I’ve spent the better part of this week reflecting on last week’s Colorado elk hunt. I’ve mentioned that there were good parts and bad parts, and I may soon have more to say on that. But there’s another aspect of the hunt that’s been on my mind lately… my hunting partner for the week.
My little brother, Scott, and I haven’t always been the best of friends. I’m the oldest of three and he’s the youngest, and I must confess to a fair amount of sibling terrorism in our younger days…directed at both him and our middle brother, JD. Unlike JD, though, Scott would dish it back as hard as he got it even though he was way overmatched. I always held a grudging respect for his determination and fortitude, even as I did my best to beat it out of him. Hey, that’s what big brothers do, right?
He’s six years younger than I, so as I was leaving my teens, he was entering his. Neither of us was exactly “All-American Boy” material during those years, so that part of our mutual history got a bit dark for a while. Suffice it to say that, for a few years, there was no love lost between the two of us. We were both screaming down that Lost Highway, and the only question was which of us was in the passing lane…and whether either of us would see the exit in time.
Well, those days passed, thankfully. We made it through, wisened and scarred, and I believe both better for the experience and lessons learned. Sometimes the only way to get through to a mule is between his eyes with a 2×4… but eventually the message gets through. It was a long haul though, both for us and for our parents and the people who loved us (without whom, I think neither of us would be here today).
I’ve been pretty deeply involved in hunting since I was a little thing, carried afield by my dad and set on a stump while he shot squirrels for the pot. Even during my wilder years I stayed pretty involved in the hunting lifestyle, and I honestly believe that the outdoors experience is a big part of what helped to settle me down later. I think it kept me grounded when so many of my friends at the time were swept away… sometimes forever.
Scott came to hunting a little later in the game, but when his wild oats were sewn (and the harvest reaped), he turned to hunting with a passion at least as strong as my own. I watched… sometimes in amusement and often in anger as he evolved through the stages of skill, ethics, and sportsmanship. I had to remember that, at one point in my own growth, I’d gone through those same stages. When he crossed the line, I let him know, but otherwise I could only watch him grow into a hunter.
At some point along that line, we began hunting together more and more. Our parents had bought a 40 acre farm that backed up on the Cape Fear River. The swamps and marshes along the river offered almost unlimited access and opportunity for ducks, deer, and small game. Neighboring properties were also open to us, and we had a small piece of paradise. It was the right thing at the right time. We became friends again. Then, even better, we became hunting partners.
We started hunting together more and more, chasing whitetails in the hardwoods and swamps, even taking a trip together into the NC mountains (a story in itself that I should write down one day). We slipped up the little cuts, creeks, and draws along the Cape Fear in search of wood ducks, and blasted the mallards on a nearby quarry lake during a few epic hunts. We also kept a running big-buck contest on mom’s place (which I must confess, he won handily with a lucky opportunity during the rut many years ago).
11 years ago, I followed my work to California, leaving my North Carolina home, as well as my brothers, parents, and relatives behind. I quickly got myself wrapped up in western hunting, but never lost my love of the southern woods. Scott stepped up and made sure I always had a stand to hunt in whenever I could come home for holidays during the hunting season. Many Thanksgiving and Christmas visits were sprinkled with frosty mornings in the stand, thanks to my little brother’s efforts.
As a couple of years passed, and we both became a bit more successful in our respective careers, we found that out-of-state and guided hunts were now within our reach. In 2003 we hunted together for deer and whitetail in South Carolina. Two years later, we were hunting elk in Colorado (he got the biggest one there, too…lucky dog). Last spring we were able to head down to Texas to hunt exotics together. And of course, last week we chased the elk again in Colorado.
So where’s all this going, right? Well, actually, it’s going exactly where it’s been… a reflection of how my little brother and I became friends and hunting buddies, despite some rocky years in between.
I guess I’ve been realizing it all along, but it really came clear over the past week in the Rockies. One of the guides commented at how Scott and I were so often on the same page about things, whether it was the trail we were following or the way we killed time during mid-day breaks. I saw it then that we are, truly, on the same page… both as hunters and as brothers.
And that’s pretty cool.
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That is pretty cool and a great thing. It always amazes me that people who you tormented (or were tormented by) in your youth can become such good friends when you’re grown.
I’m so glad you and your brother have this opportunity. It sounds as if you’re making the most of it, and that’s as it should be.