Today’s hunt required I pack Goldfish and an extra pair of underwear. It’s wasn’t because I’m regressing that quickly, but because I had my favorite little hunting buddy along. My daughter Sofie will be three at the end of this month and I’m determined she gets the best start in the outdoors as possible. I asked her a couple days ago if she wanted to go squirrel hunting with Daddoh (me) in a few days. She froze mid-play and began nodding emphatically, then reconfirmed with me her concept of hunting.
“We shoot ‘em and they run away and then we cut ‘em into meat.” Her head cocked at a 45 degree angle still nodding as if this were a Jedi mind trick.
The original location I intended to go was in use by a friend, so we hunted the periphery of one of my prime deer properties…a sacrifice precious few will appreciate. But that’s okay. Sofie’s outdoor exposure is a long-term project and though it was noon and breezy, I still wanted us to get out. Our odds may have also been decreased by the bright pink snow bibs and dangly stocking cap she was clad in. I continued to remind myself that killing squirrels was not the point. She needed to have a positive experience in nature with her father. It’s going to take some retraining for my brain to shift the focus off our quarry, but I’ll get it.
We bounced into an oak ridge with the stomach pocket on my hoody bulging from her accoutrements: a hat, a drink, gloves and ear plugs. My left hand steadied the rifle sling on my shoulder and my right hand was in hers. A pile of squirrels passed out from fermented acorns would have been completely safe if we’d come upon them. It would have taken me a solid 20 seconds to shoulder a shot. Again, not the focus.
After 50 yards of walking, she asked to be carried; which I almost always do because I know the day will come when either she won’t let me, or I can’t. We communicated in whispers which made me smile. She actually listened to our pre-hunt briefing. I asked if she wanted to continue on or stop to look and listen. She wanted to stop. We crouched next to a red oak and while I scanned, she traced intricacies in the trunk bark.
A grey blur skipped across brittle leaves below us near the creek and I swung my scope onto it. I only made out a tail dancing nervously in a pile of branches. Sofie covered her ears in preparation for a shot that never came.
“Did he go away Daddy?”
“Yeah baby. Do you want to keep going?”
“Let’s go find a place to talk.”
The uneven trail obscured by leaf litter concerns her. I could see her face contort with fear and frustration. My arms reached for her before she asked. Moving along we found a sinkhole on the hillside and laid down in it side by side. She began to recount her narrative of the previous close call we just had with a squirrel. I’m amazed at how much she comprehends and how desperate she is to be understood. Day by day her adorable mispronunciations and phrases are being replaced with proper ones and I want her to slow down. There will be time for the limitations of adulthood later. Ease into it girl.
I was hoping I’d catch a deaf and partially blind coyote jogging through the meadow below our hillside depression. It would be the only type of coyote we could hope to encounter while gabbing it up on the forest floor. As Sofie talked, I would glance over my left shoulder just in case an elderly canine obliged us. He never did, and in my desire to never let any component of the experience get old, I suggested we go get something to eat. I asked Sofie if she could say, “Persimmon.”
The din of flies grew as we approached a swath of decaying Persimmons in the tall grass. A good number still clung to the branches above and I was able to knock a few down by tossing a stick up into them. Two fell directly in front of me, the first I let Sofie watch as I put it into my mouth then spit the seeds out. The second, I ripped open, removed the seeds and handed to her.
“Here you go Sofe. It’s good.”
“Ooh. Dats yicky.”
“Here, smell it first.”
A sniff, then a tip of the tongue, then she put the whole thing in her mouth, followed by a smile. It passed the taste test.
We found a few more to sample before we moved on. The pond was next on our route and by this point in the trip, we were on a nature hike and I just happened to be carrying a small caliber rifle.
The pond was a quarter mile away and we did intervals of her walking, then me carrying. We skirted a known bedding area for whitetails by following a trail atop the pond’s dam. She wanted to sit on the dock to talk. While we talked, a Great Blue Heron eased along the shallow western shore and picked a small bluegill out from between cattail stems.
“Sofie, that’s a Great Blue Heron. He’s hunting just like we are.”
“He’s good. He’s the best heron in the word!” She shouts, “Hey buddy! You’re the best!”
Before I was a Dad, I figured the cuteness would wear off of the things kids said simply by virtue of proximity and frequency. It hasn’t happened yet.
On the way back to the Jeep, we took multiple side excursions to walk through flooded tractor ruts and dusty gravel patches. We intentionally stepped on rotting walnuts and exposed tree roots. Sofie has a fascination with textures and their associated sounds. By the time we arrived at the parking area, she was sucking her thumb, a harbinger that sleep was impending.
I really wanted us to leave the woods with a few squirrels. This time we were empty handed. My focus was more on her and the experience, which will likely lead to more trips back to the woods, increasing the odds we’ll bring back game at some point down the road. Until then, I’m happy to have spent an afternoon with my best hunting buddy, laying the groundwork for a lifetime of memories afield.
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