bigscoop
Gold Member
- Jun 4, 2010
- 13,373
- 8,689
- Detector(s) used
- Older blue Excal with full mods, Equinox 800.
- Primary Interest:
- All Treasure Hunting
I can clearly remember my youth, growing up in a middle class neighborhood on a hilly street in north central Indiana. The homes on that street were mostly the older two-story types, some made of brick while most were the older clapboard siding, white with black roofs and cozy front porches with swings surrounded by iron railing, a matching but simple garage that was accessed from the alley in back. I lived here until I was thirteen years old.
Our yard, like most yards, were fairly small, a narrow but steep slope in the front tapering to the concrete sidewalk, concrete steeps leading up to the porch. There was a small bit of yard at the left side of the house that I somehow managed to view as an entire football field, in the back only a slightly larger yard with two towering pine trees in the far corner that served as an entire Alaskan forest and mountain range. I can't tell you how many moose hunts and ram hunts took place there, my makeshift limb and string launching thin branches at Dudley, the family French poodle who was always so willing to play the roll of the day's big game animal, my aim being so poor that Dudley was always eager for any opportunity to chase my misguided sticks. Saturdays were always spent in front of the TV watching The Flying Fisherman and The American Sportsman, the little creek down the street my crystal clear mountain stream and those scrappy little creek chubs my beautiful cutthroat trout, another stick and a length of yarn waving back in forth in the air mimicking my perfected fly casting ability, a tiny colorful fly tied to the end of the yarn.
Back in those days I didn't have a metal detector but I did have one of those coin banks that was made to look like a small pirate's chest. As far as I can recall now that coin bank is still buried in that backyard somewhere, a Johnny West and a G. I. Joe buried somewhere as well after that terrible and paralyzing grizzly bear attack (Dudley) that occurred somewhere around 1969 or 1970. Just two more pirates whose lives eventually ended tragically as a result of their dangerous and adventuresome trade. It's amazing how simple life was back then, everything being so fresh and new and an entire world being explored within the confines of one's own back yard and neighborhood. But those were great days, even priceless days as they allowed me to follow my natural born instincts and sense of adventure before that unknown world around me, before the real world started to grab hold. It's so easy to loose sight of who we are as we start to enter the adult world, much too easy to lose ourselves as we try to forge our way through all those temptations and challenges that await us. So this new year do yourself and favor and take some time to reflect, and if need be make a genuine effort to reconnect to yourself again. Just now, at age 56, I've been spending hours online researching the possibility of actually going on a big game archery hunt somewhere. I think I owe it to myself. If only Dudley was still here to accompany me.
Our yard, like most yards, were fairly small, a narrow but steep slope in the front tapering to the concrete sidewalk, concrete steeps leading up to the porch. There was a small bit of yard at the left side of the house that I somehow managed to view as an entire football field, in the back only a slightly larger yard with two towering pine trees in the far corner that served as an entire Alaskan forest and mountain range. I can't tell you how many moose hunts and ram hunts took place there, my makeshift limb and string launching thin branches at Dudley, the family French poodle who was always so willing to play the roll of the day's big game animal, my aim being so poor that Dudley was always eager for any opportunity to chase my misguided sticks. Saturdays were always spent in front of the TV watching The Flying Fisherman and The American Sportsman, the little creek down the street my crystal clear mountain stream and those scrappy little creek chubs my beautiful cutthroat trout, another stick and a length of yarn waving back in forth in the air mimicking my perfected fly casting ability, a tiny colorful fly tied to the end of the yarn.
Back in those days I didn't have a metal detector but I did have one of those coin banks that was made to look like a small pirate's chest. As far as I can recall now that coin bank is still buried in that backyard somewhere, a Johnny West and a G. I. Joe buried somewhere as well after that terrible and paralyzing grizzly bear attack (Dudley) that occurred somewhere around 1969 or 1970. Just two more pirates whose lives eventually ended tragically as a result of their dangerous and adventuresome trade. It's amazing how simple life was back then, everything being so fresh and new and an entire world being explored within the confines of one's own back yard and neighborhood. But those were great days, even priceless days as they allowed me to follow my natural born instincts and sense of adventure before that unknown world around me, before the real world started to grab hold. It's so easy to loose sight of who we are as we start to enter the adult world, much too easy to lose ourselves as we try to forge our way through all those temptations and challenges that await us. So this new year do yourself and favor and take some time to reflect, and if need be make a genuine effort to reconnect to yourself again. Just now, at age 56, I've been spending hours online researching the possibility of actually going on a big game archery hunt somewhere. I think I owe it to myself. If only Dudley was still here to accompany me.
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