We called it simply “the lease.”
At 10, I may not have understood the concept of my father’s financial agreement with a property owner that allowed us to enjoy the benefits of his ranch. But it was apparent to me that we could do a lot of cool things on this 1,000-acre piece of Brazos County heaven, including hunting, fishing, camping, hiking, stargazing and exploring.
Our accommodation was an old, one-bedroom wooden shack with a kitchen and fireplace.
I was not the appropriate age to shoot a deer, according to my dad. But I would accompany him on hunts and learn valuable lessons of wildlife conservation and gun safety.
I was with him, and that was all that mattered.
Late one afternoon we decided to hunt a more wooded site. We drove for about 30 minutes along a fence line and then parked our International Scout. We walked through a gate, crossed a pasture and followed a game trail into the woods.
We found the deer blind and settled in. It was cold, and we saw no deer. Then came the rain. At dusk we headed out of the trees with flashlights in hand.
We were working our way through the dense, wet grass and shrubbery when we lost the trail. Although Dad didn’t admit it, he was completely turned around and didn’t know which direction it was to the pasture, the gate, the fence line—or the car.
More surprisingly though, especially knowing my father, he didn’t have a compass with him. We continued our way through the woods, trying to maintain a consistent direction. Time was a mystery to me.
Finally, we came to the pasture. We quickened our steps and reached the fence line. But now—which direction? Without hesitation, Dad made a right turn.
I asked him, “How far, Dad?”
“Not too far, Mark. Are you still good?” he said.
“I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
“And hungry too, I bet.” It was the levity we both needed.
A huge lightning bolt struck, sending countless fingers to the horizon. “There!” Dad exclaimed and pointed. “I just saw the Scout.”
There was no conversation on the ride back. At the shack we changed clothes and ate biscuits with butter and honey. In my eyes, it was a feast to rival no other.
“Were we in trouble?” I inquired.
“No,” he reassured me. “But we may have had to spend the night out there. We would have made out OK. Probably built a fire.”
I contemplated the possibilities. “Thanks, Dad.”
He smiled and put his arm around my shoulder. It was a rare show of physical affection from the man. “Remember though. Always bring your compass.”
Another lesson learned.
