one deer. I wasn't mad, I was privileged.
But then he did something really strange. He looked back in my direction, and stopped. I hadn't moved, hell, he wasn't even looking in my direction. He then did something that made absolutely no sense to me at all--he turned a 180. He didn't have a reason, he just did. He was coming back towards me at a steady pace. At about 60 yards he slowed to a walk right off of my left side. Without standing, I drew. He took a few more steps, and at about 9 yards, I put my 100gr Thunderhead right through the star on his chest. His front legs buckled under him, and he went down. I looked down at my watch, it was 8:00am. I got down from my tree, and used my knife to end the hunt. I left him alone for the last couple minutes of his life. It is something that I always do for the deer that feed me. I consider it respectful to let them die without a hunter standing over them watching.
I was so lucky; I didn't know how or why that deer turned. He was long past, and had no reason to backtrack. I dressed him and drug him in. After stuffing his chest cavity full of ice bags, I helped the rest of the guys take down camp, and we headed home.
I got home, and told my parents what I had done. I was on my way to see my Grandpa Fred, when my Mother stopped me. "Ben" she said. I saw tears well up in her eyes. "Grandpa Fred passed early this morning."
Suddenly it all made sense. That morning, I didn't get my wish, Grandpa got his. He was there. It was his lucky day. November 11th. 11-11. 4 Aces. That old man always did have a horse-shoe stuck up his *.
Rest in peace, Gramps.
Fred Newton, Jr. July 22, 1914 - November 11, 1998.
Cub's preseason is less than one month away.
When I was born and through my adolescence I had both of my Grandfathers. My Grandpa John had grown up on a farm, was young, lived on a lake and was always hunting or fishing. My other Grandfather was quite a bit older. Grandpa Fred used to fish, and quail hunt frequently; however, age was catching up to him and instead of being outside he preferred to spend his summer days watching the Cubs, and his winter days watching the Bears and Illini. He was never real active to begin with.
Both of my Grandfathers lived in the same town, and when I went down to visit family, I wanted to spend all of my time at my Grandpa John's on the lake. I could BB gun hunt, fish, shoot my bow, boat, swim, and ski. I would always have fun. It was a paradise for a boy.
My Grandpa Fred came from a long line of lawmen, gamblers, and bankers. He was the luckiest man I ever knew. At the card table, it was like he had a horseshoe stuck up his *. It didn't matter the game, he'd get aggressive when he'd have nothing, and it would turn into gold. Those who didn't know him would question his integrity. Everyone that did know him would stand up and say, "If you're calling Fred a liar, you can leave." He was highly respected by all of the people in the community--rich and poor. He was generous in all aspects, but he was a shark at the table.
My Grandpa Fred really did wish I'd spend more time with him, and I knew that. I'd be at his house in town, sometimes we'd play gin for hours, but in truth I wanted to be at the lake. I would get bored out of my mind at Grandpa Fred's house. I could smell the lake from town. I'd ask to go out to the lake and could see a look in my Grandpa Fred's eyes that was some kind of disappointment. I remember once he said to me, "Ben, don't worry. I know you just want to be a boy. Don't feel bad. Go fish." But his eyes told another story. He really wanted to be involved with me like my other Granddad. It hurt him that he couldn't.
Every year I would go on my hunting trip with my Grandpa John. If I got a deer, I'd call and tell my Grandpa Fred. By the time I got home, the whole town would know about my hunt. I'd walk through the door, and he would exclaim "THERE HE IS!!!" His voice would beam from the anticipation of me coming through his door. It was like he had been waiting for days to see me, and he had. He would demand pictures to show to his friends. He'd say, "Ben, I really wish I could've been there."
Well as time went on some unexpected things happened. Grandpa Fred's wife, my Grandma Francis, had passed away unexpectedly. Grandpa had been married to her for sixty-some years. He never thought that would happen and it left him in arrears. He moved up to my town and I'd go and visit him frequently. When I walked in the door it was always the same line. "THERE HE IS!!!"
Well, seasons passed, and it was once again time for me to go on my hunting trip. It was a bad year. It was the beginning of November, and it was a HOT one!!! There were millions of ladybugs that hatched. You'd be walking back to camp, stripping off all of your clothes, and the bugs would be swarming you. They'd bite, you'd smack them, and then you'd stink like the damn things. The deer weren't moving until night, and I didn't blame them.
Here I had started hunting on November 2nd, and it was already Sunday the 11th, and I still hadn't seen one deer from any my stands. It was my last morning hunt. After the hunt I would go back, and we'd tear down camp and head back home. The whole camp was skunked.
I went out extra early, and hunted all morning. It was a perfect morning for sitting. It was incredibly serene--beautifully silent. As the fog lifted, the sun came out, and like the previous days I knew that there would be nothing. Hunt over!!!...or is it?
Just before I was ready to come down, I could see in the distance a small buck approaching. He was a way off, but it was the first deer I had seen all week. As he approached, I realized that he was going to pass without a shot. The closest he came was about 70 yards. He passed, and kept on walking. He was on a mission, no doubt going to the pines to bed for the day. I watched him until he was about 150 yards past me and was leaving sight. I thanked God for letting me see one deer. I wasn't mad, I was privileged.
But then he did something really strange. He looked back in my direction, and stopped. I hadn't moved, hell, he wasn't even looking in my direction. He then did something that made absolutely no sense to me at all--he turned a 180. He didn't have a reason, he just did. He was coming back towards me at a steady pace. At about 60 yards he slowed to a walk right off of my left side. Without standing, I drew. He took a few more steps, and at about 9 yards, I put my 100gr Thunderhead right through the star on his chest. His front legs buckled under him, and he went down. I looked down at my watch, it was 8:00am. I got down from my tree, and used my knife to end the hunt. I left him alone for the last couple minutes of his life. It is something that I always do for the deer that feed me. I consider it respectful to let them die without a hunter standing over them watching.
I was so lucky; I didn't know how or why that deer turned. He was long past, and had no reason to backtrack. I dressed him and drug him in. After stuffing his chest cavity full of ice bags, I helped the rest of the guys take down camp, and we headed home.
I got home, and told my parents what I had done. I was on my way to see my Grandpa Fred, when my Mother stopped me. "Ben" she said. I saw tears well up in her eyes. "Grandpa Fred passed early this morning."
Suddenly it all made sense. That morning, I didn't get my wish, Grandpa got his. He was there. It was his lucky day. November 11th. 11-11. 4 Aces. That old man always did have a horse-shoe stuck up his *.
Rest in peace, Gramps.
Fred Newton, Jr. July 22, 1914 - November 11, 1998.
Cub's preseason is less than one month away.
Comments
its all about pucks and bucks
Why do they make it taste so good and put it in them little bitty cans- Dad
At times, days in the field are more than sport, more than adventure. They are nothing less than a gift to the soul.- John L. Moore Buckmaster magazine
Great story, but damn it you made me tear up[V].
same here, wow.
BB
Ben
Cub's preseason is less than one month away.