This letter was written word for word by my father in 1999. Every word in this story is true. When I read it, it’s like taking a quick walk through time. My father died October 16 – six years ago - and I miss him very much. At times, when I’m hunting, I think of him as if he’s sitting right beside me. Sometimes when I get to see the sunrise, I say good morning to God and I say “love you dad.” I look at my son and the one on the way and think of all the things he did with me and I think of the things I want to do with them. At times, I wish my hunting buddies could have known him. Although they don’t know it, I look down the line and make mental etches in my mind of them and how much I appreciate their company. For the non-hunters, read this not from the point of view of being an anti-hunter, but from the point of view that hunting creates strong ties between family and friends. I look forward to years of memories with my sons and friends. “Those boys will be tagging along sooner than we think,” and I think it’s safe to say that we’re going to need a bigger blind… A 17 Year Groundhog Hunting Saga Picture a rolling hay field ¾ mile long and 600 yds wide. A father and son with a 22 rifle starting when the boy was 6 years old. The field was alive with groundhog and the son mainly tagged along, shooting a few chuck the father let his son begin by taking pictures of his son getting his first chuck in sequence, the aim, the shot, the gallop to retrieve it, the kill, and then the pose. We grew tired of the hits, some a kill, some only blood and the chuck crawling back in the hole. So as we left the field one day the old farmer (now gone) asked jokingly, “What kind of gun are you using?” The reply was a 22 long rifle. As he sat on his tractor we still remember his compelling words. “You need a bigger gun.” Little did the chuck duo know what this started! The father bought a 22 mag with 3 by 9 and the killing continued but the field was spreading out. Not able to drop them on the spot at 100 yds to 150 yds, leaving the chuck to suffer somewhat the father bought a 243 with a 3 by 9 but it had only a 17 inch barrel. This enabled to reach out farther and the killing continued. So being headstrong the father gave the son the 243 and went out and purchased a 223 Ruger, 24 in barrel and 22 power scope with bipods so he would not be outdone by his son. The killing escalated but the son seemed reluctant about the 243. So as the son kept asking to use the 223 when a long shot come up the father knew he was being outshot by his son, bad enough, but now with his own gun. Finally the son coming of age and being hired by Packard the duo was back to their favorite knoll. Out comes a chuck in the distance, the son always shot first so he looked over at the 223. The father said BUY YOUR OWN DAM GUN. Little did he know what was to follow. Some time elapsed and the son purchased a 25-06 with a 24 inch barrel with 12 by 24 power scope with bi pods shooting maxi loads of 75 grain hollow points. In other words a Remmington bozooka! The killing became a frenzy. The son was so proficient, at one point the father told him when a 160 yd shot came up, “SHOOT HIM IN THE TEETH” challenging his expertise. So he, as always, got down, laying in the field going thru his ritual of interlocking arem and positioned himself. The father, always taking the quick shot, waited patiently, finally said “JUST SHOOT THE DAMN THING” BOOOOOOM. Confidently the son walked off and always retrieved the chuck and did his pose, gun in one hand, chuck in the other, with arms raised high. The father waiting for the son to walk back to their spot noticed as the son got closer a full size body on the chuck and just shreads of the head. Yes he hit him in the teeth at 160 yards blowing 2/3 of his head off leaving 1 eye and some busted teeth (which are in the shed as proof). Seeing this the father had to buy him a t shirt, on it crosshairs and the saying ONE SHOT ONE KILL. From then on for the next few years there were 20 to 40 chucks taken from the field each year. Some shots 500 yds plus. We figure 400 to 500 chucks over all were taken hunting some 10 to 15 times per summer. Now 23 and married and a home owner, which says it all, the father decides to go the field alone. Now an old man and retired he walked to the favorite knoll. Waiting for 4 hours and not a sight of a groundhog, waiting WAITING. As he sat there for that time many, many thoughts came to mind. As the evening sun began to set the old man realized the memories of all the talks were there, the tall oaks and maples in the distance were there, the grass still swayed in the gentle breeze was there but his gun was silent because the field was dead. With heavy heart the old man folded up his bipod and shouldered his 223, picked up his sit upon and began exiting his favorite field. Almost to the car he turned around and there was one lonely groundhog standing about 300 yds away looking ominously at him. The adrenalin started, getting into position, turning the scope to 15 power and there looking right at him was the lone chuck. Clicking off the safe and in position, he gently touched the trigger, then taking a deep breath and holding it, his heart beat moving the scope so slightly, began the squeeze. Something stopped the old man from squeezing the shot off. Watching the chuck for 2 to 3 minutes the old man thought where there is one there has to be more. Maybe the summer of 2000 will be better…
Posted on: Mon, 28 Oct 2013 16:31:29 +0000
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