Most first hunts are passed down from father to son—but every now and then, the roles reverse. At 62 years old, my dad had never set foot in the woods as a hunter. That changed with one simple sentence and a spring afternoon in the turkey woods, where what started as an introduction to hunting quickly became something a lot bigger than either of us expected.
My Dad had never hunted a day in his life. Having recently retired, he now had a good bit of free time on his hands.
It all started the winter before as I was relaying my latest attempt to outsmart a whitetail buck. Much to my surprise, he uttered a sentence I never thought I’d hear.
“Maybe we could go hunting,” he said.
“Have you ever been?” I inquired, more than a bit surprised.
“Does shooting birds with a BB gun when I was a kid count?”
Even though we were talking on the phone, I could see the sly grin on his face on the other end of the line.
“Um, no. No it does not,” I replied, also with a sly grin.
“Well, then no. No I have not,” came the response.
Knowing that he hates the cold and isn’t much of a morning person, I knew right away that deer hunting wasn’t going to be his thing. So, I figured an afternoon hunt on a warm spring day would be the perfect way to introduce him to my outdoor obsession of turkey hunting instead.
First Turkey Hunt With Dad
Watching my Dad walk through the field in head-to-toe camo with a shotgun slung over his shoulder is not something I ever thought I’d see, and I couldn’t help but smile the whole time as I walked behind him, secretly sneaking some photos to document his delightfully odd appearance.
Hunting was my thing, and music was our thing. That has always been the unbreakable bond between us two. At times when words failed us, lyrics always succeeded. Sure, I thought it would be neat if he joined me on a hunt, but I was content knowing that it was highly unlikely to ever happen.
Well, this tale is the perfect example of why you never say never.
With a gray ponytail sticking out from underneath all of his borrowed camo clothes, I marveled at the stark contrast between this version of my Dad and the one that I was used to seeing for more than three decades of my life. That was the guy in jeans and a t-shirt playing guitar at Nashville’s Gibson Garage, in Ted Nugent’s trailer before a concert, or in the home of Jim Dandy of Black Oak Arkansas. Still, he seemed just as happy to be doing this as he had been doing that.
Setting the Scene
I got him settled in the blind and then stepped out to set up the decoys.
“Ya know, if we don’t see a bird, I might just shoot one of those decoys,” he whispered when I returned.
I shot him a quick side eye and he grinned like the eight-year-old that we pretend he is. (62 is really just 6+2, so he’s only 8).
“Well, they look real enough. I’m sure I could fool everyone back home,” he countered.
“They look real because they were real expensive,” I hissed back.
We chuckled quietly. I knew my decoys were safe.
Having successfully hunted this spot and setup before, I knew how far out the decoys were, but Dad has always been a fan of gadgets, so I showed him my laser rangefinder.
“Did you know that tree down there is 225 yards away?” he marveled.
“No, I didn’t – but those decoys are at 15 yards, and that’s more important to know,” I said, trying to bring him back to focus.
About an hour later, we still hadn’t seen anything. I looked over as Dad smiled an absurdly large smile and then broke the silence by asking, “how far do you think that tree down there is?”
“Pretty sure it’s still 225, but why don’t you check again,” I chuckled.
Kids and their toys, I mused silently as he ranged the tree once again and confirmed that the towering deciduous giant at the end of the field hadn’t moved in the past sixty minutes.
Quiet Connection
This was a good time for the two of us to chat quietly and mull some things over without any of life’s normal distractions and interruptions. Our relationship hasn’t always been the best, but we grew closer once I became an adult.
Even though “peace” and “quiet” don’t normally describe my Dad’s daily life, I could tell that he was genuinely enjoying sitting still in a blind with his eldest son as we listened to birds singing, wind blowing, and a barge floating by on the river.
It was just him and me sitting in a blind in the middle of hundreds of acres with no one else around. We shared; commiserated; empathized. It was good; the kind of connection I wished I had had with him thirty years ago.
At the end of the day, we packed ourselves up and trekked back down the hill to the house.
I was a bit discouraged that we hadn’t seen anything, but I tried to hide my disappointment from him when I asked, “did you have fun?”
“Absolutely,” he replied, “we’ll get ‘em next time.”
In the Turkey Woods Again
A couple days later, we made our way back up the same hill. The novelty of seeing my Dad in camo and toting a shotgun still hadn’t worn off.
I put the decoys out and we got settled into the blind once again. After a few minutes of silence, I couldn’t help but crack a huge smile. I looked over at my Dad. He smiled back, but I could tell he was a bit puzzled as to why I was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“How far away do you think that tree down there is?” I asked, barely able to keep myself from bursting out laughing.
Two days was all we got together that season. It didn’t really matter, though, because our hearts were full. I still count it as a win since he didn’t shoot my decoys.
The trip ended and we came home empty-handed, but I immediately started counting down the days until next spring’s turkey season – and you better believe that I’ve spent all of deer season keeping my eye on that wily tree at the end of the field. I’m sure Dad will be delighted to know that it hasn’t moved since he saw it last.
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