Loving Wildlife to Death

If you care...Please Leave Me BE!
(...or contact authorities if there is a true concern. Don't take matters into your own hands.)

Although the bear center does not have authority to handle bears in the wild, because of our line of work, it was quite common for us to receive phone calls from concerned citizens.

Here is how one such call unfolded…

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Me: Appalachian Bear Center, Daryl speaking.

Caller: I have a bear here you need to come and get.

Me: I'm sorry I didn't quite understand. What exactly did you say?

Caller: I said, I have a bear here you need to come and rescue! You need to hurry!

Me: Hold on ma'am... I can't personally come out and help you but I can get someone that can. Can you give me a little bit more information about what is going on?

Caller: Sure...there is a bear in my apple tree.

Me: {{{long unintentional pause}}}

Caller: You need to come get it.

Me: Why would we need to do that? Is there something wrong with the bear?

Caller: Yes.... it's by itself!

Me: Ma'am, bears are usually solitary creatures. Unless it is a mother with cubs they often live alone.

Caller: You don't understand… It's a cub!

Me: {{{Silently thinking… Yay, we are finally getting somewhere!}}}

Caller: Hurry up you need to come get it!

Me: Hold on ma'am, I need to get a few more details.... How big would you say he is?

Caller: He is about 20 or 30 pounds. Can you come get him now?

Me: Ma'am, the cub sounds to be of pretty good size for this time of year and it's not unusual for them to be left alone for a short time while mom goes out to feed. It's probably best if you just leave the cub alone and wait for its mother to return.

Caller: No! You need to come out here and get it right away!

Me: How long has it been there?

Caller: Since this morning.

Me: Ma'am, at this point we don't know if it is orphaned or not.

Caller: I know it is! That's why I called you.

Me: How do you know it is orphaned?

Caller: Because other bears are trying to come in and kill it!

Me: Excuse me?

Caller: The cub has been in my tree all morning and there are two or three other bears that keep coming to the tree trying to kill it!

Me: How do you know they're trying to kill it?

Caller: They keep trying to get at the tree.

Me: But ma'am it's an apple tree. Couldn't they just be trying to get at the apples?

Caller: They seem interested in the cub.

Me: Ma'am, it could be because one of those bears is its mother.

Caller: We're not taking the chance that it's not.

Me: We? ....who's "we"?

Caller: My husband and I.

Me: Where is your husband now?

Caller: He's outside protecting the cub.

Me: He's what?

Caller: I said, he's outside protecting the cub.

Me: Ma'am, what exactly do you mean by that?

Caller: I mean he's guarding the cub from all the other bears that are trying to come in.

Me: How is he doing that?

Caller: He's standing at the base of the tree. When one of the adult bears tries approaching, he scares it away.

Me: Ma'am, please have your husband come inside. One of those bears is probably the mother.

Caller: No it's not.

Me: How do you know.

Caller: They're all males.

Me: How do you know that?

Caller: Because they're acting all aggressive.

Me: Ma'am, please have your husband comes inside, if not for the cub's sake than at least for his own safety.

Caller: Oh...you don't have to worry about him.

Me: Why not?

Caller: He knows karate.

Me: {{{Silence}}}

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

This is a true story. Fortunately there was a happy ending and I was able to contact authorities who advised the husband to go inside while the momma bear returned to retrieve her cub. Funny as it sounds, it's a serious problem. Each year, well-intentioned citizens cause the orphaning and potential death of thousands of our wildlife believing the animals are in need of rescue. Albeit, living in the wild can be a hard and sometimes dangerous endeavor, it's where wild animals belong and are best suited to survive...not in human hands. National headlines were made recently when a concerned citizen "saved" a bison calf in Yellowstone National Park. Fearing the calf was getting 'too cold', he put it in his vehicle and brought it back to Park Headquarters. Unfortunately when Park staff tried to reunite the calf with its mother, the female bison rejected it. This resulted in the calf having to be euthanized. I promise all parties involved were distressed at the final outcome.

If you truly care for wildlife, please let them be wild.

The Neonatals (Part 3) - And Then They Were Gone

Three weeks had passed since Lina was placed with her foster mom in the Big South Fork. Though it was a treat to care for her siblings, Caro and Newbern, fears began to arise as to what we would do with the cubs if no foster mothers could be found. Habituation is a slow death sentence for a wild bear and life in a cage or behind a fence would be no life at all. I shuddered to think about those options. A mom had to be found.

Our hopes resided in Dr. Pelton, a renowned black bear researcher based out of the University of Tennessee. He had, at the time, the longest ongoing black bear research project in the nation. What this equated to was radio collared bears. They were out there, they just needed to be found.

Finding a bear in a den would not be

possible without a tracking collar.

Finding a collared bear is very much an art form in itself. Though one can be taught the intricacies of the method, the more you do it the better you become. Working the equipment, reading maps and terrain, putting boots to the ground, and having a deep understanding of bear behavior are the beginning bare essentials for radio-tracking a black bear. Thankfully Dr. Pelton employed a cadre of grad students who earned their keep doing such tasks.

How are collared bears located?

Finding a radio collar is sometimes as much art as it is science.

***Warning - Teaching Moment!***
The collar sends out a "ping" that corresponds to the frequency of that particular collar. The tracking equipment itself consists of a receiver and an antenna. Think of it simply as a listening device. That device provides you with two key pieces of information, distance and direction. This is where the "art" of tracking comes into play for there is no direct measure. Rather the distance is gauged by the strength of the signal coming out of the receiver, or how loud the ping sounds. The closer one gets to the collar obviously the louder it pings. The direction, on the other hand, is provided by the antenna. The strength of the signal is dependent upon the orientation of the antenna, or which way it's pointing. Picture yourself on the peak of a mountain and you hear a faint ping with the antenna facing east. You turn the antenna southward and the ping disappears, northward and it disappears again. The antenna just revealed the signal is coming due east.

Now there's a bunch of other neat little tricks (such as triangulation or using an airplane!) but for the most part, with the right equipment, you're able to "hone-in" on the collars. Sounds easy?

Okay...now go find the collar. Oh and by the way, it's liable to be somewhere in the mountains of Tennessee or North Carolina.

Now you can see why we wait with bated breath to find a suitable mom.

And it doesn't stop there, once you find the bear tucked snuggly away in their winters den, we need to make sure she is healthy and has cubs of her own.

It is a mighty tall order to fill… Thankfully we had one of the best in the world working on it.

***********************

The call came and the waiting game was finally over.

Bitter sweetness.

Two viable females had been found and their dens had been marked. Though they were miles apart they were inextricably linked, or at least they would be soon.

University of TN researchers"working up" a female.

Working up a bear at the den site is an exhaustive effort, it takes manpower. Usually the female is extracted from the den to make data collection easier. This is of course provided the den is on the ground. Should the den be located high up in a hollowed-out tree then one lucky researcher climbs the tree while the others assist, mostly with manning ropes and equipment. This task is usually reserved for the smallest and lightest (and least fearful of heights!) of the group. I am still undecided if I should have damned or thanked those wonderful childhood Snickers, for I was undoubtedly ruled out. In retrospect, a part of me sought the thrill of sticking my head into the crevice of a dark and hollowed tree while peering down upon a slumbering bear. Then again, the other part of me says, "Thank God I didn't have to stick my head into the crevice of a dark crevice of a dark and hollowed tree while peering down upon a slumbering bear!"

But I sure did love watching others do it! (Hehe)

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for us, both dens were on the ground and fairly simple to access. The plan, therefore, was to foster Newbern the first day followed by Caro the next. 

Very much like Lina's release day, Newbern's and Caro's releases went off without a hitch. As one could imagine, the weekend in which the two cubs were released went by way too fast and all that lingers are memories and a few scant pics.

Caro's last bottle ever...and then the squawling began!

The one vivid memory I have from Caro's release was the fact that Caro was quite unhappy about being fed only once that morning. This caused her to bawl for a good part of the hike. I had slipped her inside the front pocket of my jacket and would occasionally provide her my finger to suckle, much like a pacifier, in an attempt to keep her quiet. It rarely lasted long. She was one unhappy cub.

While we were ascending the ridge to where her foster mom awaited, our lead researcher, Jay, became a little disoriented since he had approached the den from the opposite side of the mountain a few days prior. In other words, he was having trouble locating the den. In the meantime, I had finally managed to soothe Caro into a momentary hiatus from squalling. This was when Jay grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear...

"Keep the cub quiet..."

"...the bear den is right behind you."

At that exact point in time my mind immediately began painting a picture of six guys standing in a rough circle playing "hot potato" with a distressed bear cub.

If this scenario does not make much sense, try this...picture standing a few feet away from a mama bear with a bevy of cubs, suddenly one of her cubs begins bawling inconsolably while you stand but a mere few feet away.... "holding it".

My buttocks finally unclenched when I had eased my way back down out of immediate earshot of the den.

From that point on, everything went smoothly and Caro had a new mom.

Looking back, reflection on these once-in-a-lifetime experiences continues to humble and amaze me. They also provide me with great joy. I can say without a shadow of a doubt that few reading this story have ever experienced something similar. If only you could see through my minds eye what I have seen I would gladly share those experiences for they are much to priceless to horde.

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As you can tell I can not help but stray in my writings as I try to educate whenever possible. Not all stories and life lessons are meant to end with an incredible triumph or a heart breaking loss. They ALL, however, inform... whether its new or reinforced information. Hopefully my writings make the acquisition of knowledge a wee bit more fun.

Timber and Blaze

Not every single bear story from the early years of the ABR resulted in a happy ending but many did. And then there are those that are truly remarkable...

"Blaze"

Three years and 30-some bears into the ABR's existence, the bear center turned a major corner. Other than the neonatals, which came from North Carolina and were quickly fostered to natural mothers, all the rehabilitated and released cubs had come from Tennessee or from the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. All that changed in the summer of 1999.

David Goad, the Arkansas Fish and Game Commission's (AFGC) bear biologist, gave me a surprise call in mid-July. Had it not been for the extenuating circumstances they encountered, it is highly likely the AFGC wouldn't have searched so vigorously for our assistance. Those circumstances were of course two orphan black bear cubs. The "extenuating" circumstances, on the other hand, were the means in which they were acquired.

As the story goes...a poacher in the western part of their state had killed a female black bear with two small cubs in tow. Upon the death of the mother, the poacher turned his attention to the cubs in hopes of capturing the pair. For what reason? One can only guess.

Like well-trained soldiers, the cubs heeded their instincts or quite possibly their mother's lessons and climbed the nearest tall tree. Not to be outsmarted by six-month old bears, the poacher did the unthinkable. He cut down the tree.

Miraculously, upon crashing to the ground, the male cub survived the calamity unscathed. His sister, however, wasn't so lucky. Though she survived, she sustained massive injuries including two compound fractures of both her femurs. She was immediately rendered incapacitated and literally was unable to crawl away.

How the AFGC came to capture this gentleman and acquire all this information, I do not know nor do I care. I am just happy they did so.

A few days later, having exhausted their in-state options, David got a hold of me and asked if we might be able to give them a hand.

Without hesitation I told him we would do everything within our power to help the cubs but unfortunately we had to clear numerous hurdles since this action required quick and seemless collaboration between two state wildlife agencies who had never encountered a request such as this before. Throw in an 10+ hour drive after all the paperwork was approved and you can see why the clock was ticking rather rapidly.

I am happy to say numerous individuals stepped to the plate from both states and did a phenomenal job getting this ball rolling so the cubs could come to the center for treatment. Having said that, it was still a full five days after the incident that we finally laid our hands on the Arkansas cubs.

They were immediately rushed to the Vet school at the University of Tennessee and placed under the care of Dr. Ramsay.

We waited with bated breath to hear the prognosis.

The male cub as expected was in perfect health. His sister was the one we were worried about.

The news was heartbreaking.

Each femur had suffered a complete fracture and the bones were displaced, literally laying side-by-side. Normally this would not have been a big deal since orthopedists could perform a quick surgery, insert a metal rod and re-align the broken bones.

It was the five-day lag that killed us.

Over the course of that time the cub's body tried in vain to heal itself. Because the two pieces of fractured femur were lying side-by-side, they began to repair itself and formed a callous formation making the procedure for "setting the leg" nearly impossible. In other words, it was a tangled mass of bone that created a situation too risky to be surgically repaired. And unfortunately this occurred in BOTH legs.

Dr. Ramsay broke the news to us. I could see it in his eyes and hear in his voice how upsetting this was to him as well. Other then her two broken legs the cub appeared to sustain no other injuries.

Because of her will to survive and incredible power to heal, he advised we take her back to the center, keep her confined, give her her meds, and "hope for the best".

In a few weeks he would re-examine her and make a decision as to what needed to be done.

With that we welcomed our first out-of-state cubs Timber (male) and Blaze (female).

 *********************************

The intention was to place Blaze in the one and only confinement cage the center had, a small 6x4x4 chain-link enclosure. Having never needed this equipment before we had to improvise, something the center would become quite adept at over their long and storied existence.

The make shift recovery room for Blaze.

We placed the cage within the wild enclosure a short distance from the perimeter fence. We then rigged feeding tubes to reduce the human exposure as much as possible and still allow us to feed and administer medication to our recovering patient.

Upon returning from the vet school the cubs were placed in their temporary home. Timber was quite healthy and a perfect candidate for the large wild-enclosure, so he was placed in the enclosure nearby Blaze to hopefully provide comfort to his now-healing sister.

As one would expect they comforted each other.

A few days had gone by and all appeared well. Then the typical brother/sister scene unfolded. They wanted to kill each other!

Not literally...but as young siblings often do, they got into a heated argument, with both bears being extremely riled.

As most people know, mock fighting is quite common among young bears since it builds strength and develops muscle coordination. This behavior also develops bonds among young siblings. As much as I feared for Blaze to re-injure her legs in her excited state I couldn't help but notice…she was climbing and scampering about her cage with the greatest of ease!

About another week passed and both cubs were growing more and more rambunctious…they wanted to re-unite!

After consulting with Dr. Ramsay he said, "Have at it!".  It appeared as if her body was going to repair her legs whether we liked it or not and that was completely fine by us!

Blaze taking timid steps on her healing legs before joining
her sibling, Timber in the wild enclosure.

The big day arrived when Blaze finished her meds and we would reunite the cubs in the wild enclosure.

It was joyously uneventful.

Don't get me wrong, it was a wonder to see Blaze run and climb trees with the same speed and vigor as her brother. In fact, had it not been for her decreased stature due to her crooked hind legs, the two cubs would've been identical.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turn into months and the cubs grew.

Two months after arriving at the center in extreme dire condition, Blaze and Timber almost tripled in size, growing from 15 pounds to just over 40 pounds. Their triumphant return home was arranged.

It was incredibly gratifying to see representatives from the AGFC amazed at the results we achieved. Not only had the bear center worked wonders for the cubs but the story that Arkansas could now tell was one that would win over the hearts of many.

And even more importantly, it solidified the ABR as a legitimate and valuable Southeastern resource and not just a Tennessee resource. We were on our way!



Timber anxiously awaiting the return of his sister.



Blaze, a little crooked but as good as new!

Exploring the Caja

Field Day #2 - Exploring the Caja

April 26, 2016 - Julie, Will, and I decided to make a day out of exploring the Caja, an 84,000 acres volcanic field about 20 miles west of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Before anyone gets any delusions of grandeur of spewing cones of molten lava or deadly plumes of gaseous sulphur dioxide...STOP.

The mother volcano, a beast of a formation northwest of the Caja, erupted approximately 1.4 million years ago, so to say the area is relatively tame from a volcanic standpoint is a gross understatement. I am sure many geologist would argue that point with me but they look at geologic time in a much different way. What looks like an incredible flurry of geologic activity to them looks like a canyon full of black rocks to me. Fortunately for us, we both see the same canyon as stunningly beautiful.

Our objective for the day however, was not to look at rocks. Rather, we were hoping to find another owl. This time, it was a western burrowing owl and there was going to be no "mousing" involved. For the non-birders like me, western burrowing owls are the owls you see, usually in pictures albeit, using the hollowed out remains of old abandoned prairie dog towns. And if you do not know what mousing means, well, you will just have to read about Field Day #1.

Julie, an incredible naturalist and superb "ologist" in every way, had spotted the rare visitor last year. It was the first known instance of that species on the Caja so documenting its return would be a great thing. And just in case we had an uncooperative bird who didn't want to show, we would take a trek into the Santa Fe gorge to look for another elusive creature, the northern leopard frog. Hey! I am living in New Mexico, amphibians and desert don't mix!

Guess what?

Examination of owl pellets reveals a healthy diet of stinkbugs.

The bird was a no show. It was probably due to the high winds and below normal temperatures we were experiencing but all was not lost. We did find a burrow with ample owl sign, feathers and pellets and such, so things are looking up for a return of the owls to the Caja. So instead of being sandblasted by the winds on the Caja we decided to drop down into the gorge to see if we could find some frogs.


What a difference it made. Descending just below the rim of the mesa, the winds ceased and the radiant heat from the sun warmed our faces. The descent down the rocky trail undoubtedly got our juices flowing as well.

It was such a joy to hike with other naturalists who like to stop periodically to identify plants and animals and pretty much ask lots of questions. It is not only good for the brains it is good for the lungs which I find nowadays to be starved oxygen on these high mountain adventures. On the way back UP the trail I am already planning a series of questions so I can strategically catch my breath.

A vibrant village thrived at this very site over 1,000 years ago.

As we descend further into the rift below the thin line of greenery catches my eye and I stop to admire how valuable the water resource is in this otherwise barren area. It signifies life. The long time inhabitants of this area were extremely intelligent and resourceful beings since, unbeknownst to me, I am staring at the remains of an old Native American village. I only know this since it was pointed out to me by my hiking mates. What's even more special is that it is not cordoned off nor are there any signposts pointing the way. The village lies hidden beneath the history of time only covered by ignorance and apathy from the average "tourist". And for that I am grateful.

I couldn't help but feel I was treading on sacred ground.

In a field of volcanic rock I am awestruck at petroglyphs that still abound, lonely and untouched, within this vast landscape. Only later after showing the pictures to our archaeologist will I find out that these works of art were created somewhere around 900 A.D. As I walk it is humbling and in some ways awkward, a guilty feeling pervades as if I am trespassing on sacred ground.

The floor of the canyon does not disappoint as the meandering river serves as an oasis to most of the wildlife in the area. Birds, mammals and amphibians abound along the river and I take furious notes on all the different species we encounter. It's embarrassing having to ask so many questions but in my defense most of these species are new to me. I was okay with most of the birds which included a myriad of horned larks, a beautiful kestrel, and the cliffside nest of a golden eagle. Where I truly faltered however were the plants. Snake weed, Buffalo grass, chamissa, locoweed, chocolate flower, perky sue, orange globe mallow, and three-leaf sumac were not typically found in my old stomping grounds. Hopefully soon I'll get to know them by heart.

But alas...no leopard frogs.

As we make the slow question-filled ascent to our awaiting vehicle I can't help but feel an urge to be thankful for living in an area so beautiful and so rich in life, both in the blatant present and the hidden past. It's like the secret I can't wait to tell but hesitant to reveal.

I tell you what, you come out here and I may show you the secrets but until then, I am quite content with apathy and ignorance.

Other petroglyphs from the day...

Wondering about all the sites I missed yet for once I am content to be ignorant.

 



Making Papaw Proud

I started my career with the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency managing a hunter education and range facility. I already knew I loved engaging the public about wildlife but it was here where my passion for mentoring kids grew. Considering the shooting range I managed only drew in a handful of customers per week, I dove in headfirst and focused my efforts on teaching hunter education. Love and respect of the outdoors is near and dear to me and if I had any influence in a child's life to develop that similar respect, that was what I was going to do.

Teaching hunter education to a few thousand kids per year one would think all the kids blend together. One is wrong. So many individuals stand out, it makes me smile thinking I may have had a positive influence in their lives. But here's the thing, I have no doubt that in some instances those experiences touched my life more so than I touched theirs. Some of their stories have become etched into the framework of who I have become today and for that, I am grateful. One such experience involved a boy named "Ronnie". Here is Ronnie's story…

**************

Hunter education classes max out each year in late summer and early fall in preparation for the upcoming hunting seasons. Classes tend to get quite large, often in excess of fifty students, which is far more than I like but demand for these classes often outweighs situations I consider ideal. In classes so large I like to give the kids incentives to stay focused since one-on-one instruction is often not possible. One such incentive was to offer the kids a potential once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and that was to go hunting with ME.

Before anyone begins to think my head has grown beyond the capacity for my neck to support it, it hasn't. What I quickly learned living and teaching in the outskirts of Memphis was that folks come from all walks of life, from insanely well-off to the other end of the spectrum. The ones we often turn a blind eye to. The kids who don't get the chances we often take for granted. The chance to get outside and realize the world is yours for the taking. These were the kids I tried to focus on.

The plan was to teach the kids about, not just gun safety, but about living a life that respected nature as much as anything else they held dear. In doing so, they would be gifted something that would always be there for them and could never be taken away...the love of the outdoors. Simply put, by loving nature and the outdoors, they were given a chance to get away and forget any trouble that may fester in their lives.

So...I tried my best to offer them that chance.

The challenge was simple. Sit through my class, pay attention, participate, and when all was said and done, tell me what drives you to go hunting. Yes it was a dreaded essay.

Fear not though. This essay was not graded on grammar or spelling or clearness of thought. Rather, it was graded on need. It was quite evident reading the responses given which kids in my class were going to enjoy a life in the outdoors and which kids were not going to have much of an opportunity to do so. I read many essays that began, "One time while hunting with my Dad..." Though I enjoyed reading about those adventures, they were neatly placed in an ever-growing pile.

The other pile, was reserved for the essays that began on a much more solemn note. They often began with the likes of "I don't have a Dad but my papaw likes to hunt." Fortunately this pool was quite small so it made the selection of the "winning" essays much easier.

So in essence I should rephrase the grand prize for the essay contest...it was an opportunity TO GO HUNTING with me.

And truth be told we had about 4-5 other "guides", all employees of the TN Wildlife Resources Agency, so we were able to offer that opportunity to multiple kids each year.

************

Ronnie's Story

I had gotten to know a boy named Ronnie who lived in a humble home not far from where I resided in rural West TN...smack dab in the land of cotton. He was fourteen at the time, a bit older than most kids who took my class, but still a child in the eyes of many. From his writing I could see his future was already laid out, and it was one that was pre-determined rather than one that was chosen. Within a few years, if he was lucky, he would be able to graduate from high school but more than likely he would end up working on a farm trying to make ends meet. This wasn't going to be a family-owned farm either. For according to the essay, his dad worked two jobs and "...didn't really have much time to take him hunting, but it's something his Dad and Papaw loved to do when they were young. So that is why I want to go hunting."

Let me clarify by saying, I was blessed to know his dad and this story, by no means, is this a knock against him. He was one of the hardest working guys I ever knew and he did whatever he could to support his family. Unfortunately this often meant working while the sun was still shining, leaving little, if any, time for outdoor activities.

Needless to say...the deal was sealed. I was going to take Ronnie on his first-ever deer hunt.

************

I arrived at Ronnies house shortly before 3:30 am. This would give us enough time to drive out to the farm where we would be hunting and rendezvous with the three other hunters and their guides. It would also give us time to go over the ground rules with the landowner.

The light on Ronnies front porch flicked on as I pulled into the driveway. I shutoff the engine on the F-150 pick-up truck and walked up the worn-out steps to the front door. His dad greeted me in an instant, his top half silhouetted in the dented and scratched metal screen door.

"Hey I really appreciate you doing this for Ronnie. You have no idea how much this means to him and me."

The door creaked open on its hinges as he gestured me to come inside.

Though most of the house was still engulfed in darkness, the tiny light above the kitchen sink cast enough rays on Ronnie's dad to tell me something was deeply amiss. His eyes were heavily bloodshot and his nose glowed a warm shade of red. It looked as if he never went to bed and truth be told...he looked a mess.

I feared the worse.

"Ronnies getting his stuff out of the garage. He's been looking forward to this for three weeks now."

I looked at him, not knowing how to react. Needless to say, never knowing him to drink, I was extremely disappointed.

Before I could question him or even smell what I suspected...he motioned me to the living room in case Ronnie entered the kitchen unexpectedly.

He put his arm around me.

His eyes began to tear up.

"Listen," he said. "I got a phone call a few hours ago and found out that Ronnie's Papaw had passed away late last night. I don't want to tell him just yet because he is so very close to his Papaw and he's been looking forward to this hunt more than anything. Can you do me a favor and not tell him just yet? I want him so badly to have a good day today."

I was floored.

A lump immediately formed in my throat and I instinctively hated myself more than ever, for here I was, quick to judge a man for his selfish actions and instead he tells me his father had just died and he wants me to make sure his son has a good day.

I felt like a fool.

I gave him one of those awkward man hugs and assured him I would 'try my best'.

I can't say for certain but if I were to guess, I believe my eyes and nose were probably looking similar to his at that point.

At that moment Ronnie burst forth from the garage...gun, gear, and huge smile in hand.

I collected myself as quickly as I could.

"You ready to go?" I said calmly.

"Yes sir! Couldn't hardly sleep last night I'm so excited!" was Ronnie's eager reply.

He gave his dad a big hug and said, "Wish me luck dad!"

I had to walk out and act busy. As I loaded his ramshackle gear into the back of my truck all that was going through my mind was, "God, please...please make this a good day."

************

We arrived at the farm about an hour before first light.

The landowner, who graciously donated his property for this special hunt, wanted to meet each and every child and to go over some of the "farm rules" he would like for each of the kids to follow. Obviously myself and the other guides were going to try to teach the kids respect for the land but it is always an added bonus when you can put a face to who they may be hurting should they every act in a disrespectful way. As you could imagine the kids didn't disappoint and were acting on their best behavior. "Yes sir and no sir," followed each and every question and Ronnie, being the oldest, was of course leading the way.

Just before we were ready to strike out, the landowner gave one last request. "Try not to shoot any really young deer. I want to give them a chance to grow up."

"Yes sir," said Ronnie. "No young ones."

************

As we sat in the tree stand that morning, Mother Nature did not disappoint. She put on her usual glorious display of sights and sounds that always freshens the weary soul. Though the sunrise is usually enough to erase all worries, all I could think about that morning was what lay in store for Ronnie at the conclusion of our hunt. So much for today being a 'good day' for him.

Hours passed and nothing showed.

My heart sank, especially for Ronnie.

He tried to stay positive but as most hunters know, the higher the sun gets in the morning the less likely deer are to be moving.

It was now almost 10:00 am and I could see the excitement of today's hunt waning in his face.

Suddenly he perked.

A deer had quietly stepped out into the clearing about a hundred yards out.

Now my heart began to race.

It looked to be a small doe. Probably one or two years old but definitely not mature.

I instructed him to raise his gun and find the deer in his scope.

He did exactly as I instructed.

I could hear his breathing quicken and could see a slight tremble in the barrel of his gun. I told him to relax, take the safety off, and slowly pull the trigger whenever he was ready.

He exhaled unsteadily and slid the safety off.

He took a deep breath and I instinctively covered my ears anticipating the report.

A few seconds passed...then a few more.

Then without even looking to me for advice he slid the safety back on.

"That deer is too young. I better not shoot."

Once again I was floored. Here he was, a young boy on his first ever deer hunt, given the green light to kill his first deer, but passing up that opportunity because of a shadow of a doubt that wasn't the "right thing to do".

And in the blink of an eye, the deer disappeared.

I was so darn proud of him.

Though the deer would have been plenty big enough, he put someone else's desires in front of his own. His dad too would have been proud.

Within about an hour it would be lunch time and the morning hunt would soon conclude. Though the morning didn't pan out as I had hoped, at least Ronnie would have a good story to share with his dad on this day.

Just as the morning sun was about to declare high noon Ronnie once again perked up, his eyes widening. Three large does made an unexpected appearance on the far end of the field. They began an immediate trot heading in our general direction.

I immediately gave the order to Ronnie to get the gun up and put the crosshairs on the lead doe. There was no time to get nervous. I told him as soon as I whistled and the deer stopped..."you pull the trigger."

It was as if it was a well rehearsed moment.

I whistled.

Deer stopped.

Loud report erupted from the end of the rifle.

The lead doe dropped in her tracks.

There was a moment of silence then a loud "Yesssssss!!!!"

"OMGosh...I did it sir!"

Yes… He was still calling me sir!

If you could have seen the excitement in his eyes after realizing he had just taken his first deer...it truly was priceless and I moment I will never forget.

************

I instructed Ronnie to begin gathering his things. As he did so, I called his dad to tell him the good news. Hoping to provide a little joy in an otherwise hellish day for his dad I asked if he would like to meet us at the farmhouse to help with his son's deer. Surprisingly enough he agreed to do so. He probably wanted and needed the respite as much as anyone.

By the time we got the deer loaded onto the ATV and hauled it back to the farmhouse Ronnie's father was just pulling into the drive. His dad barely got out of the truck when his son jumped into his arms and gave him a great big hug. He was so proud of what he had done and he could not wait to share the story with his dad.

As happy as the event could have been I could see that his dad was still struggling with the passing of his father, and most importantly, his son's papaw earlier that morning.

As his son and a few others worked on hoisting the deer so they could begin the process of field dressing it, his father walked over to me and shook my hand. I cut him off before he could even begin to thank me. I needed no thanks. It was my honor and my pleasure.

He smiled and gave me an unspoken thank you.

I told him to go help his son.

He walked over to his son and again gave him a great big hug. As soon as they separated Ronnie's dad began pulling out his pocket knife to begin the process of skinning the deer.

With the joyous pitch of a proud and excited child Ronnie yelled, "Put that knife away Dad! Let's use Papaw's knife! He's going to be so proud of this when he sees it!"

At that moment Ronnie's dad's knees buckled and with that, so did mine and the tears began to flow.

************

A few days later I attended the funeral for Ronnie's Papaw. Although it was a sad day Ronnie and his dad continued to thank me. I insisted there was nothing special in what we did. That was when Ronnie's father told me, "You gotta understand...you gave me one of the greatest gifts I ever could have asked for. You gave me the perfect way to break the news to Ronnie of his Papaw's passing." he said. "That night after the hunt, we sat down at the dinner table and I told him, Papaw was up in the stand with you today Ronnie."

I guarantee Ronnie made Papaw proud.