Today’s blog post comes to us from Randy Hynes, owner and author of the 3.6.5 Whitetail Blog. Randy’s passion for pursuing Whitetail began over forty years ago in the woods of North Michigan. Follow Randy on Twitter: @365whitetail
It was Christmas and the old farmhouse rang with laughter. Gathered around the dining room table our family spent the evening sharing memories and spinning yarns. As always, this included the telling of hunting stories.
Grandpa has been deer longer than most people have been alive!
Seated at the far end of the table, my 93-year-old grandfather kept us in stitches. Blessed with good health and a sharp mind, he still remembers more than he has forgotten, including how to use his dry sense of humor.
Wanting my boys to hear their great-grandfather’s hunting stories, I asked, “Grandpa, when did our family start hunting in Grayling, Michigan?” He cleared his throat and said, “It was around 1927 … ” and we sat captivated by his stories.
His gnarled hands motioned as he described drooping pine boughs and big antlers. Tales of bad blizzards and the biggest buck he ever saw captivated our attention. Spellbound, we listened of the War years when ammo was scarce and all he had was a couple rounds for an old .32 Winchester Special.
We grew tense as grandpa remembered being lost in the big Michigan woods. His experiences of tenting in the cold and stalking bucks in the snow were book worthy. We smiled as he told of all the effort that went into crippling an old car across the miles, just so he could hunt another season.
It was an honor to listen to sixty plus years of hunting reminisces.
When Grandfather finished, I asked if he had kept his little red hunting hatchet and he assured me that he did. This was the little red hatchet he carried for as long we had hunted together.
It was with that little red hatchet and a swift stroke that Grandpa would send a piece of pine bark flying. Exposing a bright white blaze on selected trees, those marks would become my roadmap to and from where we were hunting. With a Marbles compass and those ivory crescents, he made sure I could find my way in the dawn or darkness.
My interest in the hatchet is founded in the belief – this isn’t an ordinary hatchet. Maybe I’m just sentimental, but in my heart I believe the hatchet represents a whole lot more.
There is a legacy represented in that pitch stained piece of steel. That hatchet is a memoir of a mentor who passed on a heritage of hunting and the great outdoors. Every tree he blazed not only pointed me forward but it pointed back to a man who found it important to give his grandson an appreciation for the finer things in life. From that old Remington to his dog-eared Bible, he taught me there are some things you hold on to forever.
Today, my reason for hunting exceeds a high scoring set of antlers. Through experience I have learned the value of spending time in the outdoors. The passion that began with a little red hatchet is now carved deeply into my family’s lifestyle.
As grandfather finished his stories, my mind began to wander. On this Christmas, I realized the greatest gift I had ever been given couldn’t be packaged under a tree. The greatest gift my grandfather ever gave was the time he spent teaching me about the great outdoors.
Passing along the tradition…
Eight-five years have passed since my grandfather started hunting. Times have changed and hunting has changed with them. The one thing that remains the same is my opportunity to teach another generation about the best things in life.
You may not own a little red hatched, but each of us holds the power to blaze a way for the next generation. Lets pass on the marks made by the little red hatchet. Take the time to introduce someone to hunting and God’s great outdoors. It may be the best gift you’ll ever give.
What a great piece, Randy. This brought back some serious memories from when I was growing up. Heck, I still am growing up! Like you, the need for large racks isn’t the reason I hunt. Excellent way to put a smile on the face of a fellow hunter.
My Dad spent his slim time away from work taking me out to corn fields, shallow forests, and farm property with streams to walk and hunt small game together. He said we were a team. He guided me in gun handling, watching for small game movement and being quiet moving through the brush. When I was a pre-teen he was careful not to walk ahead of me very much while I was beginning to carry our single barrel shot gun. He decided quickly to keep the shells in his pocket till we came up on some game. I think I remember more about my Dad walking with him on these hunting trips as I do being around him in all parts of life at home. It was such an exciting time to be alone together and to be hunting together. I remember how I felt a part of my Dad by stepping in his same foot steps as we walked through woods looking and listening together for a squirrel or a quail to shoot for our trophy.
Whether we took home any trophies or we returned empty handed, we road home with smiles on our faces and new stories for the dinner table. “Next time, we’re gonna…..”
MB
Thanks for this great story….although i now live in Montana and left Michigan many years ago, I too began hunting deer in the Grayling area with my dad close to 50 years ago. Although he has been gone for almost 20 of those years, I remember as if it were yesterday, and being in awe of people much like your grandfather…. listening to their stories….and learning from them….it brings back so many wonderful memories of the way things were and how far we have drifted away…it was the foundation of my hunting and fishing passion, which i continue to practice today and can only hope that younger people will have the same oppourtunity to enjoy and learn as I have. Thanks again!
Beautiful story of Grandpa in the north woods. One can almost feel the little red hatchet and the cold outdoors. At 69, this is what I am trying to do. Trying to instill into my Grandchildren the beauty of the outdoors, the feeling of exploring, the wonders of God’s creation that only can be seen in the woods.