Fish Like a GIRL

It’s that time again! Time to pull out the blaze orange and keep traditions alive. Deer hunting, for the last several decades, has always meant the start of hunting to me. I was never really into waterfowl hunting, which I know is where a lot of people’s hunting season starts. Some people find it strange that I have never been a big fan of duck or goose hunting. But, to be honest, I think the only reason is that I have never spent enough money to stay dry enough to enjoy myself in those pursuits. If I am being totally honest, that is the deal breaker. 

When I was much younger, my dad always loved to partridge hunt, so I grew up doing that. I remember those days spent in the woods more than most days of my youth, actually. And, I suppose, that is the point of it all. The multi-generational memories we make in the woods and on the shorelines are always the best, and I think they are key to who we become as adults.

I only remember deer hunting once with my dad. It was during bow season. We spent the day mostly just driving around. It was in an area many in Rhinelander would remember as a place of hunting in the fall and field parties in the summer. Now it is mostly a subdivision, from what I can see, but everything changes does it not?

In any event, deer hunting with my dad that day was the day I came to realize it was not really about hunting at all. It was about my dad and I getting outside, far away from all of the stresses of life. It was about getting out of the house and being free to do whatever we wanted, together.

This year, I am not sure if I will get out in the woods. We are attempting to wrap up our garage project as I write this and get it buttoned up for the winter. There will be more interior work to do in the spring, such as painting and building shelving. But for now, getting the outside wrapped up is the most important part of the plan.

While warm weather is predicted all of this week, the cooler weather a while back had me missing hunting season. When Rod was alive he and I spent time in the woods together. It was easy because we hunted right behind our house on some open MFL land. He hunted there with a family of friends he had been hunting with basically since he moved up here from Vegas. One of the first times I went into the woods with him I got to witness one of his good friends harvest a nice 8-point buck. He was giddy with excitement, as were most of the guys. It was a big buck for that area, although they grow them bigger down in the farm fields, of course. But for a Woodboro buck, it was one of the better ones any of us had seen in a while. How it lived long enough to get that big is beyond me. There were, and I am sure still are, plenty of the “if its brown, its down” hunters around that area who relish taking a small buck rather than letting it grow up, but I digress. Who does not love some venison chili anyway?

That brings me to another one of my favorite things about deer season. Not just chili, but food in general. Hunting season and Thanksgiving were Rod’s most favorite time of the year. He loved Thanksgiving more than any other holiday (I am a Christmas girl myself), and always made it a big deal. I have kept that tradition alive in his memory.

A couple of weeks back, when it was nice and crisp and cool out, I was driving along with the fog hanging low in the trees, muting their colorful show of fall, and I really felt like it was hunting season right then. I had that anxious, excited feeling in the pit of my stomach. I opened the window of the truck to drink in the damp, cool air. I found myself on those logging roads, those dirt and gravel trails along which we used to drive. I was out behind the house that Rod and I shared for 15 years, and I remember feeling so alive and so recharged. I got out of the truck with no particular plan, and just walked around. It felt good to be out in the woods. It felt good to have those memories so close. It also felt like it was time to make some more memories, some new ones to hold onto for years to come.

Just as it was with my dad all those years ago, it is not necessarily the harvest that makes the hunt. It is the company and the memories made. It is sharing the stories of the field over a big, steaming bowl of venison chili at the end of the day. 

For some those traditions have faded away, but other hold strong to them. For those of you heading to the woods this weekend, I wish you the best of luck, straight shots and easy tracking. Most of all, I wish you the best memories fall has to offer.

Beckie Gaskill may be reached at [email protected] or [email protected].