The Concrete Truth

A lesson In Southern Hospitality

December 30th, 2009

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Following is a story of how you are never to old to learn. Just when I thought I knew all that there was to know about the things that concern me in life, I was taught a valuable lesson on adversity, adaptability, and selflessness.

Me, my friend Lyle, and Lyle’s brother, Marty had been looking forward to our annual deer hunting trip to southern Illinois for months. My preparation for the trip had started two months ago, in September. Lyle on the other hand had packed for the trip only a day or two prior to our leaving. This was not unusual though as Lyle is pretty busy with the demands of his job as a salesman. Lyle and I left his house at 6 am that morning and picked up Marty at his house on the way.

Our ride on the way to Union County was filled with talk of harvesting big bucks and celebration. It was a cool day with overcast skies. Just the kind of weather we had hoped for. We had heard of an impending cold front out west that was due to hit southern Illinois later that day. Just as we were about to arrive at our destination, it started to rain. Not a heavy rain, but a slow steady drizzle. The wind started to increase to 20 mph with gust to 30 mph. Normally this would not be a problem, but we knew that our hunting area on the Mississippi River had flooded just two weeks prior to our arrival.

When we arrived at the farm that we stay on, we got settled in our cabins, put all our gear in order for the next days bow hunt, and proceeded to have a couple of drinks as the rain fell harder. Our conversation turned to how the rain might affect our hunting plans. I was concerned that the deer would just lay down and not move as long as the rain continued. Lyle, being ever the optimist, was certain that the rain would stop and the deer would be moving sometime during the day. Marty agreed that although it would not be ideal conditions, the rut was in full swing and the bucks would not be deterred. We drove down to look at our hunting area and it was in bad shape. Although the flooding had receded, the fields were full of mud that was deposited by the flood waters.

Muddy field

4:30 am the next morning. We awoke to a windy morning. Although the rain had stopped by this time, the wind was now the enemy. We had some coffee, a bite to eat and dressed for the days hunt. We were happy the rain had stopped but had our reservations. It was still dark when we arrived at our hunting area. As we began to ready our equipment, the rain started to fall. Not a heavy rain, rather a slow, steady cold drizzle. Not to be deterred, we all headed to our pre selected stands. We sat in the rain all day long. Even though I had on my rain gear, by 10 am I was soaked and chilled to the bone. After waiting all year for this day to arrive I refused to be discouraged, but I was right, the deer were not moving.

Day two started off very much like day one. Rain, wind, and cold. Now normally, this would not have been a problem except for the fact that every step we took in the mud was a struggle as 5 lbs of the mud clung to each boot. When I arrived to my stand and started to climb the ladder, my muddy boots slipped on the ladder rung. I caught myself with my left arm by grabbing the rung. As I hung there, I heard a tearing sound and a sharp pain ran up my arm. I was able to steady myself and continue my climb up to the seat that was 18 feet off the ground. My arm bothered me all day long, but it wasn’t until I was in my cabin that evening that I saw the damage to my left arm and shoulder. I looked at my arm and the bicep muscle was gone. I had ruptured the bicep on my left arm. I suspected I had torn my rotator cuff as well which was later confirmed by a MRI. We did have a couple close encounters on the second day, but no cigars. On Wed. morning, the third day of our hunt we arrived at our spot at 5:15 am. It was dark and we couldn’t see a thing. After preparing for the days hunt at the truck, we walked down to the road crossing the borrow pit. (Borrow pits were dug to construct the levee). To our surprise, the road was under two feet of water! It seems that the river was rising again and just over night the water had risen two feet! Me and my friend Lyle just looked at each other and couldn’t believe it. The access road that is so essential to reaching our stands was gone! The Greek God of water, Neptune, was being a real bastard!

Flooded access road

At that point, we believed our hunt was over. The shotgun season hadn’t even started yet, and we weren’t sure if would for us. We went back to the farm to see if we could get a boat somewhere and salvage the next five days. We found a boat, but the boat was a small 12′ john boat and was very dangerous for two people with all their gear to cross the fast moving flood waters. Lyle and I were debating whether or not to chance using the small boat when something happened that saved our hunting trip. In walked Robbie and Brandon Smithy. Two young men that taught a couple of old guys what sacrifice and selflessness really was. Rob and Brandon were the Nephews of Carlos Brown. Carlos Brown was an 88 year old farmer and hunt club owner that could teach the whole world what being a man was all about. Carlos was an honest and God fearing man. He was no stranger to hard work and dedication to family and friends, and the apple didn’t fall far from the tree when it came to his two Nephews, Rob and Brandon. I speak of Carlos in the past tense because he has since passed away. I will write more about this great man in a future post, but for now I’ll get back to the story at hand.

Rob and Brandon knew the danger involved in us using the small boat to cross the flood waters. They came to Lyle and I and told us that they would launch their boat (which was a much larger and safer boat) at our hunting area and take us across the flooded field to higher ground where our hunting stands were. They would drop us off and at the end of the day, come back and pick us up. What this equated to was this, they would sacrifice their prime hunting time in the early morning to make sure we were safe. By the time we were dropped off and they took the boat out and drove to their hunting area several miles down the river, launched the boat again and went to their stands, prime hunting hours were over. To a non hunter, this may not seem to be a big deal, but to us, it was the ultimate sacrifice. They had also waited all year for this day to come. The best chance anyone has to harvest a big buck is the morning of opening day. I would like to say that I would have done the same thing had the circumstances been the other way around at that time. Now, I know that I would. Thanks to a couple of young brothers from southern Illinois, I have learned the true meaning of generosity and sacrifice.