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His hunting season ends -- for good
By ELEANOR D. RYAN "There is an appointed time for everything..." -- Ecclesiastes It all began with a telephone call from our daughter, Beth. "Mom, Donnie and I are planning to take our truck and drive up through Philadelphia and Long Island to browse at antiques and stuff. If there's anything you'd like us to take to Pat or Colleen, we'd be glad to do that." Tom's answer was, "Yes, you can take my guns and hunting gear. I want Pat to have all of it." I couldn't believe my ears. "Why?" I asked, "Why now?" "It's time." he said. So be it. The day had arrived. Beth and Donnie would be here within an hour. I sat by the window and watched as Tom assembled his beloved firearms and other hunting gear on the carport. Then he sat in a chair, leaned back and closed his eyes. "What is he thinking?" I asked myself. Is he remembering the years he hunted pheasants as a child in South Dakota? The 30 years he hunted with Donnie and his friends? The times our New York son-in-law came down and went with them? Tom was dubbed "the old man" of the group. Is he remembering the year they left for Sheffield, Texas, at 11 p.m. one very rainy night? Their motor home rolled over, north of Crystal River. Eight hunters aboard, and miraculously no one was hurt. Their hunting gear, plus 10 pounds of pancake flour they were taking, was spewed all over U.S. 19. Did that deter them? No it did not. Tom and two others stayed with the gear and the rest of them rode back to Pinellas County with the tow truck. They picked up a van and another truck, went back to the crash site and within 12 hours were on their way to Texas. "We continued on and arrived in time for opening morning of deer season." Donnie said. Is he remembering the trip to the Lincoln National Forest northwest of Carlsbad, N.M., where Donnie fell off the mountain onto a ledge? Tom and son-in-law Bob pulled him up from the ledge by rope. They continued hunting the rest of the day. By morning Donnie was in such pain, they took him to a local hospital. He had a broken ankle. It was too swollen to put a cast on it, so the doctor wrapped it in an Ace bandage and told him to stay off it. He went back to camp, duct-taped a woolen hat around his foot to keep it warm and hunted the rest of the trip from the tailgate of the pickup truck. Unbelievable! Is he remembering the year they went to Kremlin, Colo., and hunted elk and mule deer on horseback? Donnie said, "We young guys walked when we were too sore to ride the horses. Tom rode the entire time, however." "Only one of us got a deer that year. When we were leaving, we looked up at the mountain and saw a huge, granddaddy elk. Tom said, "Look at him, he's laughing at us . . . he won!' " (We were all glad "he won.") Ultimately they hunted in Loveland, Colo., the Wenatchee National Forest in Yakima, Wash., and, of course, in our own Ocala National Forest. All the hunters agreed that one of the greatest pleasures of their hunting expeditions was at the end of the day, when all gathered around the campfire and swapped stories, looked up at the smog-free, crystal clear, star-filled sky and listened to "the old man" (Tom) talk about life, character, fatherhood and family. I'm sure all those thoughts were going through Tom's mind as he waited for the truck to arrive. He helped load his gear onto the truck, waved goodbye, then walked back into the house, without a word. I went into the Florida room, looked at the bare space between the two mounted deer antlers where a gun rack used to hold three guns, and I cried. ". . . a time to keep, and a time to cast away." -- Eleanor D. Ryan is a writer in St. Petersburg.
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From the Times South Pinellas desks Dr. Delay Letters |
