The Hunts That Made Me

Some hunts fade with time, the details blur, the nights run together. But every now and then, there’s a hunt that sticks with you. The kind you don’t just remember, you feel it. The kind that shapes you, teaches you something, and stays with you long after the dogs are loaded and the woods go quiet.

In my many years of hunting hounds, there are a few hunts that have truly left a mark on me. These are the ones I think back on often, the ones that have become core memories.

The first hunt happened when I was 14 years old. I’m 28 now, so that was 14 years ago. I was hunting with my dad and my best friend, Ryan. Ryan passed away in a car wreck our junior year of high school when we were just 16.

At that point in my life, I didn’t have a tracking system or any way to mark the truck. We were hunting behind my house, something we did three or four nights a week. The other nights, we hunted a couple miles down the road at my cousin’s place.

That night, we were hunting my Bluetick, Lucy, and a young pup named Belle. Lucy struck a track, worked it out, and treed about 500 to 600 yards away. We made the walk in and started shining the tree, looking in every fork, every branch. Finally, we found the coon and knocked it out to the dogs.

After getting everything settled, we started walking back toward the house. That 600 yard walk turned into something much longer when we realized we were lost. Somewhere along the way, we had gotten turned around.

After wandering for about 20 minutes, Ryan suddenly yelled, “This coon is alive,” and dropped it again. That coon had somehow come back to life.

What followed was chaos. Lucy and Belle versus one very confused and very mad coon. The dogs finally finished the job, and we went back to trying to find our way out.

We picked a direction and just kept walking. Looking back, we probably should have known how to use a compass, but we didn’t. Eventually, we saw lights. We had somehow walked all the way to a Dollar General, about two miles from the house. We called my mom, and she came to pick us up.

The next day, my dad ordered a tracking system, and not long after, I got my first Garmin. But more than anything, that night stuck with me because of who I was with. Ryan and I spent a lot of nights in the woods together, and I have a lot of great memories, but that one stands out the most.

I saw his dad the other day and got to sit and talk about some of those hunts. That meant more than I can really put into words.

The next hunt that shaped me was with another friend who has since gone on to be with the Lord, Mr. Jerry Purvis.

One day, he called and asked if I wanted to come hunt with him. Of course, I said yes. We met at a cattle farm outside of Purvis. He had a Bluetick female, and I brought three dogs I was hunting at the time, Charlie, a Redbone, and Bruce and Fancy, both English.

We cut the dogs loose, and not long after, the bottom fell out. A storm rolled in out of nowhere, and it felt like a hurricane. Rain poured down for 15 to 20 minutes straight.

Charlie and his dog came back and got in the dog box, but Bruce and Fancy didn’t. They had struck a track and were treed over half a mile away. When the rain finally let up, I could hear them chopping every breath, telling me to come to them.

So off I went.

I hit a swamp that I still think about to this day. The last 400 yards were chest deep water. I had no choice, I had to swim. I remember thinking how much I wished I had tone broke those dogs, but I hadn’t.

I swam to them, found the tree, and then had to swim back, dragging both dogs through that swamp.

That night taught me a lesson I have never forgotten, always have a way to call your dogs back.

More than that, it was time spent with a good man. I didn’t get many hunts with Mr. Jerry, but I’m thankful for every one of them.

The last hunt I find myself going back to often was one of the first times I took my son, Hayze, with me. He was just two years old. My wife, Sarah, joined us, and we took Sunny and Jenny to a spot I have always loved, a big greentree reservoir out in Bienville National Forest.

We brought a small propane fire pit, built a fire, and sat there listening to the dogs work a track. Eventually, they treed.

I sat there by that fire, holding my son, listening to those dogs, and I thanked God. I realized I was living the very life I had prayed for years before.

I don’t even remember if we saw the coon that night. And honestly, it didn’t matter.

Because it’s not always about the tree.

Sometimes it’s just about the moment.

We all have moments in life that shape us, moments that teach us, humble us, and remind us what really matters. It’s easy to get caught up in the chase, in the outcome, in the next hunt.

But if you’re not careful, you’ll miss what’s right in front of you.

Because one day, those moments will be the things you hold onto.

Not the number of coons you treed, but the people you stood beside, the lessons you learned, and the life you lived along the way.