The Transformation..... Another picture added.

[just_a_hunter]

As I flipped the ignition off on my old 1978 F-150, the 400 cubic inch Ford engine gave its regular “spit-sput-spattering” plea in contest of not wanting to quit running yet. The squeal of the power steering as the old girl’s RPMs faded always seemed like its final scream.

Grandpa, as always, was waiting in the laddis archway that welcomed you into his yard.

 “Hey Grumps…” I said as he extended his hand out in his ever so friendly tradition of shaking hands.

“Hot out today.” He said with a sigh as he adjusted his hat to beg of it every drop of shade it could provide.

It was June, 2001. The Moab summers were (and to this day remain) hot. The arid climate of the Canyon land country couple with the hot sun and beat down with a fury that seems to spawn from finger tips of old Satin himself. Still, the sanctuary of the thick cottonwoods and elms, and the pleasant aura of this great little town that lies nestled in a beautiful valley make for a young man’s slice of heaven.

I was 19 (had to count my fingers and toes and edit) years old. Little did I know how much that one simple hand shake on that hot summer day would form me as I transformed into a man.

This is the story of how I became a hunter…..

Todd

[just_a_hunter]

I was there that day to lend a hand in helping my Grandpa pack and move. Land in Moab is hard to come by and has a high price tag these days. The old man finally sold his vineyard out.

I knew then as I know now how much I’d miss that place. The days patrolling the vineyard and garden with my 35# fiber glass bow and a quiver full of Dad’s bent and broken arrows for unwanted rodents and birds will remain with me and I’ll reflect upon them in my rocking chair years….

As I followed Grumps down the tractor path to the old cinder block shed, he flung a phrase over his shoulder, “I think we better tackle this danged thing today.”

I was dreading this building. I always called this building the “torture shed”. This is where my five year older brother would throw me in and lock me. He thought it funny, my screams and all, as I dodged the inevitable black widows and numerous other spiders in the cool, damp, chocking air. To this day a spider web to my face is more then I can stand thanks to him.

Grandpa carried a plastic bag with him. As he opened the heavy sheet metal door to the building, we both stood there in awe at the task at hand.

“Sixty years of collecting and acquiring stuff will make this a long day I’m afraid.” He said as he reached in the bag and pulled out a can of insecticide.

After he fogged the shed, he closed the door to let the poisonous gas do its good deed. He quit using this building as storage for anything he used on a regular basis because of the aforementioned black widows. It’s a wonder my brother didn’t kill me in his exploits, I kid you not…

As we moved the wine bottles, tractor parts, old shop tools, and a lifetime supply of an old concrete workers tools, it was time to conquer the rafters. Me being the agile younger fellow got elected to climb up there and start handing stuff down.

After a serious amount of sweat had poured from my body we were just about done. One more corner of the ceiling rafters to go, and what a sweet corner it was. Amid all the other junk and treasures I grabbed an old recurve by the lower limb and handed it down. That old bow was more then I could take as I knew nothing of its history or purpose in this old rifle hunter’s possession.

I knew by the expression of his face that gem was long forgotten about. I had to climb down and learn about it….

Todd

[Bonebuster]

Here`s to your grandpa...

to being twenty years old...

and becoming a hunter...

[far rider]

more

[Jmgcurve]

How long does it take to get out of the rafters....      

[LongbowGuy83]

I agree Tim. Keep going Todd

[K.S.TRAPPER]

     

Tracy

[caleb7mm]

[just_a_hunter]

As he grabbed the bow by the grip and blew the first layer of dust off, his other hand reached for a fist full of t-shirt to finish the task..

“Wow… That’s cool! Where did you get it? I didn’t know you bow hunted before. Did you ever kill anything with it?” I asked as he mopped the dust.

“Yeah, it is pretty neat.” He reflected. “I can’t remember where I got it exactly, but I did bow hunt for a few years back in the ‘70’s. Naw… The only thing I really ever killed with it was a few dozen arrows.” He continued, “Me and some friends of mine spent a season up on the mountain one time and we got rained in.. We only had a 2 wheel drive ’56 Chevy and boy did the rains come. We were stuck up there for a couple of weeks.”

“Yea?” I said.

“And boy were we getting hungry. You’re uncle Glen luckily killed a doe about three days before we were rescued, but, I think it was two days before he took that doe a couple grouse flew right into camp. Us guy’s were hungry enough at that point we weren’t gonna’ miss those grouse. Jim hit the first one as I aimed for the second. At his shot the grouse started flopping around and sent the other to flight. I kinda’ flung an arrow as he began his take off and luckily somehow managed to take his head clean off.. I think that’s the only thing I killed with it… Those grouse were skinned, cooked, and ate within 10 minutes of being dead, let me tell ya!” He said with a grin.

“Rescued?” I asked.

“Old man Holyoak showed up in his Willy’s Jeep when I didn’t show up for some welding fabrication I had him working on. Yep, he pulled us out of there. We weren’t in any real fix, but we were over due.”

“Pretty good story, Grumps.”

“Yeah, it was fun. I don’t use it anymore. Hell, hadn’t even thought about it in years…. You can have it if you want it…..” He said as he handed it over.

“YOU BET I’LL TAKE IT!” I reacted…….

Todd

[fatman]

....so tell us about the bow, Uncle Todd...  

[Over&Under]

 

Great so far Todd!

[bretto]

Great story.

My Grandfather had one of those collector sheds.LOL and a basement to go along with it.

Hope there's more to the story.

[just_a_hunter]

At this point in my life, the only thing I knew about recurves was that I terrorized squirrels and rabbits and grape robbing birds with a 35# Bear, and that another make of old bows was Ben Pearson. I knew that because I now had my own handful of t-shirt, wiping more dust, looking for any other clue that might tell me something more about my new treasure. Sadly, the rest of the writing was worn off.

See, I had hunted plenty before this. I’d taken a few deer and a couple elk with bullets, and dabbled plenty in the modern day archery to know this recurve and I where going make history together. I also vowed, come this bow season, we were going to make meat together…

And that’s how my journey started. All with a simple hand shake on a hot summers day..

Todd

More tomorrow..

Thanks for the comments!

[kung fu kid]

Memories from the heart . . . .

Those are the best stories to tell/hear.  It brings back so many memories about growing up.  Thanks for sharing your memories wit us, Todd.  Looking fwd to reading more.

[just_a_hunter]

The task of moving my Grandfather has long since been complete.

The task of setting up and getting that bow ready for season now needed to be settled. At that age, the only outfitter I knew of was Cabelas. I measured the best I could and ordered a string. I didn’t know anything about brace height at the time and wonderful resources like Tradgang or even a pro-shop where scarce. The string showed up in the mail and I figured I better motor my ’78 to Grand Junction for a little help and little direction.

Jerry’s Sporting Goods was the only place I knew of and he was willing to help out… The best a compound shooter knows how. He found some literature on brace height and we discovered my string was a bout 2” too long. Luckily he happened to have the right size and we got that lined out.
We further put the bow on the scale and determined it to be 50# @ 28”..  Jerry also dug out a couple of packages of glue on broad heads he sold me at an incredible discount. I didn’t even know what they where, but they sure looked cool. (Knowing what I know now, they were 160 grain glue on Snuffers.) Back home, I got into the Cabelas catalog again and ordered a dozen cedar arrows. I didn’t know anything about spine and just ordered the 50-55# spined arrows because my bow was a 50#er.. I also didn’t quite realize I had a full 30” draw either. I also ordered a slide on quiver and a few other trinkets as well. All on a cemetery lawn keepers wage.

A long story short, my arrows where too weak, my broad heads to heavy, but as far as I knew, I was sitting in tall cotton and was I ever happy…

Now for the real task of getting the archer ready for bow season….

[just_a_hunter]

In my ignorance, I thought poor arrow flight was part of the gig. I didn’t have bad arrow flight, but a long way from perfect.

During that summer, there wasn’t a day I didn’t practice, or a prairie dog town I didn’t harass. And what a great summer I had. I took several week end trips up to the mountain for scouting and camping. Just me, my bow, a fishing pole and my old flat bed ’78 Ford.

When the tags went on sale, I was first in line. I bought a regular general archery Utah buck permit.

The summer passed too quickly as good summers do, and before I knew it I was tossing and turning in my sleeping bag, for when the sun dawned on the new day, the season was open…

[just_a_hunter]

I was up and awake by midnight. I had put the finishing touches to my old knife for the 300th time, touched up the broad heads in my quiver for the 500th time, made sure my pack was square for the 1000th time, all in the last week.

This was the first time I ventured out so to speak. Every other year I always asked my Dad, “Where are we camping?” or “Where are we going to be hunting?” This was the first year he asked me those same questions. He knew it long before I did, but he was seeing and watching with his eyes what his years of guidance had done. I didn’t realize it then as I was so engaged in this hunt, but for the first time, he took the passenger seat and gave me the reigns on my own hunt. For the first time, the conclusion of this hunt would lay totally on my shoulders. I will for ever be grateful for my father…

He made it until about 2:00 a.m. before the lights flicked on in his camper.

“Bacons’ on, Son….” He said as he poked his head out the camper door.

It didn’t take me long before I was pouring a cup of Folgers and taking in the crackle of the swine. I can remember thinking “like father like son” as he popped a hair or two on his fore-arm before putting his Old timer back in its case. I know good and well that was the 300th time he checked his blade as well.

“Where you headed this mornin’?” He wondered.

“Pine Ridge has a few nice bucks on it; I think I’ll start there.”

“Think I’ll head to the Brush Hole.” He said.

And that was the moment the importance of what was happening first started to trickle into my miniscule head.

For the first time, we weren’t going to hunt the same ridge or area. For the first time he didn’t feel he needed to keep a tab on me. Don’t get me wrong, I love hunting with my father and we have hunted a bunch together, but the sense of manhood that morning gave me still motivates me to this day.

“Sounds like a plan, Dad. Don’t wait on lunch for me. I’m not coming back until I have meat to hang or run out of light….”

Well, I was back by mid-afternoon……….

Todd

[philil]

Nice...so it got dark real early  

Awesome storytelling Todd!

[Over&Under]

Todd

As you portray the feelings and memories of this hunt, I am taken back to a very similar place and an all too familiar setting I shared with my father so many years ago.  Those feelings and memories are like none other and never go away.  Thanks for sharing this with us, and allowing me to reflect on what hunting, and archery is really all about.

Ok so where were you......      

[zipper bowss]

Great story!I can hardly wait for more.That reminds me I had better check my knife.Turkey season starts in a couple of months.
Bill