And if you were to ask me if my outdoor mentors are great hunters from a killing standpoint, my honest answer would be no. Heck, if I relied on them for food to eat I would've been dead long ago. Truth be told, they're not good killers. Heck, I'd even classify them as bad, really bad. But I care not for they are superb hunters. Their lessons and stories are priceless, especially to a young impressionable boy who hung on their every word, who would later find out that most of their teachings would be debunked by science and all-around common sense.
But if there's one thing the three have taught me, it is that hunting is NOT about the killing. It is about the friendships that are forged and the time spent together in the field that is the greatest trophy one can acquire. For that reason, these three are the greatest hunters I have ever known.
Those three amigos go by the name of Dad, Frank, and Charlie.
------------------------------------
The Characters
 |
| The Three Amigos...Dad (on right), Frank (in middle) and Charlie (on left). |
Dad is self-explanatory. His real
name is Robert but most of his friends call him Bob. Once in a while Frank will
call him "Bubba" because of his boorish antics but all I have ever
known him as is "dad" so that's what I shall call him. He truly is
the one responsible for my being and if you don't understand that, well, it may
be time for some basic biology classes, or health, or gym, or wherever that
lesson took place. Anyway, other than being responsible for my birth, he truly
was the one that made me love and appreciate the outdoors. Dad was a mechanic
at the General Mills cereal factory in Buffalo, NY, for over forty-five years.
This meant he often worked six, sometimes seven, days a week, but his vacations
were spent taking his four kids camping, hunting and fishing. In all honesty,
throughout my childhood, those outdoor adventures were the greatest few weeks
of every year and because of them, I dedicated my life to living those
vacations. Hence, I am now a wildlife biologist living my "outdoor"
dream.
Charlie is my dad's best friend, actually one of two. My Dad met Charlie in 1962 in a small archery shop in downtown Buffalo. Actually it was in the basement of Teddy Cichocki's place. You have to understand in the early 1960s archery was an obscure and unhip past-time, especially in a blue-collar factory town on Lake Erie. The two hit it off pretty quickly and they began hunting together soon afterward. At first they bounced around different areas in Western New York but in the late 1960s Charlie bought a small plot of land adjacent to Bully Hill State Forest and put a fixer-upper trailer on it. "Charlie's cabin" would soon become the cornerstone of my hunting career and the place where childhood dreams were born.
Frank is the other best friend. Dad met Frank a little later in the early 70’s or as best as either of them can remember. This friendship however, was born through an involuntary relationship at first. You see Frank worked with Dad at General Mills. Back then they worked in the warehouse in what was aptly called the "loading gang". Dad was the one that introduced Frank to Charlie, once again through the common thread of hunting. I smile thinking of what today's connotation of "gang" means for that is what these three would truly become.
Without a doubt there have been many other friends these three have hung with…Mike, Ronnie, Don, Tadpole, Kofka, and Chipper, just to name a few. But all of those have come and gone, mostly on good terms, some not so much. But these three have stuck together through thick and thin and for that I am thankful.
And in case you're wondering, though their hunting days are fewer and farther between, they're still getting around even if it is at a much slower pace. Dad, Frank and Charlie share a cup of coffee almost daily and I have no doubt their stories take them to the woods and to Charlie's cabin more so now than in their prime.
These are the adventures of Dad, Frank, and Charlie...
No comments:
Post a Comment