Down The Trail

John Johnson

This column is aptly titled, as that’s what I often do – go down the trail. Not literally, but I often go down the trail in my mind. Like most of us folks who enjoy the outdoors, we have a pretty good stash of memories to relive. My collection is rather large for my age, so I imagine that some of my fellow elder sportsmen could really cash in on a few.

There’s an incredible benefit to all of those hours spent outdoors and here is where it pays off for us. Not only do we have the luxury of making the memories, but we also have the benefit of sharing the memories. Remember that cold, crisp morning, hunting with the ‘older guys’ and seeing your first pheasant rise from the grass? The sound of your 16 gauge firing and then seeing your bird swiftly fall to the ground? Oh, and the smell of the smokeless powder gently drifting through the chilly air? That’s all good stuff - in my mind anyways. Damn near brings a tear to my eye thinking about it.

I always hunted with adults - usually with my Dad and an Uncle or two. Throughout the season we’d always visit our friends, some family and of course, our hunting buddies. I used to sit around and watch and listen. It was great! I’d here those ‘old bucks’ telling these wild tales of yesteryear and just couldn’t wait until I was one of them, telling some whopper myself. It was magical. I have come to learn that it wasn’t really the story itself, but it was how the story was told. That’s a gift my friends. Anyone can tell us about the time they shot a nice gobbler, whose beard was so long he was tripping over it. But, very rare it is, to have someone paint that picture in your mind and actually live it with them.

No story or memory isn’t without competition either. Without any doubt, in any environment, there is a bigger and better story. Even those closest to us will often challenge our finest tale of a 21” rainbow pulled out of the whitewater of the Yellow Breeches. And, if you are a bass fisherman, you’re really doomed. I guess there are a lot of big bass in PA…or so I’m told. If you are really interested in hearing some good ones or you’re a little short on your own, stop by a gin mill the Saturday prior to deer season. It’s all but guaranteed you’ll fill your quiver. Me? I’ll opt to hang around who is left of the older folks and listen to the same stories I’ve heard dozens of times. The funny part is it’s never actually the same story. The story seems to evolve into something different. I’m not sure if it’s being embellished (it’s likely it is) or the teller simply remembered some other detail previously left out. I did say it was magical, right?

Here’s where I think we are truly blessed as sportsmen and women: From our earliest days, most or all of us had an adult companion to teach us, guide us and help us create the memories we have today. Most are likely to be a part of the memories we share with others now. Many are no longer with us, but still live in our hearts and minds. We enjoy telling our stories of past hunting pals because it kind of brings them back to us for a moment. Again, it’s magical.

As we flip through our Rolodex of memories, we often come across some that aren’t so wonderful too. You know the one – the one that got away. Most of us have a pretty good stash of these as well. There are quite a few animals that are still running or swimming right now because of me. I guess that would be my contribution to the current gene pool, I don’t know. Regardless, the memories were happily made and are often recalled by a glowing campfire, a woodstove or over a cold beverage.

I’ve been working my way to this point in the column. Any who know me, know me as the eternal optimist. I’m not a big fan of doom and gloom, but I’m going to mention what I see as a problem for us today. Not so much of a problem for us, but for the ones who are trying to build up a cache of good memories. Our youth are staring at a sizable opportunity of NOT being able to possess what we older folks have. Many a kid, when asked of their hunting season, has nothing to share – empty. You’ll get the “Ah, it was alright. I shot a squirrel.” Or “I didn’t see anything –this hunting thing sucks!” It’s heart breaking if you ask me, if not tragic.

My extensive and all inclusive involvement in the USP is to assist in the remedy of this problem. Personally, I have the best memories a fellow could ask for. These stories I tell have helped shape my life, my attitude and my simple existence. Perhaps I am being unrealistic, but I do believe that our younger folks deserve the same opportunities we have all had…every single last one of those kids deserve it.

I hope I jiggled a few memories loose for you and also inspired some folks to continue being active. USP is all that our future can depend on – and that’s a fact! Stay involved, remain alert and more importantly, keep making those memories. They are the only thing we possess that’s truly priceless. Share them with our younger folks, make them smile and help them make a few of their own. The rewards are nothing short of this side of happiness.

Be thankful, every single day that you have a memory to share with others. That memory may just make a difference in someone’s life.

Until next time, I’ll see ya down the trail…

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