Sometimes I find it hard to believe that today's youth can become passionate about hunting and fishing, or trapping. Pay attention to any budding teenager equipped with electronic gear and you will notice that their available time is spent talking through the push of buttons. In a sense it's as if they feel alive because they are electronically connected.
That's why, several weeks ago, Chand's call came as such a surprise. July had just begun and Opening Day was three months away. Thoughts of deer season were gnawing away in the back of my mind like a fox squirrel cutting on a hickory nut, but were not yet devouring my thinking like a starving coyote on a fresh gut pile. (This typically happens when September rolls around.)
Chand's voice held an anticipating excitement that I had forgot existed. In his hands he clutched his first hunting license, and as he informed me of all the legal requirements he was bound by and the game and limits he was allowed to take, my mind drifted back to August 15, 1984 and I was once again in the squirrel woods with my dad and brother for the first time.
Chand talked of the coming deer season with unmatched enthusiasm, and recalled events of past seasons with a clearness and clarity that left little doubt how important those few days in October and November are to him.
Then and there I decided this deer season would be dedicated to Chand. For years now he has been a part of deer camp. Patiently he has waited his turn, quietly listening to the stories -- his time in the woods limited to a noon-day squirrel hunt and the occasional deer drag. But for Chand, this year is going to be different.
