I posted this litte quip on another forum some time ago. If anyone has seen it before, sorry bout that! I just wanted to get your opinion on the mentors in your hunting life. Mine certainly shaped not only my hunting world, but my travels through life itself as well.

I would guess most of us had a mentor of some sorts who took our hand and walked us through the door leading to the wonderful world of hunting. Mine was my dad. Over the years I have often wondered if he did it to purposefully introduce me to that magical lifestyle or simply to have someone to accompany him, as I know he mostly hunted alone until I could follow along. It really doesn’t matter I guess, the outcome was still the same for me.

My earliest memories are of tromping through the fields chasing doves. I must have been a tender 5 or 6, but I still remember insisting to hold a double he took one morning. I cradled both birds in my small hands, the soft warm feathers filling my fingers with awe and wonder while etching the day and the Hunt deep inside my memory. It was but a hint of a lifestyle to come spanning several decades. I will be forever grateful to Pops for letting me tag along that particular path in life…

We, as hunters, often express our thoughts of what hunting means to us in many ways: To be in the woods with family and friends sharing the bounties and beauty of nature. The telling of stories long passed by others who touched our hunting lives over a crackling campfire the night before the hunt. Witnessing things in the forests and mountains that others couldn’t begin to dream of. Some who don’t hunt would say we could experience the same things with a camera instead of a gun or bow and arrow and not have to kill to do the same thing. I can understand where they might be coming from, but the thing is I don’t believe those folks really comprehend the “entire experience” we as hunters truly do.

Pop’s taught me at a very early age it would be up to ME to make sure I could continue to enjoy and even come to love the world of hunting. He instilled in me the truth that I must be the steward of my hunting realm, and do all those things necessary to take care of my quarry and their habitat in such a way as to respect and insure their existence. He taught me I HAD to do my part and not simply leave it in the hands of others and hope they would treat this great heritage as I would. Though I only had a few short years with him, I continue to live by his teachings, even though it has been nearly 5 decades.

I have watched the sun rise more times than I can remember, and so many of them have taken my breath away with their utter beauty. But none have been so wondrous as those I have witnessed while hunting. While hunting, dawn is not simply the herald of the morn: it is the herald that pumps the blood, quickens the nerves, and sharpens the eyes of the hunter! It brings with it anticipation of the days hunt, of what will or will not be. Whether there will be life or death by our own hand. Sure, that sounds a bit dramatic, but I think it’s true for the most part. It’s something the bird watcher or photographer simply can’t comprehend. I see the same beauty and animals that they do, but with different eyes…

One of my favorite times in the woods while hunting is what I call the “magic hour of silence”. It always happens late morning, and always when I have stopped to rest, or to just simply take in my surroundings. I don’t know whether I am the cause, or if this magical time causes me to stop and take notice. The air becomes still and full, not so much as a leaf moves. One by one, the birds are silenced; the chipmunks and squirrels freeze like statues. The light seems to float on the air, misting through the trees like an apparition. My ears prick for the slightest sound but none comes. The silence is almost overwhelming. My eyes scan all around me but nothing moves. I can hear the soft rhythm of my heartbeat, and I too become as the forest, frozen and unyielding.

As quickly as it came, it departs with the first rustle of leaves; a soft breeze against my face; the chirp of a bird. The light becomes focused and true. I always smile when I stand and continue my hunt, knowing I have witnessed something special once again.

I could go on but I feel I may have overstayed my thoughts for now. So I will end with a simple “Thanks Pop’s, for showing me the way of the hunter”… I hope some of you feel where I am coming from with this post, as I truly lack the eloquence to fully describe it as well as it deserves.

Mine was my dad as well, along with my uncle(his brother) And my great uncles spent lots of time with us in various outdoor pursuits. Sadly all but one of my great uncles I used to go out with is gone now. And the last one is pretty much staying in down on the Texas/Mexico border in McAllen now-a-days. And my uncle died just a few months back. And my dad is pretty much done with going out after animal/fish and I am pretty limited in what I can do with Cathy being in such rough shape and the demands from my employer.

Here's a toast to those who we have shared many a memorable time with. Here's to us, damn few like us, and most of them are dead!!!!(Yes it is borrowed, but I like it.)

Great story Stillhunter...you are one lucky man...as are you Arron.

Unfortunately, I did not really have a mentor...I am the first, that I am aware of, in my family to have an interest in hunting. Everything I know and do is self learned over the years, by experience, and complimented by mates with whom I share the experience.

Cheers, Vince

I'm in the same boat as Vince. Dad taught me to shoot but he didn't hunt. I learned, and am learning, by reading and trying, helped along by folks like you good people here.

To be honest I envy those of you who had those experiences hunting with Fathers, Grandfathers, etc. I have been able to take my oldest daughter hunting and am looking forward to introducing my nephew to it.

I did hunt with my father but I didn't realize the value of this untill he passed away in 1985. It seems to me that afterwards we did hunt more often together...

And in my opinion the finest feelings while hunting (not taking into account when your dog surprises you and every one else) is when you can make a friend or a new hunter shoot his (or her) trophee buck. It even doesn't have to be a trophee, it even doesn't have to be big game. It's enough when everything turns out the way you predicted and he or she can come to results.
But maybe such pleasure only comes after years of experience...

I am like Vince do not have a mentor.
I learn about guns and stuff from gun magazines,
I learn how to stalk from a guided hunt I went to..
Then I came here a few years back and ask YOU wise hunters on how to kill..
Its a long trip but its worthed..
Thanks guys.

One funny thought..
I once brought my dad along to a hunt at Nyngan (6 hours drive from Sydney)
He took 30 seconds to look and turn around to drive home
We never did ended up hunt or camp together.. I wish we did, now he is gone..

Oh well..

My first shooting & hunting experience started at 10, with my dad being only a casual, small game hunter (Rabbits) when he couldn’t be bothered using his ferrets & nets, to supplement our protein intake.
On my 14 birthday, (1962) my beloved Nanna Mary brought me a new French Gevarm AE1 .22 auto rifle.
After school at around 4pm, I was to meet Nanna at Goodman’s arcade in my hometown of Morwell Vic, where we were meant to pick up the rifle.
We entered and waited until Mr Goodman was available, and after the pleasantries, asked if my rifle was ready. He informed me that he has been flat out being a Friday, and didn’t have the time to set up the 3x9 scope yet. He asked me when was I going shooting. I replied around 5.30 in the morning. Not to disappoint he said can you be here at five? Yes, was my immediate answer. When I got home the old man asked me where’s my new rifle? I told him what happened & what was said. He and I both thought it strange that Mr Goodman would be at his shop at 5 am, but came to the conclusion, being a busy Saturday he probably wanted to get his shop in order.
Well to make a long story short my uncle Freddy & I went to the shop at 4.50 am.
Halfway down the arcade where his shop is located we were greeted with an alarm ringing it’s head off in the fish & chip shop directly opposite. The door was broken open and it was obvious someone had been in there stealing cigarettes etc. We waited patiently outside Mr Goodman’s shop as he hadn’t turned up yet. 5 min later I seen a Police man walk cautiously down the arcade. The Policeman approached us & asked what were we doing? I explained the situation, and for some reason the policeman became very suspicious. He warned us to not move from this spot as he headed back to his Police car. A couple of minutes later he was back, and started to question us about what we knew about the brake-in. A good ten min later Mr Goodman turned up and explained the mix-up to the Police, telling him it was just a simple misunderstanding, as I was to pick up my rifle yesterday afternoon at 5.pm. The cop went back to his car, as Mr Goodman opened the shop and led the way in. He gave me my rifle & a couple of boxes of hollow point ammo as well, and wished me good luck on my hunt.
As we left the arcade the cop also wished me well on my hunt. What a contrast to today, life in a little country town back in the 60s was truly a paradise for the young hunter.

Cheers erny.

Dad was the MAN.

Fishing every weekend, hunting when not fishing, etc. I was always "is it time to go yet, dad?!!!" He couldn't wait for the first deer camp to grab the .280 and get some "away from me (the squirt) time".

He was a sporstman mentor for me. As well as a life mentor. We kinda grew apart in my rebelious teen years but rebonded after that and were best fishin'/huntin' buds after that till he passed. And, what a bond it was. Ironclad.

I wish EVERY child could have had a dad or mentor like mine who'd take the time to show you the ropes around a rod, reel, firearm, tent pole...and life in general. Too many today are raised by the drivel on TV and simply do not know the difference between right and wrong. Nor have they ever tasted the thrill of something they've caught. Literally or figuratively.

I was one of the lucky ones. I think of (and miss) my mentor every time I go out, whether or not I bag something.

I also try and take my freinds kids who's parents are too busy to spend time with them and show them "hey, it's a big world, cut off a hunk and sink yer teeth into it....good huh?!". I feel since I was lucky enough to have something so important and vital in my younger years I owe some back.

Pay it forward and be what someone was to you cuz that's the only way our "ball" will keep rolling.

My dad taught me to be a sportsman also.

Back when I was growing up money was tight and we heated the house with wood. Since we were already cutting fire wood we cut extra to sell. Every trip to cut wood was ended by a half hour or 45 minutes of hunting at dusk. We brought home a lot of squirrels and rabbits that way. The money we made from the extra fire wood bought us some nice guns.

Duck hunting was reserved for Saturday and Sundays after I got my drivers license. All we ever did was float the rivers and creeks around home. Dad can't swim so big water was pretty much out of the question.

I had to learn how to hunt open water on my own. It wasn't until after I left home that Dad was able to take hunting and fishing trips out to North Dakota with my brother, but I couldn't afford to make the trip then. The last few years I finally made it out there with them. But some family differences have come between us so until that is resolved I will just do the best I can to mentor my son.

I don't know who gets more excited when I pull the guns out to go hunting my son or the dog. They both race around the house acting goofy when it's time to go hunting. Like little Stoves he was always up and grinning when I finally crawled out of bed. On one particular cold duck hunting morning when Stevie was about 8 or 9 he was grumpy at the landing when we were putting the boat in. I figured he was mad at the dog who forgot to bring her brains along. Come to find out later he had slammed his hand in the truck door some how but didn't want to say anything because he knew it would end the hunting. Now that's a hard core kid. No blood no broken bones but a lot of swelling and funny colors. I wanted to cry just looking at it.

my dad had stopped hunting by the time I was old enough. we went farming and he was too busy. my big bro did a great job of showing me the ropes and dad did help with firearm stuff. I taught myself the rest and being a readaholic found plenty of help in the library. now Im teaching my kids the right thing the right way (I hope).

Taught how to shoot by my grandfather who was an Regimental Sergeant Major in the NZ Army - I learnt the military way - got a boot up the bum if I did it wrong. Didn't start hunting properly until I was in my early 20's, pretty much self taught, had a couple of good mates who have guided me along the ways and I've passed what I know onto a couple of my mates who are hunting now..... my own kids know how to shoot, my eldest came 4th Nationally in 10 Meter Air Pistol as a junior but neither have shown much interest in hunting. Radar