YOUNG, FUN AND A LITTLE BIT OUTLAW.
This is another story in a series being done for my dad.
Young, invincible and a little bit outlaw
Times were different then. Being a hunter in the late fifties didn’t mean the same thing it does today. Technology, regulations, restrictions, and having to deal with the environmental whackos that hound hunting and fishing takes a little fun out of being in the woods. Back when my dad was a young man, strong, invincible, and full of that wild fun that bubbles out of you no matter how hard to try to hold it in, he ran the woods and fields like a year old puppy chasing his first rabbit. He hunted and fished everywhere at anytime, call him he’s there, think about calling him and he’ll probably show up with a shotgun or fishing rod stuck in the trunk just in case. Those were enchanted times, and too often, because of our youth we don’t realize until later just how special it was.
The only thing that can make it better for a young hunter is to have family and friends share the same love. This is especially so if the young man can find a best friend. Not just a hunting buddy, but that guy who will stick by you, thick or thin, for the rest of your life. You know who I’m talking about. Like the saying goes, “A good friend will bail you out of jail… A best friend will be sitting beside you saying, “Damn, that was fun!”
Dad was lucky. During his last days in the service or shortly thereafter he met Carl who turned out to be his best friend, hunting buddy and fellow outlaw. Not that they were bad guys, it was just back in those days you might bend the limit a time or two, and needed someone who was as dedicated as you were to slip by “the man.”
Carl Sr duck hunting in Perry
Ray Sr glassing for bird off an abandoned cabin roof
During the late fifties, Dad and Carl and both of their dads lived in the Jacksonville area. They roamed the north end of Florida and the south part of Georgia hunting ducks, quail, deer and anything else in season. They made regular trips to the area around Perry Florida in the Panhandle hunting ducks. Dad tells the story almost every time we pass through the I-10 area of I-75. He goes, “Wish, did I ever tell you the time Carl and me went duck hunting?” “Sure, but tell me again.” Dad smiles as his mind drifts back in time.
“Well, Carl, he was a damn good shot. He grew up around Jacksonville trapping and hunting as a kid. He went to Korea as a sniper. When he was over there, he got frustrated about not being able to tell if he was hitting the North Korean soldier. So he writes his daddy and asks him to send some ’06 sporting ammo. He gets a couple of boxes and starts using them. Boy, he said that made a big difference! He said he’d shoot the guy with the old ammo and he’d just drop out of sight. With the new stuff, POOF! The guy’s head would explode. Carl figured he was doing the right thing until one day his commander called him in and reamed him out good. He had found out about Carl’s “adjustments” and told him if the NK’s got a hold of him, they’d shoot him on the spot. Carl said, “I don’t know why y’all is so upset. You guys taught me how to kill; I was just improvin’ on the method.” Dad would laugh out loud. “Wish, that man could shoot. I saw him spin around in a fire break one time and shoot a running deer at better than a hundred yards. That damned deer hit the ground like a sack of potatoes! When I got up to it, I saw the bullet had passed right through the heart!”
Carl and Dad with their ducks (less one)
Dad pointed his finger at me. “Now, me and Carl, we loved duck hunting. Went every chance we could. One time we went hunting out by Perry. We had a good day and when we got done we found out we had shot a little over the limit. Back then it wasn’t a big deal, but we were young and broke and couldn’t afford the ticket if we got caught. So, Carl figured out we could get back to Jax okay if we could hide the extra ducks. Carl had this old sedan, so we began stuffing ducks all over the place, under the seat, in the engine compartment, under the tire, just everywhere. We drive back and everything is fine. A couple of days later, Carl goes on a date with this nurse he was chasing. He liked her a lot and was working the angles pretty hard.” (You have to remember, this was the late fifties.) “It was winter and cold. So, when Carl picks up his date, he decides to start up the heater. The whole car explodes with this foul smell. I mean gagging bad! Carl had noticed something was wrong earlier, but couldn’t figure out where the smell was coming from. Now, he could hardly stand it! His date is retching, Carl can barely breathe, and he’s at a loss to figure out what was wrong. That was until he reached up under the heater vent and pulled out a decomposed duck. In our haste to hide the ducks we miscounted. So when we pulled them back out of the car, we thought we had them all. Needless, to say a smelly rotted duck made the nurse decide Carl wasn’t the one for her.” Dad laughed at the memory. “He was pretty upset, but me, I thought it was hilarious. Just goes to show though. If you try to get away with something, it will always come back to get you in the end. That’s a good lesson to remember, son.”
I promised I would and filed the story away to tell my kids one day when we drove together through the same area. And I have a time or two. They laugh every time I tell it. Kids think dead smelly birds making anyone gag is funny. But, they get the lesson to, cheating may be fun, but you’ll always pay in the end.