Columnist’s note: As I have for more than 30 years, during the first week of May I will be hunting turkeys with a unique group of individuals from West Virginia and Georgia. We will be there, but if I said it will be the same this year, well, that would just be a lie.
I said goodbye to an old friend the other day. I claim no special title in this. The passing of someone who is special in our lives is an experience we all must endure.
In recent years, after the passing of my father, I have told myself I will not let these things affect me as much anymore. It was a good lie – well thought out, and I repeated it to myself often to reinforce it. Trouble is, I never really believed it.
It’s a strange thing and hard to explain, but friendships among hunters and fishermen seem to run deeper and are more meaningful than others. I suppose it has to do with shared experiences in the wild, long treks over the mountains, turkeys carried home and turkeys missed – or something like that.
I suppose every one of you have lost a special hunting or fishing bud and know about a void that will never be filled. Let me tell you about one of mine.