Lost Trophies

This was an article for the Dallas Safari Club Newsletter from a column I write- Outdoor Parenting- in which I lament the loss of control over my trophy room. Man cave stuff. On the plus side, the trophies have helped connect me with the kids.

Lost Trophies - Outdoor Parenting

Sometime recently, when I wasn’t looking, the balance of power shifted in my house. It went unnoticed until we began to paint the living room. Why that event is significant is that we had to take all the trophies down to do the work. Once completed I assumed we were going to put them back up where they were. “You know dad, the European skulls kind of overwhelm the room.” My daughter was looking at the walls.

Whoa! This from the girl that insisted the turkey mount be full body because her brother had never shot one. This from the girl that made sure the Gold Medal plaque is on the wall by her axis so it is not confused with other animals. Surely she wants the deer horns displayed.

“Then I think we will put all the white-tail horns in the hallway” I declared. And the shift of power became clearly apparent. “No, not the hallway either.” By now the Alpha Female was behind her, supporting her. “I thought you liked the trophies” I offered in a bit of a whine- it was my final gambit-expand the argument to all trophies, not just the skulls.

“I do” she said, “but the skulls just don’t fit the décor any more.” Game, set , match.

I have had to reassess my attachment to the trophies and I have started to see that I have had as much enjoyment out of them on the wall as I did when they were taken. Most of them aren’t mine. My son’s first buck was an 8 point that he downed in the middle of Willow Creek in Mason. The deer was 2 ½, and my son was about 10. 6 years later, my daughter leaned against the same tree and took her first deer. That deer helped us out in that his horn was flopping on his face, loose from a fight. About the time he started to notice my daughter setting up for the shot, his antler would draw his attention away from her. She finally got the shot. We must have taken 20 pictures of her posing with her deer. Old Mr. Harper, our taxidermist, did a fine job putting the horn back onto the skull.

The rack with the most mass is from a buck my son took when he was 14. He made the shot, and the buck ran into the brush. When he couldn’t find it immediately, he assumed he missed and sat dejected the rest of the morning. When I came to pick him up he took me through the shot and I was able to show him how to find where the deer was standing, find blood from the impact and find a dead deer. Magnificent trophy.

The last time the three of us hunted together on the same trip was the day after Thanksgiving 4 years ago. We arrived at the lease in OK about 3:00 in the afternoon and my daughter and I sat together. We had been there less that 20 minutes when I saw Mr. Big walking through the mesquites. I told her to cover her ears and took the shot. On our way over to see if I had connected, we heard a shot from his stand. We took the two best bucks of our lives within a span of 15 minutes. My daughter took a doe the next morning and the ride home with a truck full of deer was one of the most satisfying I can remember. Every antler on the wall carries specific memories and feelings for me, mostly around time with my kids.

What I have discovered in the loss of my antler collection is that I don’t go back to the woods as often after dinner as I used to. The trophies are a 3 dimensional scrapbook that captivates my interest and ties me to my kids through the experience. When my son left for college, it coincided with my daughter moving to things like make-up and other interests outside of my manipulations. As a Dad I am pedaling as fast as I can to see where I can continue to connect with her. And for now, the horns are stacked on the workbench in the garage. I did get a concession from the other team that if I moved the bookshelves out of the office, and use only one wall, I could keep the horns in there. The office may become my new favorite room.