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Im wondering if some of you have experienced this. My dad taught me how to dove hunt when I was 8 years old. I enjoyed this more than anything else I ever did with him. He died 20 years ago. Since that time, I have dove hunted every season and often think of him while doing so. During a hunt several years after his death, the field was not very promising, not much flying and I found myself talking to my father asking him to come and hunt with me for a while. To enjoy what we had so long ago. A prayer if you will. A short time later the sky came alive with birds and we had one of the best dove hunts ever. Some would call it coincedence, I call it love.
 

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Man that hits the heart.
There's no better time than being out with your dad hunting fishing or just sitting and talking as men and friends .
 

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I have great memories of dad and I squirrel hunting. Sitting in the woods talking and laughing. We didn't get many squirrels but we had a good time together. He's been gone 38 years but I still remember like it was yesterday. I don't hunt anymore but really enjoy the time I can spend with my sons and grandson.
 

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All of you guys are blessed! Pass the experience on!
 

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I go out of my way to make sure opening weekend of deer is spent with my father every year. No matter how the year goes, we always have deer hunting. Unfortunately my 4 brothers (or any of my sisters) never became interested in hunting, so it's something my father and I share alone.
 

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I think it was Pat McManus who wrote about visiting his favorite duck blind and finding it full of friends and family past, to the point it was down right crowded. Brings a tear to my eye.
My father bought me my first .22 and then showed me how it was to be used by dropping a squirrel out of a tree 50 yards away.
Treasure those moments.
fred
 

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Im wondering if some of you have experienced this. My dad taught me how to dove hunt when I was 8 years old. I enjoyed this more than anything else I ever did with him. He died 20 years ago. Since that time, I have dove hunted every season and often think of him while doing so. During a hunt several years after his death, the field was not very promising, not much flying and I found myself talking to my father asking him to come and hunt with me for a while. To enjoy what we had so long ago. A prayer if you will. A short time later the sky came alive with birds and we had one of the best dove hunts ever. Some would call it coincedence, I call it love.
Packetsplace, just want to say "thank you" for this post. I've thought of it many times over the last 6 months and I've used it to good effect in my own life.

You're the best :thumbsup::thumbsup::thumbsup:
 

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Im wondering if some of you have experienced this. My dad taught me how to dove hunt when I was 8 years old. I enjoyed this more than anything else I ever did with him. He died 20 years ago. Since that time, I have dove hunted every season and often think of him while doing so. During a hunt several years after his death, the field was not very promising, not much flying and I found myself talking to my father asking him to come and hunt with me for a while. To enjoy what we had so long ago. A prayer if you will. A short time later the sky came alive with birds and we had one of the best dove hunts ever. Some would call it coincedence, I call it love.
Same experience here.My Dad is still with us but his mind is not.I try to bring up memories of hunts when with him but he strays from the story.He's 83.Thank god for GOOD Dads.I'll be thinking of him Sat while sitting on the dove field wishing he was with me.Seriously I'm having to wipe a tear.Good thread.Joe
 

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Some of you folks are very lucky ..... I never got to go shooting with my Dad .... he died in 1944 , while he was "hunting" in the South-Pacific.
 

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Words escape me. My father served in the South Pacific too. He never spoke of it much, but when he did it was one of those moments when you knew you were being graced with visions of greatness. My father, Sterling Thomas Tate, lost his three best friends on the island of Iwo Jima when a shell exploded between them. He was evacuated to a ship, patched up, and sent back to the island for another few weeks. For years the shrapnel in his shoulder would hurt enough to wake him in the middle of the night. He never ever spoke of being a hero or of bravery or of being someone who stepped up to the plate. He always spoke of it as doing his "duty". He was the greatest man I've ever met, and yet the most soft spoken, most gentle person I've had the privilege to meet.
When I was 15 or 16 he and my mother bought me a single shot .22 rifle. I had been reading "Outdoor Life" and other magazines and knew "everything" about shooting. I begged my parents for a gun. Then one day my father showed up with a .22 rifle from Sears. It was a single shot, bolt action rifle and the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. He even had a box of .22 bullets to go with it. We were living in Edwardsville Ill at the time and there were miles of open land around us. We all piled into our '54 Ford station wagon and drove to a bridge outside of town. It seems to me I chambered and fired several round without hitting squat. Sticks floating down the stream beneath the bridge and small stones on the bank were all safe. Then I spotted a squirrel on a branch 50 yards from our location. I was upset because I hadn't hit anything I aimed at and told Dad the gun was "broke". He asked if he could try and of course I said sure.
He changed in front of my eyes. Instead of being "dad" who was some guy who went to work and came home to scold me for whatever Mom reported, he became "the shootist". He snapped the rifle to his shoulder, bent over, aimed, and drilled that squirrel. Holy Crap I thought. My dad is a MAN!
It was years later that he and I would hunt together, he just wasn't interested in going out there until Mom died, and only then because I badgered him.
Sorry to drivel on like this. I miss my father very much, and the memories are very dear. I thank you for the thread.
fred
 
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