Huntin’ With Papa

On a cold evening in November of 2000, a wide-eyed, 12-year-old boy sat in a tree stand on the edge of a food plot as the sun began to disappear behind the trees on the horizon. With only minutes of visible light left, he spotted movement in the corner of the field to his right. Instantly, his heart felt like it was going to jump right out of his chest as he admired the tall antlers on the big-bodied buck he saw before him.

Slowly and precisely, he moved to raise his rifle and take aim at the monster that was unaware he was even there. He was shaking so bad that the crosshairs seemed to vibrate in the scope, and suddenly he wasn’t sure if he could make the seemingly easy shot. At that moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder and a soft, whispering voice that said, “Slow down, son, close your eyes, take a deep breath, and when you open your eyes, squeeze the trigger, and take the shot. You can do it.”

That was the evening I killed my first deer, and that soft, whispering voice was my grandfather. A man I owe all my hunting knowledge and passion to. A man most people knew as Mr. Billy, but who I affectionately call Papa.

For as long as I can remember, I would spend nearly every Friday night at my grandparents’ house. I’d be anxious to wake up early the next morning, put on my camo and load up into the old blue Ranger truck and head out to the woods with Papa.

The night before we would stay up late playing cards and watching old western movies, even though we knew we had to get up super early. In the morning, I would wake up to the smell of bacon, eggs and grits that my grandmother, Nana, had gotten up even earlier to prepare for us.

Cameron Parker said hunting with his Papa made a lasting impression on him, and he hopes to carry on the legacy of hunting with his kids and grandkids.

We would get in that old, beat-up truck and head off to our outdoor destination for the day with our gear, food, drinks and more food. On the way, Papa would tell me stories, and I would ask tons of questions about what exactly we would do when we got there, what was I going to look for in the woods, and how much longer until we got there. Everything from dove to deer, we hunted it all. I met tons of interesting people and felt like I was one of the guys when we were laughing and bragging over dropped tailgates while discussing why daily bag limits hadn’t been filled. Papa always told me it wasn’t just about the hunt but about having fun with everyone else and learning new things.

As I got older, I continued to hunt, and now, many years later, I am passing on the things I have learned from Papa to my young daughter.

I couldn’t wait to show Papa pictures from the first time I got to take my little girl in the woods to hunt squirrels, just like I did with Papa when I was her age.

In December 2016, I returned home from a business trip to find out Papa had been rushed to the hospital after collapsing on his way to a check-up with his doctor. He had been struggling with his health after a fall a couple months prior, and sadly, time had finally caught up with my beloved hunting partner. Christmas was very bittersweet as we reminisced with friends and family about all the good times we had while grieving the loss of our patriarch. However, I did receive one of the most precious gifts I could have ever asked for. As I unwrapped a long cardboard tube my uncle gave me, I discovered a 1970 Centennial Edition Marlin 30-30 rifle with a crafted leather sling and six notches carved into the stock just behind the grip. It was Papa’s first deer hunting rifle, and the notches were his trophy count as he would cut into the stock for each of the big deer he had taken. Words cannot describe the peace this memento brought me at such a hard time in my life.

A week after Christmas when the food coma had finally worn off and the tears had mostly dried up, I decided it was time to honor my grandfather and take his rifle to the field for my last hunt of the season. This was not only a time for me to commune with nature, my second home, but also a chance for me to spend some time alone with the memory of Papa.

I sat in my ground blind overlooking a field I often hunt. My rifle leaned up against the edge of the blind as I admired the intricate acorn design in the sling and the notches cut into the stock. It wasn’t long before movement caught my eye as a big doe entered the field in the corner to my left about 145 yards away. I raised my grandfather’s rifle and found the deer in the scope. Suddenly, as if I had never taken a deer before, my heart started racing. I couldn’t help but fear that my first shot with this amazing gift would miss my target, and I would walk away having missed the opportunity to connect once more with the man I so cherished.

I closed my eyes, as I always do, and while they were closed, I swear to this day I heard my grandfather say, “Slow down son, take a deep breath, and squeeze the trigger. You can do it.”

I opened my eyes with a feeling of calm and comfort and fired the shot with perfect accuracy. The doe went down, and I sat back in my stand and cried.

For some people, hunting is about trophies and bragging rights. For others, it’s about food and sportsmanship. For me, though, hunting is all about relationships. It’s about my daughter and I being in nature, surrounded by God’s creation and making memories that she will take with her everywhere she goes, even when I’m gone.

The memories I have from the field with my grandfather are the one thing that no one can ever take away from me, and everyone should have something that special with their loved ones. Take a child hunting and show them the world they live in, so they may know the wonder of this space we all occupy. The memories you make and the stories you tell will live on forever in the hearts of the people you connect with in nature.

My prayer is that one day I might be able to pass along the great legacy of hunting, and that one day, my grandkids will reminisce over huntin’ with Papa.