Category Archives: 2009

A pitch for Catch-A-Dream …

On the evening the 2009 World Series begins, I wanted to applaud a major leaguer who “did good” earlier today. St. Louis Cardinals pitcher Adam Wainwright this morning donated a sizeable amount of money to the Catch-A-Dream Foundation. More importantly, though, was that in doing so on ESPN’s Mike & Mike In the Morning radio show, the pesky right hander also raised awareness about a group that’s making a difference in kids’ lives.

Catch-A-Dream is among a growing group of non-profit organizations that are helping youth become exposed to the outdoors. CAD in particular grants fishing and hunting wishes to children with life-threatening illnesses. Think of it as a Make-A-Wish Foundation for kids that want to hunt. In fact, it’s Make-A-Wish Foundation’s national policy of not granting wishes that involve firearms (or “any sport-shooting weapon”) that helped drive the creation of CAD.

I completely understand that Make-A-Wish does many terrific things for kids. For that I applaud the organization. However, I tend to think that if I would have been faced with an illness that carried with it the ability to take my life as a youth, my dream would have included chasing one of North America’s game animals. That Make-A-Wish wouldn’t be able to grant that wish for similar kids disappoints me greatly.

I learned of the policy nearly a decade ago and recall being infuriated. I remember sitting in a park with my future wife and laying out a plan to someday create a non-profit that does exactly what Catch-A-Dream is accomplishing. Ironically, its creation by the family and friends of Bruce Brady came within months of that conversation in the park.

Here is a link to learn more about the organization and even download its donation form.

One final note about CAD … many of you might also be aware of the organization thanks to the support it receives from Drury Outdoors. Their work should be commended as well.


Happy Anniversary!

Five-hour flights across the country provide ample time for the mind to wander. Amid the journey of mine today was the realization that this week is the 13th anniversary of a monumental moment in my hunting life.

It was a Tuesday in October of 1997 when I plopped down at a table in a Creative Writing class at St. John Fisher College. Another student at the table asked if he could borrow my notes from the previous session the week prior. I’ve never been accused of being a solid note taker, but it mattered not in this case because I too had missed the last class. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I decided to explain further why I’d be no help.

“Sorry, I wasn’t here. I was hunting the archery opener.”

The interesting part about this was the fact that I’d never before connected with the student. In fact, he was a slick-haired, preppy dresser who might only be offended by the fact I was off chasing animals. Surely he had nothing in common with this hay-seed, farm boy. Perhaps that was just enough of a reason for me to answer the way I did.

“You hunt?” he asked.

“Sure do.”

So goes my introduction to Greg Johnston. Greg has become a hunting buddy and dear friend. Rarely is there a hunting expedition that Gregor and I don’t find a way to connect on. Our wives will confirm that we likely talk on the phone some 100+ times between September and January – albeit from 500+ miles apart.

In what only can be considered an ironic moment, there happened to be a text message and voicemail on my cell phone from Greg today as my plane landed. We needed to discuss his hunt from today.

After all these years, we’re still trying to compare notes!


The anticipation of the hunt

My wife and I became parents for the first time just a whisker more than 15 months ago. The eagerness with which we waited for the arrival of our little girl was like only two other great waits that I can compare. The first is the wait for Santa Claus to visit my house as a child. The other is the merciless anticipation for an upcoming hunt.

At this moment, only 13 sunrises lay between me and the annual pilgrimage north to Scio, NY. This is my favorite trip each hunting season for a number of reasons – none of which ranks higher than the opportunity to enjoy the woods with the fellowship of my friend, Kenny. Of course, there also is the opportunity to visit my parents and friends in the homeland that helped shape my being.

The anticipation also finds its roots in the chance to make it into the woods of our family’s farm. It’s not the biggest tract of land – measuring only a few hundred acres when combining all the property – but to me it represents all that a whitetail deer stands for. The rolling hardwoods and large hay fields are dotted with the memories of some 17 years of deer hunting. The anecdotes that are a part of its history, mostly passed down by my father, date yet another 30 years beyond that.

There is the spot where I harvested my first deer (a six point), the place where I saw my first black bear and even the trail my dad and I tracked a deer I had shot the first archery season after his stroke.  The memories are truly countless and I look forward to rekindling those memories at a later time.

We often joke that I feel like I know every tree on that farm. In fact, I can say with certainty that one could blindfold me, make me dizzy and drive for an hour before dropping me off anywhere on our farm and I can tell you where I am and recite each deer encounter I’ve experienced in the area within a minute’s time.

Speaking of minutes, only 18719 to go …