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“Shhhhhh,” my son Brennan hissed in my direction as we eased through the pine forest. With his left eye squinted, he threw a serious look in my direction, slowly pointed towards the forest edge and whispered, “Dad, a good buck!” I could sense the tenseness of the situation, and the expression on his face showed a look of determination and grit that only a 9-year-old’s face can. I knew we were going to get close enough for him to press his bow into service.

We continued to crawl at a snail’s pace on a carpet of pine needles recently dampened by an afternoon rain, closing to within 15 yards without even getting so much as a twitch from the handsome 4x4 mulie buck. As Brennan raised his compound bow and slowly came to full draw, I whispered in his ear, “Take your time.” He held for a moment, and then with the confidence of a cougar ready to pounce on his prey he let the string fall from his small, delicate fingers. In an instant, his carbon arrow buried deep in the buck’s sweet spot, and a look of satisfaction spread across his face.

“Good shot!” I yelled as I gave him a congratulatory high five for another job well done. In fact, that was the third burlap buck, in addition to a couple of elk, an antelope and a fat Merriam turkey, that my 9-year-old son had sent an arrow through that evening at the archery range.

There are few things that are as important to me as spending time with my family. In fact, like many of you, I would be hard-pressed to put too much in front of endeavors that include bowhunting and the little ones that wrap themselves around me when I finally make it home at the end of a day. I enjoy and need time alone in the woods, but as I’ve matured as a bowhunter and a father, having that little hand in mine as we make our way to the blind has slowly over-shadowed the solitude I once sought. There’s just something special about entering the woods with one of my kids glued to my side. Maybe it’s their inquisitive nature that compels them to ask those unanswerable questions or their sponge-like minds that soak up the fine details of a hunt I often miss. Or better yet, it’s the opportunity to pass along something that has been such a rich part of my life for decades—the sporting life.

In fact, as I look back on the bowhunting tales woven into the fabric of the previous season, there was not a time when one or two of my kids were not by my side when a big game tag was punched. Not only did we manage to send an arrow through a strutting tom, but an antelope and a couple of whitetails also met their fate with some young eyes looking on eagerly.

First was archery antelope season, and come August 15^th, my son and I loaded up the truck and headed to eastern Colorado to chase antelope lost and found. To be honest, since this was an area I like to sneak in close to the unsuspecting sage rockets that reside there, I really didn’t expect to release an arrow at fur and bone with a young boy and all his antics by my side. I figured this was going to be a weekend chalked up to time spent together and lessons learned, and I was more than prepared for that. Needless to say, sometimes the intensity of a spindly-legged boy will surprise you. As we sized up a handsome Pope and Young candidate feeding some 55 yards away, the expression on his face said it all. Standing over our hard-earned prize and inhaling his rich antelope smell was just the icing on the cake. I guess those countless not-so-imaginary hunts at the archery range had fulfilled their purpose, and my son is starting to ask when it’s going to be his turn to release an arrow at fur and bone.

A few months later found me sharing a ground blind with my 8-year-old daughter. And although this “daddy’s girl” had not been bitten by the hunting bug quite as hard as her brother—at least not yet—she was more than willing to spend time with me chasing the mesquite country whitetails of western Oklahoma. As far as she was concerned, her competitive nature was not going to let her brother get one on her!

Since she has been blessed with the proverbial gift of gab as well as an eagerness to see and touch everything around her, I was confident the seclusion of the blinds I had set up months prior would offer ample cover for a fidgeting little girl. At least I hoped they would.

As the morning light began to peel away the darkness of our first hunt, we were surprised to see a record book 9-pointer come feeding into view. Luck rarely shines down on me like that! As he inched closer and more soft light poured over his antlers, my daughter’s white, saucer-sized eyes glowed in the darkness of the blind, and I knew by the look on her face that I didn’t need to ask if he was the one. As the arrow hit with a thump, she jumped about 3 inches out of her seat.

There are bigger bucks in that part of western Oklahoma, and if I would have waited a few more days I might have found out just how big. However, as we walked up on our first buck and I heard the excitement in her voice, I would not have had it any other way.

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