Larry Eckart
Well-known member
Adventures With Tim and Harley: The Meeting
Recently I moved from South Carolina to the Raleigh area. This was the second time I moved from one area of the country to another in the last ten years. Moving is the next phase of your life. Moving is a choice. Moving gives you new opportunities in the future.
Moving also leaves behind your collection of friends with whom you hunt.
So there I was. On my own. Again. In the past even with tested hunting friends around me, I often hunted alone due to my work schedule. Nevertheless, it is part of the pleasure of duck hunting to have local buddies to talk to, learn from and share hunts with. After all, what would The Old Duck Hunters, Inc. be without Mr. President as the lead partner in crime?
In early December I was at a rehearsal... for Christmas caroling of all things. I mean, how many times would you go to a choir rehearsal and expect to find a hunting buddy? As we wrapped up, a man, also new to our congregation, noticed my hat: Simms.
"You fish"? he asked.
"Yes."
"Fly fish?"
"Yes."
We began talking about North Carolina streams and it was good. I don't remember exactly how the conversation swerved to "that topic" but at some point I said, "My passion is duck hunting."
Then I saw them. Two pairs of eyes looking over their father's shoulders. Boys. Very large boys, but boys. Their names were Tim and Harley.
Chris, their father, said, "Really? You are a passionate duck hunter?"
"REALLY," I said.
All of a sudden the room became small, private. I had counted about 35 people present for the rehearsal. Now there was just the four of us. It was as though everyone else disappeared as we began to talk about duck hunting.
I could see in the eyes of Tim and Harley, fire. The fire of enthusiasm for our favored sport. Tim is a junior in high school. He has a football-type body in a kid who doesn't play football. Harley is in eighth grade but high school sized! Big boys!
The next Sunday after church I dropped by their house with maps. We began to share what we knew and had experienced. As I sat on the couch with my computer tuned to Google maps, a smallish yellow Lab soon had her nose in my lap and a little brother was curled up next to me. Little sisters looked on from the background with smiles. Mom was in the background too, watching over her flock, smiling. Duck hunting. Family affair.
Thus we planned a first hunt together on the North Carolina December opener coming this Saturday.
First, however, was a scouting trip on Wednesday at 6 AM. The day before father Chris texted me, ?Can you be here at 6 AM?? he asked. Response: ?Is a mallard?s head green??
Wednesday morning came and with it a cold rain. Not exactly the weather you choose to kick off a hunting relationship. I drove up to the house. The door opened. Harley wasn't able to skip school. Father Chris had worked until 2:30 AM and needed rest. Tim, however, walked out the door in his waders.
On time. In his waders. A teenager.
You've got to like a kid who has his waders on coming out of the door.
We made our scout of Saturday's location and then checked out a few more locations. We found another area that looked promising for divers.
"You interested in giving that a shot with me sometime?" I asked.
"How about next Wednesday," Tim immediately replied.
I just smiled. Fire. Many years ago a mentor told me, "I like your fire."
Those same words came to mind as I dropped Tim off and drove home.
Many of us on this favorite forum are, if not old, older. Recently there have been more posts about passing it on to the next generation. The recent death of Steve Sutton has impressed the value of time upon us all.
It looks like I have stumbled into or been Guided towards an opportunity to provide encouragement for our pleasured tradition of boats and dogs and blocks and calls and marsh and wind and wings.
Question: should I warn them now how much money our sport will cost them if pursued over a lifetime or shall I let them find out for themselves?
Adventures with Tim and Harley. To be continued.
Recently I moved from South Carolina to the Raleigh area. This was the second time I moved from one area of the country to another in the last ten years. Moving is the next phase of your life. Moving is a choice. Moving gives you new opportunities in the future.
Moving also leaves behind your collection of friends with whom you hunt.
So there I was. On my own. Again. In the past even with tested hunting friends around me, I often hunted alone due to my work schedule. Nevertheless, it is part of the pleasure of duck hunting to have local buddies to talk to, learn from and share hunts with. After all, what would The Old Duck Hunters, Inc. be without Mr. President as the lead partner in crime?
In early December I was at a rehearsal... for Christmas caroling of all things. I mean, how many times would you go to a choir rehearsal and expect to find a hunting buddy? As we wrapped up, a man, also new to our congregation, noticed my hat: Simms.
"You fish"? he asked.
"Yes."
"Fly fish?"
"Yes."
We began talking about North Carolina streams and it was good. I don't remember exactly how the conversation swerved to "that topic" but at some point I said, "My passion is duck hunting."
Then I saw them. Two pairs of eyes looking over their father's shoulders. Boys. Very large boys, but boys. Their names were Tim and Harley.
Chris, their father, said, "Really? You are a passionate duck hunter?"
"REALLY," I said.
All of a sudden the room became small, private. I had counted about 35 people present for the rehearsal. Now there was just the four of us. It was as though everyone else disappeared as we began to talk about duck hunting.
I could see in the eyes of Tim and Harley, fire. The fire of enthusiasm for our favored sport. Tim is a junior in high school. He has a football-type body in a kid who doesn't play football. Harley is in eighth grade but high school sized! Big boys!
The next Sunday after church I dropped by their house with maps. We began to share what we knew and had experienced. As I sat on the couch with my computer tuned to Google maps, a smallish yellow Lab soon had her nose in my lap and a little brother was curled up next to me. Little sisters looked on from the background with smiles. Mom was in the background too, watching over her flock, smiling. Duck hunting. Family affair.
Thus we planned a first hunt together on the North Carolina December opener coming this Saturday.
First, however, was a scouting trip on Wednesday at 6 AM. The day before father Chris texted me, ?Can you be here at 6 AM?? he asked. Response: ?Is a mallard?s head green??
Wednesday morning came and with it a cold rain. Not exactly the weather you choose to kick off a hunting relationship. I drove up to the house. The door opened. Harley wasn't able to skip school. Father Chris had worked until 2:30 AM and needed rest. Tim, however, walked out the door in his waders.
On time. In his waders. A teenager.
You've got to like a kid who has his waders on coming out of the door.
We made our scout of Saturday's location and then checked out a few more locations. We found another area that looked promising for divers.
"You interested in giving that a shot with me sometime?" I asked.
"How about next Wednesday," Tim immediately replied.
I just smiled. Fire. Many years ago a mentor told me, "I like your fire."
Those same words came to mind as I dropped Tim off and drove home.
Many of us on this favorite forum are, if not old, older. Recently there have been more posts about passing it on to the next generation. The recent death of Steve Sutton has impressed the value of time upon us all.
It looks like I have stumbled into or been Guided towards an opportunity to provide encouragement for our pleasured tradition of boats and dogs and blocks and calls and marsh and wind and wings.
Question: should I warn them now how much money our sport will cost them if pursued over a lifetime or shall I let them find out for themselves?
Adventures with Tim and Harley. To be continued.
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