Years ago, I worked with a man 20 years my senior who one day, and without fanfare came into the office and calmly set a pair of weather worn saddle bags on the desk of his secretary before walking to his office. Bewildered and not knowing the meaning of the deed, the woman reluctantly got up and followed him back to learn the sense of it all. He said “It’s time to retire and this is my last day.”
As a federal big game biologist, his duties once required him to ride horseback and monitor the elk herd of Jackson Hole Wyoming throughout their seasonal range. It was there he whet his western ways. Those bags were his symbolic display that his time in the saddle of employment was over.
I am reminded of that episode when I think about some of my oldest outdoor-minded friends that have come to realize a different but similar script. Advancing mobility issues and the COVID-19 virus have undermined their once active lifestyles.
Especially called to mind are a professional trapper, a prominent waterfowl biologist and a couple of all-purpose outdoorsmen. These guys regrettably have come to the end of their hunting and trapping days. Traps now hang on the walls of a weathered fur shed, decoys are shelved in boxes and their guns now rest quietly in safe places. One of them told me not long ago, “I have to live on the memories now.”
In a respectful way, I kind of envy those old men. They had grown up in a time when most things in their life were bent rural — farms were small and cropping diversified. A successful day of pheasant or duck hunting with buddies could be and often was legally measured by the half bushel.
This was a time when nearly every farm kid hunted and trapped and knew all the land around them. Families were poor but the surrounding waters, fields and woodlands held a richness of fur, fish and wild game. I conjure in my mind a familar Terry Redlin painting that well captures a likely scene from that outdoor era.
Sportsmen like them lived and experienced a period of terrific hunting and trapping opportunity. Now though, and with a hint of lament in their eyes, they are restrained to telling their stories and to sharing some special black and white photos. We listen about times and sights that are a delight to imagine.
Truth is, though, a time will come for us all to pull up and rest more by the fire. The spirit will say “time to get going” but weakened muscles will speak “best I stay home this day.” Having lived a good share of decades myself, I don’t dwell on that inescapable fact but I do know full well that the autumn of my hunting and trapping years is one day approaching.
Our measure of quality time in the in the outdoors may well be weighed by a different scale than by sportsmen of the abundant past, but the essence of the experience still remains the same. Sunrises and sunsets are equally as grand, the damp autumn woods still breathes out the same familiar smells and the open water marsh at first light is just as tempting as in the days of our old friends. And that’s as hefty a weight of being out there as any.
A time will indeed come when that old dog just can’t hunt anymore and so it will be. A big part of being successful in the outdoors, and life, has always meant being prepared mentally. To that point and as long as health allows, we kindle the fire by still heading to the stand early, staying there late, and keeping the boots on the ground. Remembering the days afield, both past and in the making, will help to nurture the days when we’re confined to a season of just remembering them. I know that my tuckered out old friends would agree.
Discuss the news on NABUR, a place to have local conversations The Neighborhood Alliance for Better Understanding and Respect ✔ A site just for our local community ✔ Focused on facts, not misinformation ✔ Free for everyone
