Really cool thread.
I grew up in rural Idaho in the 70s and 80s. Hunting was in my family's blood, and like most people in the post WW-II era, hunting was a natural part of life for everyone. This applied to just about everyone and it was pretty common in those days to go to school and swap stories with the principal or algebra teacher. My paternal grandfather returned home from Japan and continued hunting with his brothers and friends. During one of those trips he was killed in a hunting accident. My father was 7 years-old at the time.
This did not deter him in the slightest, and he spent his youth chasing pheasants, deer, elk, and about anything else that had an open season. Shotgun News, Guns and Ammo, and Outdoor Life were always laying around and I digested them thoroughly. I was always drawn to stories of Africa. In those days it was a far-off dream to even consider traveling out of the state, let alone to the other side of the world.
I started shooting with Dad in my youth, and by the time I could legally hunt at age 12, I was dying to go. My 6th grade algebra and science teachers were my hunters ed instructors and they were genuinely eager for news of the hunt. I still remember that first magical trip on opening morning to the "secret place" a couple weeks after my birthday. The area has actual names, of course, but we knew it as Buck Canyon, Spook-em, and 10-shot. It's still sacred ground to me, even though the numbers of deer in that area are nothing like it was in the 1980s.
Opening morning for Sage Grouse, jump shooting ducks, decoying in geese. All of it was magical. I watched him made an off-hand, running heart shot at a nice pronghorn 200 yards away one day. Those rabbit hunts of his youth really paid off. In reality we were probably mediocre hunters, and we didn't often venture far from places we could drive. Fast forward a decade or more past college, medical school, residency, and all of that. Finally, I was able to return to the Rocky Mountains and rediscover my love of hunting.
Around this time my dad's financial situation improved, free of the demands of raising a family. I was starting to do well enough in medicine, and we started kicking around the idea of an adventure in Africa. One thing led to another and dad and I made our first trip to Namibia in 2010. We returned again in 2012 and 2015, but dad's cancer kept him home for the 4th trip. He was in the hospital recovering from surgery and I made the trip with my son instead. Those trips left indelible memories that have been the source of many pleasant hours of reflection.
Dad passed away not so long after that, and he left an enormous hole that will never be filled. In fact, I'm not sure how the world is getting by without him. Before he died, he had the opportunity to be with my son and daughter on their first hunts. Too bad the younger cousins won't really know what they missed. Big mule deer will forever be my first hunting love. The story of this deer is legend, for another time:
Hunting the Big 5 was the stuff of legend and fantasy in that world. I finally did a DG trip to the Caprivi in 2020. It was supposed to be a buffalo hunt, but ended up being an unforgettable buffalo and elephant hunt. Dad would have LOVED it. I suppose he was there, just out of sight.
I just got back from trip number 7, this time with my middle son. He's already scheming and dreaming of ways to get back.