A
s we drove toward Delacroix,
Randy explained that his father,
Harlon Pearce, has had the lease in
Caernarvon for 52 years, that he
has been hunting there his whole
life, and now he and Hunter enjoy it
together nearly every weekend of
the season.
Randy loves
that three
generations
have hunted
on the same
property, and
he knows it
like the back
of his hand.
Hunter has
only been
going with his
dad since he was 6, but he considers himself an “expert” on the subject nonetheless. At various points,
he argued about the choice of location, where and how to conceal
the boat, when to load the guns,
and when to send the dog out to
retrieve. His knowledge of the land
and the entire sport was astonishing at such an early age, and I
found myself noting the immeasurable benefits of a boy having a
hands-on father figure to teach and
guide him in childhood.
Shooting time started that day
at 6:26, so when we arrived at the
launch, we
loaded the
boat quickly
with all the
decoys and
equipment
and were
among the
first to head
out onto the
water. Lindsay
and I became
suddenly and
painfully aware that no matter what
a person considers “warm” on
land, there is no protection from icy
cold winds on a speeding boat.
She and I huddled together for
warmth on the floor of the boat,
while Dad steered and Hunter kept
Continued