Make Lasting Memories
By Jacob Hester
There’s nothing quite like the excitement you and your kids will enjoy when you go on a hunting trip together. Spending quality time outside with just them can be a rare experience in this hurry-up world—a true “timeout” from all the hustle and bustle. It’s a setting where time seems to stand still, and cell phones, homework, and practice schedules all fade away into the distance. If you have never gone hunting with your family, I highly recommend it. This opportunity will warm parts of your heart that you didn’t know existed.
“Hey, Dad, what time is it?” my son’s insistent voice queried, interrupting my
slumber and piercing the darkness of the early dawn.
“It’s 6:02 in the morning, Bubs,” I replied after rolling over and glancing at my phone on the nightstand. “What are you doing awake?”
“I can’t sleep,” he explained, exasperated. “We get to go hunting today!”
“Bubs, I completely understand,” I conceded, as I sat up in bed and stretched.
After a brief pause, he insisted, “When are we leaving?”
The sun wasn’t even up yet, but as my younger son let out a snore from the other room, I knew we had to continue this conversation in the kitchen. “Help me cook up some breakfast?”
Once everyone was up and bellies were full—and excitement levels were ramping though the roof—we suited up in briar-proof pants and boots and headed out to the truck. Finally, after what seemed like a 100-day delay (to my boys), the moment had arrived: We were going hunting!
Following a 45-minute drive, which they described as “taking forever,” we arrived at our happy place. As soon as we parked, both rear doors slung open, as if it were Christmas morning, and the boys jumped out onto a freshly bush hogged pathway that led into the tall pines of the forest.
My oldest took in a deep breath, exhaled, and announced: “Dad, goodness! I love being here!”
Because safety is the top priority when we go on a hunting trip, I always remind my sons about important field and gear protocols before we embark on our adventures. “Boys, grab your orange
hats—you know we have to wear those.
Put your orange vests on and wait on me before you touch any of the shotguns, please,” I firmly instructed them. “Okay, Dad,” they responded. “Did you know we have to have orange on
while we hunt so other hunters can see us?” the oldest added.
“Yes, son. I like that rule,” I replied with a smile, inwardly pleased that his words reflected the precautions I had often drilled. “We have a few others, too. Do you remember what they are?”
When they answered, “Yes sir,” I recited the important checklist of items we take with us while hunting—visibility hats and vests, shotgun shells, and water for the hunting dogs—and waited for them to identify each item in our stash.
As I reached into the back of the truck and handed my older son his shotgun and my younger son his BB gun, I asked them both: “All right boys, what are the rules for these guns?”
Nearly in unison, they spouted off the instructions: “Always point the barrel in a safe direction. Always keep the safety on until I am ready to shoot. Never put my finger in the trigger until I am ready to pull it. Always treat the gun as if it is loaded, even when you are certain it is not loaded.”
With a satisfied nod, I opened the dog’s box and out jumped our two Brittany spaniels, Shelby and Dolly. Possibly more excited than my own two kids, the canine pair quickly scouted out the nearby hunting area and almost immediately began to exhibit their “sneak walk” (as my oldest calls it) to show they had caught the scent of quail. They were about 35 feet in front of us when they shifted into a pointing stance and began shaking with excitement.
Before following the dogs, I directed one son to go to my right and the other to move to my left, while cautioning them yet again: “Safety stays on until you’re ready to shoot, always watch where your barrel is pointed, and be mindful of what is beyond your target.”
After receiving a serious confirmation of “got it” from them both, everyone was ready, and we slowly walked into the area where our two dogs were pointing.
With a flurry of feathers, out flushed four of the fastest flying quail I had ever seen. Gun shots went off, gunpowder filled the air, and downy feathers floated down to the ground as if to majestically
celebrate our success. The dogs bounded through the broom straw on the forest floor to gather up our harvest.
“Boys, are your guns’ safeties back on?” I prompted, reminding myself and the kids to always put safety first.
“Yes sir,” they replied, acknowledging that they were listening and following the rules.
Over the next three or so hours, this same routine—punctuated with some incredibly special moments—occurred several more times.
By the end of the day, the dogs were exhausted and our legs were tired, but our hearts were full and our faces were sore from all the laughter and smiles.
“Dad, I’m happy,” my oldest confessed, followed by a “Me, too” from the other.
When I agreed, “Me, too, boys. Me, too,” they spontaneously hugged my legs, as we
stood in the middle of the woods reflecting on the recently made memories of the day.
On the way home, which somehow didn’t seem to “take forever,” we were
discussing dinner suggestions in between singing the lyrics to the latest country song
playing over the radio. Although a fast-food drive-thru was our typical go-to spot, my
oldest son offered a different suggestion: “Dad, we have got to eat those quail, but we
have a bunch of them, so why don’t we take a few by Grandma’s house, so she can
have some?”
“Son, I can’t think of a better way to end the day,” I replied.
