I wrote this years ago and wanted to share because I'm sure most of you can relate.
If you have a few minutes I think you will find it worth reading.
Farewell To A Friend
I became acquainted with Max in the Spring of 1989, and the two of us would begin a Turkey hunting partnership later that Fall. Our first few attempts to collect one of the wily Easterns of central Virginia proved to be efforts of futility. Prior to meeting Max most of my hunting experience had been garnered chasing Whitetail deer and Spring gobblers. It wasn’t until the mid 80’s that I earnestly took up the sport of Fall Turkey hunting. For Max our trips to the Autumn woods in 1989 were his first ever attempts at hunting even though he came from a well known hunting "family". In spite of my lack of Fall Turkey hunting knowledge and Max’s amateurish ways we still had fun on our outings, though we continuously came home empty handed that first year. The ’89 Fall season finally came to a close (I think that was God’s way of showing mercy on the two of us) but Max and I stayed close throughout the cold dull winter. We even roamed the off season woods when it was possible, enjoying the chance to scout and get exercise. Yes, we saw more Turkeys on these outings than we did during the entire hunting season.
Spring time rolled around and the music of love sick gobblers filled the air, but Max was a Fall Turkey hunter, the crisp air, the exercise, the thrill of flushing a flock of Turkeys, that was Max. For all of the 13 years that I knew him, barring an occasional Quail or Squirrel, the main focus of his hunting was the Fall Turkey. Over the years he would become quite adept at the sport. There were times when I swore he could just breathe the fresh Autumn air and know which direction we should take for the day’s hunt.
In the Fall of 1990 we took our first turkey while hunting together. Even though I made the shot, old photographs show that he was just as proud of that moment as I was. That would be our only harvest that year but it was a season of maturing for the both of us. Future seasons would hold much promise and at the same time strengthen the special bond that hunting partners share. Throughout our friendship I would continue to pursue Whitetail deer with everything from bow to rifle while Max was content to wait for “his hunting season.” I have to say his knowledge of the Fall Turkey woods soon surpassed mine by a large margin. We would share much success over the years but Fate and Old Man Time would eventually catch up to both of us.
In October of 1994, while preparing for a bowhunt, I fell from a treestand. I was left with mobility impairment that would prevent me from ever walking again. The Fall seasons of 1994 & ’95 were the only years in our friendship that Max and I did not hunt together. After I spent a year in and out of physical rehab the Fall of ’96 found the two of us in the Turkey woods together again. I needed extra help now and other friends would join us on our hunting excursions. After a season of trial and error we had our routine perfected. Successful hunts were again commonplace.
During the late 90’s Max’s pace started to slow, he was no longer the ridge running hunter with which I had become so familiar. A visit to his doctor revealed that Max had degenerative arthritis. Despite all of the medications his joints and muscles were not able to do what his mind was telling them. During the ’99 season Max was only able to hunt sparingly, one or two hunts a week was all his aching body could take. Time for him to recuperate was taking longer and longer. By the Fall of 2000 Max’s condition had left him all but unable to roam the woods. One crisp day that November two friends and I had planned a turkey hunt. As we were loading our gear Max was unusually persistent about wanting to join us. Seemingly out of nowhere he had found the will not to let his physical limitations deter him. Max, just like me, now had to be assisted in and out of the vehicle. We had a great day together. We found Turkeys and made a good flush. We even managed to coax some birds back in to our setup. The harvest of turkeys was of minor importance that day, for once again I saw a joy on my hunting partner’s face that I had not seen for some time. This would be our only hunt together that season. For Max it would be his last hunt ever.
September 19, 2001. With our Nation in turmoil from the attack on the World Trade Center, I watched tearfully as my old friend was laid to rest. Free now of the aches and pains that had tormented his body, I pray that his afterlife is filled with crisp Fall days, big flat hardwoods and numerous flocks of Turkeys.
Max was a once in a lifetime hunting partner and a faithful friend. Max was also an Appalachian Turkey dog. I acquired him from Mr. John Byrne, well known breeder of Turkey dogs, located in Lowry, Virginia. Max was the last pup left when I got him, all his litter mates had been selected before him. He may have been the last of his mates to be chosen but he will hold a place in my memory that will be second to none. Happy Trails my friend.
