were you once a little boy who dreamed of hunting? Perhaps the neighborhood kid with the slingshot in his back pocket that reigned terror on the old ladys cat across the street?
Did you watch shows like rama of the jungle, tarzan or the like? Dreaming of adventures both near and far away. Graduation day was a genuine red rider BB gun, with which the blackbird population staged a sudden drop.
reading books and magazines became a part of your world. Jack Oconnor was a bigger hero than superman.
Age slowly takes its toll, and the next thing you knew dad was taking you on long walks through golden fields, boat trips into a marsh and eating pheasants and ducks became a whole part of being alive.
Still age plods along and thee came a day when the long box under the christmas tree that said winchester on it had you name too. Ammo was expensive. Long rifles cost $.75 a box, but shorts could be had for $,50. Now the game got bigger and so did the dreams. Rabbits could be had in season and then there were gophers and rats. Little boys remember those days well.
School days, school days. To sit in a classroom, staring outside, dreaming of rushing out with the bell, grabbing your gun and heading into the fields. Now the magazine storied gave way to books. Books by people like roosevelt who actually went to africa. Oconners books about the white sheep, great bears, and huge moose only whetted you appetite.
It was a dream come true when you and dad took off for the deer camp. Beginners luck was with you and that huge 10 pointer that came under your tree was now hanging from the meat rack in camp. Then it all seemed to come to a sudden stop. You got old, and had to leave home to go to someplace called college. The dreams were still there but maybe, just maybe that pretty girl in the dorm across the street took their place.
As the years rolled by, you and that little girl decided to share your lives, but only if she hunted too. After all a dream coming true was part of your life.
Deer camp was an every year occurrence now , but the dreams of bears, sheep, moose and the like because much closer. You have a good job and a little money in your pocket and well, there was this guy that called himself a guide.
Next thing you knew, dreams became reality. There was actually some moose meat in the freezer and you started planning how to hunt more, and more and more.
Again the years drift by and you went to a convention. A hunting convention and there you met this guy who called himself a professional hunter. He came from africe. That great dream land that little boys only thought was a dream. Maybe not, maybe you could, might hopefully, go there?? That little girl said OK and you were off into the clouds. Looking out a window over the ocean, over lands you never thought you would see. And then another dream came true. Mother africa had called you and you heard and obeyed. Again and again.
There were other strange and wonderful lands and adventures to live. and as the years flew by, you lived them.
But, everything slows down and the years speed up. Perhaps it is your autumn or even winter. and the muscles don't react like they used to. Far away places once again seem, far away. Still you look at the walls in your home. Gaze upon the animals that you once lived with.Animals you once lived with, killed, and remembered. They always did make more sense than humans. The were real, and in your mind they still are. Maybe only in dreams, dreams that are now memories. BUt still the little boy dreams. A lifetime of dreams. DO you remember being a little boy?

Reading this sitting in a hotel down the road from JFK airport. Board in the morning for Africa once again.

Your post brought tears to my eyes as it described my life to a "T".

Sadly...not sure the same will hold true for my little boy...as the world has changed so much!

I feel like one of the last to live the dream. I am now 39, next year will be the 4-0. I have been so Fortunate. I grew up with a hunting family, raised on a working ranch in backwoods west Texas. I hunted and fished on 6,000 ac. Loved to read guns and ammo ( before it was just ARs and tactcool crap),had my first real gun at 7 and hunted on my own at 9. I had a good family, that told me to get off my duff and work. Got a good job and stuck with it 15 years later now I run a $190M dollar biz unit.Married an understanding wife that understands my habit, and brought me two wonderful children.I have hunted everything from elk in Colorado to praire dogs in New Mexico. I have been on 5 African safaris, and as long as I can intend to keep going. I have had my struggles, but reading this made me feel like a have truly lived a charmed life.

I had the greatest complement from my nephew recently. He said when he grows up, he wanted to live like me....I never took time to feel blessed, until I read this...thank you!!!

A young me--always carrying a gun....



A young me turkey, deer combo



Killing a few dogs:



Africa:

While I just turned 5-0 in Feb...our child lives were two peas in a pod.

thanks, Butch. i needed that....

Thanks for sharing your memory. Enjoyed it very much.

Remember. Yes I do

My grandmother is to blame. She was a widow and married my grandfather who was a widower. She always favored her daughter and granddaughter and never cared for me much, but she had this book -- African Game Trails -- that kept me from under foot. I still have the remains of that old leather-bound book. I hunted whitetails with my father and birds with friends, but it was my grandmother that addicted me to Africa. I will always love her for that.

The "little boy" is still alive and well
deep inside of me...

butchloc, thanks great post. I read it while sitting among my trophies. I'm on the uphill side of seventy, and still have little boy dreams. Until the good Lord takes me, I'll still do what I can. Anyway with a lump in my throat, thank you.

From one Butch to another, we must be brothers my friend, your story,is also mine. What a touching,and beautifully written piece.

Butch

I got my dream of Africa as a small boy sitting in my Grandfathers lap as he read Osa Johnson, Ruark, Hemingway, Taylor, and others out loud to me.

Sadly he died before he could go to Africa-I fulfilled the dream in 2012, and thought of him every day I was over there.

Thanks this thread again brings back great memories.

Nice, very nice.

Unlike most of the other posters, I didn't acquire a yearning to hunt Africa until I was 65. After my wife returned from her third business trip to Mozambique in 2012, she said... " can't believe you've never been to Africa or hunted there". While I've been a hunter since the age of 10, Africa just never appealed to me. After some introspection, I realized if I was ever going to hunt in Africa, I better do it while I physically could handle it. I did extensive research on AR, and came up with Sebra Hunting Safaris, near Kamanjab, Namibia as a great first plains game safari. I corresponded back and forth with Jan Du Pleasis, the owner of Sebra and we came up with an August hunt date. I was to hunt 8 days with Jan, and then he would drop me off at the Windhoek Airport, where I would pick up a rental SUV. My wife flew into Windhoek the next day, and we then drove up to Etosha for several days, then down to Swakopmund for several days on the ocean. It was an awesome trip, and I booked my next hunt with Sebra for the next June. The second trip was better than the first, but I had to lay off 2014 because of surgery on my left knee. I'll be returning for my third Sebra trip this June- can't wait.

Great post. It reminds me of my childhood too.

I remember growing up with memories of my dad hunting tigers & leopards in India - a couple of skins on the wall and the same stories never got stale. First memory of game was a back quarter of chital deer in the kitchen when I was about 4. Then a sambar stag in the bush - gutted and all the jerky hanging around the Forest bungalow verandah.

But the hunting bug started when I got my first catapult (slingshot) for my 5th birthday. It was made by hand with a Guava tree fork and cycle tube rubber so I could actually pull it. Later on I moved to car tyre inner tube.

I was 17 when I got my first air rifle (.22 clone of the Diana mod 35) & graduated to squirrels, doves, crows etc.

My first firearm was a Harrington & Richardson single barrel 12 bore - shot everything from doves & partridge to ducks, jungle fowl and even muntjack deer. That was when I was almost 20, the next 15 years was frugal hunting.

Then cam New Zealand - at the age of 37 I got my first rifle. Next year was my first stag.

13 years later it was Canada & my black bear & mule deer.

Another 8 years before I made it to Africa - just shot pigeons but saw lots of other game including the BIG 4! Smelled the dust .....

One day I should list the various animals I had as pets at home, growing us as the son of a Forest & Wildlife officer in India in the 60s & 70s.

Yep. That pretty much sums it up. The first trip to Africa was the culmination of a lifetime of dreaming about it. I bought the hunt at a Rocky Mountain Sheep convention in Hershey, PA. Fortunately for me, the W 1 FE unit fell in love with the place and wanted to go back.

I never had a hunting mentor. I started reading Wilbur Smith books when I was in primary school and something just connected. Years later I picked up a magazine call Sporting Shooter and that was it, I was hooked. I read everything I could, killed my first rabbit at 16 with an old Slazenger .22. No one in my immediate family hunts so I don't know why the hunting bug bit me

I did not grow up in a hunting family. My Grandmother started my love of the outdoors. She was a fishing machine. We hiked fished and camped many a summer day away in the mountians of north Carolina.
The love of the outdoors led me to read about far away places. Tv shows like mutual of Omahas wild kingdom fueled my dreams of Africa.
I enjoyed the read very much.

It was my grandfather Reed that gave me a Daisy Red Ryder at age 5 and a Winchester Mod. 67 single shot 22 at age 6. I would go stay at the ranch with my grandparents for days at a time. Shot lots of jackrabbits, skunks, coons, frog, tin cans and anything else that go in my way.
Did not shoot my first deer until I was 25. Went on first safari in '92.
Now have hunted four countries in Africa, Moose in Finland, shot birds on 3 trips to South America and hunted elk in multiple states.
I enjoyed your story Butch and can relate. Thanks for sharing it.
Nearing 80 yrs. it has been wonderful being an only spoiled rotten child and first grandchild. Thanks Pa Paw and thanks mom for all the neat gun toys.
Better tomorrows!

Outstanding!

I don't even remember my first "Red Ryder" but I got my first shotgun at 7 and my first rifle at 9.

It was my Maternal Grandad, that got me hooked. I sure wish I could have taken him to Africa! He would have loved it.


.

Dreams of Africa began as a young teen reading JA Hunters "Hunter". Then I moved to Alaska at nineteen and the animals got bigger and more exciting. At 46 I just booked my first overseas hunt in Australia for buffalo. Hopefully Africa will be next with my 113 year old Gibbs double rifle for buffalo and Hippo. The boyhood dreams are very much alive!

Butch,

Thanks for posting that. I am about half way through the journey you describe and thrilled to start watching it unfold with my son. I asked him how school went the other day (grade 1) and he said it was great because he played "Hunting" at recess and shot a Bison by the monkey bars. Nice to see that the dream is alive and well.

quote:

Originally posted by Harry:
It was my grandfather Reed that gave me a Daisy Red Ryder at age 5 and a Winchester Mod. 67 single shot 22 at age 6. I would go stay at the ranch with my grandparents for days at a time. Shot lots of jackrabbits, skunks, coons, frog, tin cans and anything else that go in my way.
Did not shoot my first deer until I was 25. Went on first safari in '92.
Now have hunted four countries in Africa, Moose in Finland, shot birds on 3 trips to South America and hunted elk in multiple states.
I enjoyed your story Butch and can relate. Thanks for sharing it.
Nearing 80 yrs. it has been wonderful being an only spoiled rotten child and first grandchild. Thanks Pa Paw and thanks mom for all the neat gun toys.
Better tomorrows!

Harry's post above is typical of kids raised In Texas back in the late 30s and early 40s. Mine is almost identical to Harry's. We even had the same first 22 rifle. but I didn't get a Daisy BB gun till I was twelve when we moved to town. For some reason the folks in town frowned on shooting a 22 in town.
.................................................................

quote:

For some reason the folks in town frowned on shooting a 22 in town.

Narrow minded bastards.

quote:

Originally posted by lavaca:

quote:

For some reason the folks in town frowned on shooting a 22 in town.

Narrow minded bastards.

.............................................................

quote:

quote:
Originally posted by lavaca:

quote:
For some reason the folks in town frowned on shooting a 22 in town.



Narrow minded bastards.



............................................................. jumping tu2

beat me to it - i suppose the had the same attitude on 45's and the neighbors crat

Great post! I will share a bit as well.

I watched Tarzan early Saturday mornings as a kid in Wildcat Hollow and always dreamed of hunting Africa; my dream comes true this July. It always was great when my mom bought me a brick of 22 shells; living in Wildcat Hollow I could shoot all I wanted anytime I wanted without even asking. That takes me to a conversation with a friend. He told me when he was a boy walking down the street with his 22 Target rifle how people would say: there is Bob; he is a good kid because he target shoots. He says now people say there is Bob, watch out for him because he target shoots. Times have changed.

I also watched the American Sportsman and can hear Hi, I'm Joe Foss..... Well I met Joe Foss and had a nice long conversation. That was a great memory. I don't want to short Curt Gowdy or Grits Gresham, but I never had the opportunity to meet them.