A-Hunting We Did Go!

December 8, 2010

A few weeks ago, my friend, Dori, whose son also has Duchenne, posed a very strange question via our Facebook IM: “Would Philip like to go hunting?”

I stared at the screen for a full minute, cocked and eyebrow and thought, “Say, there’s a question!” and went off in my head about all the things I could say to that. “Sure! He loves to take on the wild right after he’s done with his tackle football games. Drives right out there on his 4-wheeler & 12-guage and sits in the cold waiting for Bambi to trot on by.” Knowing she was not kidding, I typed back something to the effect of, “I guess we haven’t really talked about it. Why do you ask?”

Fifteen minutes and a chat later, I’m asking Phil a question that I never thought I would be asking him and getting much the same look from him that I probably gave the computer screen a few minutes prior. “Hey Phil…would you like to go deer hunting?”

His look said it all. How is that possible? Are you kidding around or what? I can’t….

I assure him, “Really, Phil…if you could, would you want to go deer hunting?” I explain to him that there is an organization that sponsors hunts for people of all ages with disabilities, all around the country. And that yes, it IS possible! His eyes begin to light up, and he starts biting his tongue and smiling with excitement.

Somewhere in this son of mine resides the recessive gene that loves to hunt. He gets it from me, and I am fondly recalling the days when hunting was a yearly event. That week before Thanksgiving, where the blaze orange comes out, the guns are cleaned, the tags are bought, and while the guys in my party (all of whom were guys except myself) are all no doubt dreaming of the trophy buck coming into their sights. For me, it was all about the freezer. I would kiss the kids goodbye late on Friday night before opening day, knowing that before they would arise on Saturday morning, I would be in a blind somewhere in the woods – gone Grocery Hunting. From the watch and wait, to the sighting of the deer, to the cock and bang of the gun, to the field dressing and tagging – there was something primitive and vestigial about it; something sacred and survivalist. I was providing food for my family. I must’ve been a large cat in a previous life. This was my contribution to the survival of my clan. The kill was only the beginning. Then it was on to cutting up and processing hundreds of pounds of venison and converting it to its food value of roasts and steaks and jerky and burger and sausage.

At the end of the nine day hunt and week long processing fest, I suppose most of my kids thought that the butcher shop was a far easier bag, and with the tides of life washing us closer to the city and farther away from farm life, this practice slowly faded out of our lives. And it seemed a natural progression, as Phil grew, and his limitations became more and more obvious. Thus, my hunting days drew to what I thought would be a close, and were filed neatly away into the folder of my mind labeled: Fond Memories.

Before it faded entirely, I would buy tags for a friends hunting party, and they would bring me back a deer to cut up and freeze for my family, and I recall one year when Phil helped me with the whole process. He sat in the skidsteer, whose bucket held the carcass I was disassembling, shivering in the cold, but refusing to go in the house. He wanted to watch the whole thing. He sat with me in the kitchen as I fetched the quarters out of the tub one at a time and sliced, diced and ground them into edible portions.

Now I was looking into the face of a kid who realized I was not funning with him. Did he really want to go deer hunting? His only question was, “How can I do that?”

I really did not know exactly myself. But I had just heard tell that there was an organization that had taken this ancient tradition and made it accessible to virtually anyone who wanted to engage in it, regardless of their ability. United Special Sportsmen of America, headquartered right here in my own state of Wisconsin. Phone calls were made, and a hunt for Philip was scheduled for December 3-5, 2010. This was to take place at a 160-acre deer farm up north here in Wisconsin.

We drove 2.5 hours up there on Friday evening, and arrived at what was called the lodge. It was, instead, a fully furnished 3 bedroom house, decked out with trophy whitetails on the walls, a fireplace, TV, full kitchen, in-floor radiant heat and hunting motif. We met with the owner, Shannon, who said he would pick us up at 6:00 a.m. Saturday morning in his Kawasaki Mule, a 4-seated ATV.

Poor Phil, didn’t sleep too good that night – just too excited, and in a strange place, strange bed (which we loaded up with pillows and wedges to replicate his hospital bed), and in his own room across the hall from ours. He was sleeping at 5:00 a.m. when I roused him out of bed and into the chair. We bought camo pants, hat and gloves for him, and wrestled them all into place by 6:00, when we heard the Mule driving up – right to the back door of the lodge. And I mean RIGHT to the back door! I picked Phil up out of his chair, and took three steps out and set him in the back seat of the vehicle. We buckled him in, and I snuggled in beside him for a five minute ride out into the blackness of the pre-dawn woods to our blind. It was absolutely beautiful.
Once again, our guide pulled right up to the door of this 8’ x 8’ shack, which had a propane heater, four chairs and a peculiar gun mount pointing out one of the windows, which were on all four walls. Phil sat comfortably on an office chair, jacked all the way up and with his wheelchair seat serving as a booster seat. We were all settled in when the light began to give shape to things in the darkness around us. I could see that we were on a hill, about 50 yards from a clearing.

The gun, a 7-mm .06 rifle, was not yet mounted in the stand, when Shannon pointed down the hill at a dark shape moving across the clearing. I handed him his binoculars and he told us that it was indeed a buck. As it got a bit closer, he told us it was a trophy rack that would probably score over 200 points. (Not tines, but points in a system that the pros use to score rack size.)

My first thought was not, “Damn…no gun set up yet!” (That was my second thought, actually…). I was simply thrilled to be witness to this majestic creature, as it munched contentedly on some corn, looking up occasionally, totally unaware of the hunters on the hill. As daylight brought further clarity to the valley, our big friend finished his breakfast and wandered off back into the woods. As soon as he left, Shannon brought out the gun and placed it in the mount.

This mount is a testimony to there being a way wherever there is a will. The rifle drops neatly into a rest, and the scope is hooked up to a small screen with crosshairs, which is controlled by a joystick, not unlike the video games and wheelchair that Phil is ultra familiar with. The trigger mechanism is then connected to a long plastic straw, which, when you suck on it, deploys the trigger. Look ma!! No hands!! And no shoulder to get kicked, either! He took the time to show Philip how it works, and what to do.

About the time the tutorial was concluding, a doe wandered purposefully into the clearing, looking this way and that and making her way to the dining pile. She must have given some type of signal, because her two fawns followed moments later, hopping and skipping in behind her, and joining her for a bite to eat. The sun was obscured by clouds, but there was now plenty of light, and Mark was able to turn on the video camera and catch the whole meal on film.

Phil was pretty mesmerized by the whole thing, and his lack of sleep was catching up with him. His eyes were getting heavy, so we decided that we could take him back to the lodge for a rest, and come back around 1:30 in the afternoon.

We got back in the Mule, and Phil was now seeing the woods in the light of day, and the trail that lead from the lodge to the stand. There was much we’d missed the night before in the darkness, like the fact that the lodge was parked right up to a large elk enclosure. Shannon told us about Jasmine, the friendly elk, who will come up to the fence for cookies and treats. As we rounded one corner, a huge bald eagle soared up over our heads and landed in a tree. Now, where we live, you just don’t see bald eagles, so this was worth of a pull over and a camera shot.

Back at the ranch, we called out to the giant Jazzy, and she trotted right up to the fence, and enjoyed a cherry pop-tart Phil held for her. We got this on film, too. Phil, Mark and I passed the time watching a movie, baking crescent rolls and flipping through hunting magazines looking at all the pictures of deer. He had officially caught Buck Fever.

At 1:30, Shannon came back to pick us up for round two! Phil was so optimistic. “I’m gonna shoot a deer tonight, aren’t I?” changed over the course of our ride out to the stand to, “I AM gonna get my deer tonight!” Back at the blind, Shannon showed us pictures that he took while on a hunting trip to Africa! What an amazing trip, and Phil was taking it all in, listening to the stories, and seeing all the different wild life there. I was just happy to have this chance to sit still in the woods and listen, and watch, and wait. I had forgotten how much I loved hunting – especially since it was nice and warm in the shack! My mind wandered back to the past, and opened the Fond Memories folder to review its contents. The adrenaline rush that accompanies the sighting of the deer, the focus as you raise your gun and take aim, the strain of trying to hold your aim steady while moving with the deer. The split second it takes to depress the trigger which seems to go in slow motion. The excitement when you feel when your weapon discharges with a colossal bang and you see the bullet hit your target, and the animal as is crumples to the ground, taking it’s honored place in the food chain, giving it’s life for the nourishment of yours. When suddenly, out of the far side of the clearing, two bucks sauntered in, and I realized that against all odds, I would get to share this experience with my son.

The binoculars came out again, and Shannon smiled when he whispered to Phil, “That is the perfect buck!” Mark had turned the camera on, and I watched as Phil was brought close to the gun mount and instructed on his aim and fire technique. Another deer stepped into the sights, as Phil decided he had perfect aim, and “BANG!”

Both deer bolted…leaving us to wonder briefly if the shot found it’s mark! But the deer only made it about 30 yards before it stopped. We could hardly see it through the brush, but it was not moving. Shannon took the gun from the mount and pondered if he should take a finishing shot to be sure. After a minute of visually scouring the brush to see the deer, he decided to do just that. He nodded to Phil, and handed him the bullet casings. “You got your deer, buddy!” The ear to ear grin was not caught on film, but I will forever remember it in my heart when I hugged Phil and congratulated him. He said to me, “I didn’t think the gun would be so loud!”

We left the blind and got into the Mule, and drove down to see his trophy. It was lying about 10 yards off the trail, and Shannon dragged it over to where we were sitting. Phil was watching with the most intense look. I asked him what he was thinking. “I feel a little bad for the deer,” he said, then added, “But that’s a lot of meat, isn’t it Mom?”

“Yes, Phil…that IS a lot of meat! And every time we eat it, you will know that YOU got it for us as a family. YOU shot the deer, and filled our freezer with tasty meat.” And he smiled, the kind of smile you can only hope to see on the face of someone whose life is defined by all that they CANNOT do. But this, he not only could do….he DID! It’s only fitting that he have that rack as a testimony to this event – an event that throughout the history of man has separated the men from the boys; the first successful hunt in any boys life that marks the passage from boyhood to manhood. Chair or no chair – Philip did it!

Shannon then drove us back to the lodge, and we got into the van and headed over to the main house half an hour later, where the deer was strung up and ready to skin and bone out. Phil had 101 questions as it was disassembled and processed as we watched, in what to me was record time!

Afterwards, we headed back to the lodge with a tote full of meat, hide and antlers, and a reason to celebrate. We enjoyed a light meal and a movie, but Phil was out of energy. He fell asleep on the couch in the first 10 minutes of the film! At the end of the movie, Mark and I picked him up and moved his sleepy frame into the bed. He woke up long enough to look up at me, smile THAT smile again and ask, “I really shot a deer today, didn’t I?” I kissed him on the forehead, gave him a big hug and assured him, “Yes, my friend, you certainly did!”