Category Archives: Hunting Stories From the Past

‘To a perfect best friend’

The following is an article I wrote 11 years ago while a sports writer, republished verbatim and borrowed with permission from The Lynchburg (Va.) News & Advance. Please find commentary about the piece at the bottom.

‘To a perfect best friend’

Cancer broke up hunting duo after two decades

By Kurt Culbert
(published 10/2/1999)

BEDFORD (Va.) – It doesn’t take long to see that Mike Cottrell is an avid outdoorsman.

Eight or so mounted bucks hang throughout his house, evidence of the countless hours Cottrell has spent working the woods for the majestic whitetail deer.

How the article appeared on A-1 in October 1999


Most of those hours, though, doubled in enjoyment for Cottrell because he was spending time with his best friend, Al McFaden.

This season marks the first time in 21 years Cottrell won’t be venturing into the woods with McFaden, who died May 7 at 47 after a battle with cancer.

The excitement that normally precedes hunting season for Cottrell isn’t quite as strong this year. Hunting without his best friend just won’t be the same.

“Without question, this is going to be the hardest hunting season I’ve ever experienced,” said Cottrell, 42. “I’ve hunted with Al for the better part of my life. He is the perfect hunter.”

Cottrell pauses for a moment and just shakes his head and smiles.

“He was the perfect hunter.

“I’ve had a real hard time with this. I guess I’ve never had to deal with anything like this before.”

No one ever said losing a best friend is easy, but Cottrell says that McFaden was more than a best friend.

“I was thinking the other day of a headline for Al,” Cottrell said. “I thought of ‘A tribute to a perfect hunter.’ Then I said, ‘A tribute to a perfect best friend.’ He was both of those and so much more.”

Cottrell remembers the day the pair met in November 1978 as though it were yesterday. They were both starting their first day on the job at Siegwerk Ink, in the prime of hunting season.

A photo of Mike that also ran in the paper

“I had just left the farm for public work,” Cottrell, of Bedford, recalled. “The city life was kind of new to me. The first guy I meet is Al and he sticks his had out and says, ‘Nice to meet you.’ He had a huge smile. I like to call it a ‘magical Colgate smile.’”

It didn’t take long for the two to start taking their hunting interests afield and begin the bond that would carry them for the next 21 years.

“From that first day we met, we never had a cross word,” Cottrell said. “Heck, I seen him more than I seen my own wife.”

The memories Cottrell has of hunting with McFaden seem countless. Most of the time, the two hunted with Cottrell’s brother-in-law, Randy Walker.

But a few stories stick out in Cottrell’s mind. Judging from the smile on his face, they’re all no doubt pleasurable.

An article was written about the adventure the two had in November 1985, when Cottrell shot his first bear.

On a dreary, rainy day, the two went into their normal hunting area in Bedford County for a quiet, still hunt. To get out of the rain, Cottrell crouched at the base of a tree and awaited the rain and his friend.

“All of the sudden I heard (a whistle),” Cottrell said. “I looked up and saw Al sitting under a … bush. I waved back at him, but when he pulled his hand down, I see this black blur running away from him. I thought, ‘Heck, that’s a bear.’”

Cottrell grabbed his gun and shot the bear on the run. It turned out the bear had actually been sitting under the same tree as McFaden.

“He didn’t even know it,” Cottrell said. “He was as excited as I was. But that’s the kind of guy he was. He was my rabbit’s foot and my lucky charm.”

Another time, the two had rested from an early hunt and were standing, talking and drinking soda and eating a candy bar. They could hear a housedog chasing deer just over a ridge.

“Al had just missed an eight point the day before,” Cottrell said. “I know his bullet must have hit a limb or something, because there was no better shot in the state of Virginia. But Al gave me his gun and told me to go after it.”

Cottrell went out looking for the deer, which ended up being a “huge buck.” With a broadside shot well within range, Cottrell pulled the trigger only to discover he had no shell chambered.

“Al was always safe,” Cottrell laughed. “I thought, ‘what in the world have you don’t to me?”

After getting a shell loaded and finally getting re-situated, Cottrell ended up getting a shot at the monster buck.

The two waited an hour before beginning the search. They found a speck of blood where the buck was last seen and began what turned out to be a six-hour journey for miles through the Blue Ridge Mountains.

“My eyes were just burned out,” Cottrell said. “Al said, ‘If he’s as big as you say he is, ‘I’m gonna find him.’ I couldn’t even see any longer, but after miles of tracking just prints in the dirt, Al said, ‘There’s the deer right there.’”

The buck turned out to be the largest Cottrell has killed with his gun, a 10-pointer with extra-long tines.

“I would’ve never found that deer,” Cottrell said. “I wouldn’t have half the deer I shot if it weren’t for Al. There wasn’t anyone better in the woods.”

Cottrell remembers McFaden as a family man who is survived by his wife, Cynthia, and two children, Scott and Tracy.

“He’d always bring up his family and how much he loved them and how fortunate he was to have such great kids.”

The hunting group grew a bit in recent years when McFaden’s son Scott began to join them. Cottrell remembers when Scott was able to shoot his first buck.

“Al was so happy and proud,” Cottrell said. “He dragged that buck to the creek and started to field dress it and ended up cutting his thumb because he was so excited.”

Last hunting season was memorable in other ways for Cottrell. After a nearly two-year fight with colon cancer, all indications were that McFaden had defeated the disease.

“He kept going back for regular check-ups and they gave him a clean bill of health,” said Cottrell.

During hunting season, McFaden began to get sick.

“I knew it was different than a normal sick,” Cottrell said. “I told him that he needed to go back to the doctor. They ended up telling him the cancer had spread and it was getting worse fast. He asked them for a timetable and they said they couldn’t be exact, but maybe two or three years.

“He just kept telling me that he wanted God to give him one more hunting season because he wanted to take Scott hunting one more time.”

His vigorous battle with the disease didn’t last long: He died six months later.

“You know, he was a real winner,” Cottrell said. “His battle with cancer was the only thing I’ve ever seen him lose. But, he was still a winner because of all the lives he touched while he was here.

“He asked me if Scott could hunt with us even after he passed. I told him that as long as there’s a breath in me and I can hunt, Scott will hunt with us.”

On one of the two best friends’ final hunt, Cottrell shot a dandy eight-pointer. He holds up the rack among other fine animals. “Al could have shot that deer. He ended up watching me shoot it and he could have shot it himself, but he wanted to let me.”

Cottrell paused one more time and stared at a picture of his friend with a monster buck. “To sit and watch your best friend suffer is so hard. What’s that Alabama song? God spent a little more time on you? That’s what he did with Al.”

Looking ahead, Cottrell hopes he gets excited for the upcoming season.

“It’s gonna be hard. Al’s not here with us to put a smile on our face, but he’s gonna be in our hearts doing it. I know he’s flashing that ‘Colgate smile’ in heaven.

“The woods in Bedford County aren’t going to be as perfect this season. The perfect hunter is not gonna be there.”

——–

I remember the day well when Mike Cottrell was escorted to my desk in the newsroom in 1999. He had his hat in is hand and was hell bent on finding a way to honor his hunting buddy. He was clearly hurting from the loss several months earlier and I’m not sure he expected to find someone who shared a passion for the outdoors when we chatted by my desk. Then again, I’m not sure I expected to find one of the kindest-hearted human beings I’ve ever met.

This story was one of the easiest I ever wrote and ranks among the top-two articles ever in feedback volume. I am so thankful that I got to meet Mike that day, to get to spend a day with him at his house talking about his friend, and later sharing opening day of the 1999 Virginia opener with him in the same woods that he and Al used to travel. It was on that day that I shot my first Virginia deer, a basket racked buck on a beautiful mountainside atop a large rock that Mike dropped me off at before daylight. And to top it off, Mike shot a dandy 8 point that morning as well. Sadly, I have not connected with Mike in quite some time. Thinking of this article has sent me on a mission to find him and see how he’s doing. I will do that immediately.

I’m not sure the reach of this story really hit me until I walked into my cousin’s deer camp that same year, in Western New York, to find the article framed with a small note reminding his guests that the article’s homage to a hunting buddy was “what it’s all about.” The article still hangs there today.

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Changing tune

There are a lot of things I did as a teenager that I’m not all-too proud of. And while the statute of limitations has surely run its course on all of those things, I’m still not prepared to share any of them here!

Conversely, I couldn’t be more proud of the awesome times I spent with many of my high school pals chasing wildlife around the Southern Tier of New York State. Those days are top of mind to me right now, mostly because one of my closest hunting partners has given up hunting. He’s actually gone a bit further than that. He publicly chastises hunting (particularly for sport).

High school hunting buddy, Jeff Mattison, and me after a day of duck hunting and chasing "doodles"... Jeff is still a hunter! Notice the gun rack in the '78 Chevy.

This is a friend who I’ve shared duck blinds with, walked acres of poplar woods and driven mature hardwoods for deer on countless occasions! I would like to think that as we grow older, we also expand our knowledge base. That said, my affinity for the outdoors and, moreover, my belief that sportsmen are the foundation of conservation has never been stronger.

You’ll notice the very famous quote from Teddy Roosevelt on the left column of this blog. Many historical quotes by famous dignitaries become outdated. This is one that couldn’t be more relevant in 2010 as it was the day Roosevelt said it more than a century ago.

More high school hunting buddies after limiting on geese. This photo ran in our hometown paper, even though we missed the first morning of school during early goose season!

I invite you to read it … and then share it.

Without question, I still consider the ol’ hunting buddy a friend. It doesn’t bother me that his views on hunting – and probably many other things we enjoyed as teenagers – has changed. Heck, mine have too. But those times afield were some of the most fun times I had as a kid. I know they were for him too. Hopefully, those are not moments he’s ashamed of.


An idol’s reply …

The passion for the outdoors is rooted in my soul as deep as the tentacles of a 100-year-old white oak. I daresay that anyone who knows anything at all about your faithful blogger knows that hunting is a major part of my DNA.

That was no different some 15 years ago when, as a young adult, I needed to seriously consider what my future held in front of me with respect to a career. Since the seventh grade, it was understood that I wanted to be a journalist. And looking back, it was crystal clear that those aspirations included covering and/or writing about the outdoors in some capacity.

Charles Alsheimer was among my idols. Growing up just a rifle’s report away from his Steuben County, NY, home (mine in neighboring Allegany County), it captivated me to read his articles and see photos of deer that could theoretically run the same woods that I hunted. And there was no mistake that Alsheimer was among the kings of outdoor media – still in its infancy at the time when compared to today. Staples upon receiving Deer & Deer Hunting each month included checking contents page to see if he had photographed the cover photo and then flipping directly to his articles to read them first.

It was with that admiration and respect that I opted to send Mr. Alsheimer a letter one fall in search of perspective of how I could fulfill my outdoors passion by merging it with my professional career.

What I received back from Alsheimer will stick with me for a lifetime. His counsel was honest, it was clear and it helped shatter an adolescent dream. Ultimately, it also helped me plot a course into what is a very enjoyable career in marketing communications – albeit minus any considerable connection to the outdoors world.

Alsheimer noted that he appreciated my letter, and was humbled by my interest in him as a role model. He added that he has been extremely fortunate in the world of outdoors and that it came with many sacrifices – some that he wanted me to be well aware of before I decided to make a career in the outdoors my life’s calling.

Simply put, he was right. As a young adult, those sacrifices to focus on the outdoors would likely have been too much to bear. The opportunities for working in the outdoors at the time were far less than what they are today. Mass media has literally grown the industry tenfold over the last decade alone.

I still have the letter from Alsheimer. And the fact that he took to time to hand-write a note to me and provide more than a “Go get them, Tiger” message sticks with me as a very sincere gesture. For that I thank Mr. Alsheimer – in fact, I was able to send a note back at the time expressing that as well.

Who knows? Someday I might be able to retire to a career that rekindles my early dream.

For the record: A hunter must possess a child’s imagination when navigating a long sit in the deer woods. It keeps the spirit alive when nothing much else seems to be moving. It’s that same imagination that keeps reading Alsheimer’s articles a favorite of mine. For that wide-framed 10-point buck he’s analyzing in his article, very well could be the next deer I see out of my treestand!


Time changes gun openers too …

As the 2009 New York gun season approaches this Saturday, I’m reminded of how my excitement for that first day has changed throughout the years.

During my elementary school years, it took everything I could to make it through the school day (the season opened then on a Monday) in order to race home and check with my mom if she had heard from my father. On more occasions than not, my dad had taken a buck on that first day – a feat I couldn’t wait to get to school the next day to brag to my classmate and early hunting nemesis (and later hunting comrade) Andrew Harris.

Shortly thereafter, my opening day anticipation changed to checking on the success of both my dad and oldest brother, Mike. It was about this time, that I looked very much forward to Thanksgiving and the first Saturday as those were days that my dad usually let me tote along as bystander of the hunt. After his rookie season, Mike also decided to allow his little brother to tag along with him in the woods. It was many of those initial trips with him that set the foundation for my hunting future. My middle brother, Doug, would start hunting a couple years after Mike and the three of us would start sharing the woods togehter.

Because you needed to be 16 to hunt Big Game with a gun in New York, my early teen years focused very much on the archery season. Having a leg up on taking a deer made it much easier to sit among the older hunters at the poker table in deer camp. During these years, I got to tag along, but toting a shotgun had to wait.

Then came my own rookie season. As if The Big Guy upstairs had it all planned out, my birthday falls right smack dab in the heart of deer hunting. It was with my 16th birthday that my dad surprised me with a new shotgun the day before the gun opener. After practicing for months with his first gun (Ithaca Deerslayer 20 ga.),

The Ithaca Deerslayer was the gun targeted to join my first hunt!

I was shocked beyond belief when the new shotgun was in the leg of my new hunting suit (where I stored the trusty Ithaca) upon arrival at deer camp. A few Remington Sluggers out of the barrel and I was ready to roll.

My primary focus on the gun opener in those early years was laser targeted on success. While my brothers, uncles, cousins, etc. all relished in the camaraderie that came with deer camp, my priority was on making sure I did everything I could to take a deer.

It’s amazing how a few years and a notch or two in that leather sling will change that perspective. I’m fortunate in that I spend many hours a year with a bow in tow to get my ultimate deer hunting fix. And I still enjoy taking to the woods with a gun. But the primary reason of anticipation for the gun season now is the opportunity to catch up with family and friends, share stories about the buck that got away or the IOUs written on napkins from poker games past.

That is what the gun opener is about.


The Chase for Perfection

I remember it well. I was in 10th grade and we were on the road against Allegany. Although I’ve hit literally thousands of baseballs since, I don’t recall seeing a delivery any better than this one from this tall, linky hurler. I remember the feeling of ease as my 31″ Easton bat sliced through the pitch.

I’ll also never forget the jabs I took after hitting that ball deep over the centerfielder’s head and into the tennis courts beyond the outfield. Sadly, there were no fences on this field and my decision to watch the ball travel a distance my 5’6″ frame wasn’t used to seeing, led to getting thrown out trying to complete the inside-the-park homer. I knew it right away though. It was, the perfect hit.

I’m still in search of that perfect shot with my bow and arrow. I came close once – in 1999 when I was able to connect on a heavy-horned nine point. Everything about that shot felt great, but it wasn’t perfect. What needed to change? I’m not sure, but much like that swing on the baseball I think I’ll know it immediately when it happens. Perhaps it was the fact that I needed to close the deal from the seated position or the failed attempt to see where the arrow hit the deer.

In 17 years of bowhunting, though, it was the only shot that has toed the edge and flirted with perfection.

This year could be the year. The thousands of arrows (ironically, also with Easton on their barrels) launched in my backyard and basement over the course of the last five months have set it up well. The new Mathews Monster is sending arrows at faster speeds than I’ve ever had in my arsenal. Yes, this truly could be the year.


Evolution of a late adapter

To understand my father’s hesitant introduction to technology, imagine no further than that maddened feeling that haunts so many Americans each April 14 as they’re dropping an envelope in the mail with “Internal Revenue Service” written in Sharpie on the front.

Ultimately, those folks know they have to bite the bullet. But that doesn’t mean they’re going to do it minus a little kicking and screaming.

I imagine most baby boomers feel the same about all of the technology that inflicts change on things they’ve been doing all their lives. My father has a computer and even has it connected to the World Wide Web. He’s been known to grudgingly flip a few e-mails to my brothers and I scattered around the South. But technology might have finally found a fan in my father.

We now have digital trail cameras dispersed all around our property, each doing their part to set the landscape for what animals are roaming our ground. Over the course of the past six years (starting with 35mm film and graduating to digital), we have had almost as much fun getting amazing shots of deer, bear, coyote, turkeys and fox as we have actually hunting.

Coyote

A Coyote makes its way past a trail cam near my house

Someone asked me recently what the greatest piece of gear invented for hunting was. Without thinking too long, I answered the trail camera – especially since the technology has become affordable to the weekend warrior hunters (like I consider myself).

I’d love to tell you that my father has evolved into a Geek Squad-worthy adopter of technology. We’re not quite there yet! He recently let me know that he didn’t like messing with having to take all the photos off the SD cards, so he thinks it’s easier to just buy a new SD card and replace them!

Baby steps, after all. Baby steps.

WHAT DO YOU THINK? What has been the greatest gear invention for common hunters to date? Add your thoughts to the comments.


I said lurker … not looker

I’m a lurker. In the world of Web forums, that means I spend a lot more time reading than I do posting messages. It’s not that I’m completely quiet, but I’d bet that better than 85% of my time on different hunting forums is just reading what others are talking about.

It never fails that once a month you stumble upon posts from fellow outdoorsmen who want to bash celebrity hunters. The logic behind them typically either cracks me up or infuriates me enough to wonder what kind of people are sitting on the other end of computers. I read a post recently wondering if other hunters were getting sick of Michael Waddell. The preposterous argument was that Waddell was no different than other hunters so why should he be making “millions”?

Guess what, Einstein? Just the fact that he seized an opportunity to make a living at something we all do does indeed make him different than you. While there tends to be jealousy at the root of all the posts with the bashing, one has to wonder if people actually read any of their messages before they hit “POST”.

Of course, many of these posters are the ones who suddenly grab their Sherlock Holmes junior detective kits with every successful-harvest post. It drives me nuts! Hunter A posts picture of a deer he just spent all autumn chasing; Nimrod B points out in a post that the deer’s eyes look too cloudy to be shot during a morning hunt – ending the post with, “Something’s fishy.”

Give me a break.

Before my size 9 Muck Boots step down from this here soap box, let me quickly make a plea for my fellow hunter to quit whanking about cyberscouting. It sucks, yep. I too don’t really want people meeting me at 4 a.m. at my favorite duck-hunting spot. That also is why I don’t post about my favorite places. In this case, Nimrod A all but gives the GPS coordinates to his best spot with pictures in parking lots of public launches, near recognizable markers, etc. Then Nimrod A is complaining about the skybusters that are 75 yards from him the following weekend.

You can’t fault people for utilizing all available resources to improve their chances at success. You fault Nimrod, who opted to tell the world. Cyberscouting, afterall, is sort of like performance enhancing drugs for lurkers!