THE RIGHT WAY 

Are you sure we're going the right way? " How much further?"
These questions were rarely asked between the two experienced hunters
who set out that day. Long time friends growing up in Southwestern Pa.
Jim Davis and Jim Cook both had a passion for the out-of-doors.
             The pair had spent many hours in the field in their youth, setting
"Bed sheet blinds" in the thick Pennsylvania snow laying in wait for crow.
Hiking through thicket and thorn in pursuit of the elusive long-ear.
They walked talked and dreamt of the hunt. Traveling for miles to hunt
fields of pheasant now replaced by rows of homes.
             They woke excitedly that morning, poking peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches into their packs, two local boys not knowing what to expect
in the "Big Woods". Car after car truck after truck trudged up the hillside as
the pair wondered where to hunt. "Are you sure we're going the right way?"
You see ,even with all their experience the pair had never hunted the higher ridges
and mountains .
             Not having scouted the wooded areas surrounding, the two decided
to pull over and hunt midway up the mountain side. Poking slowly through
the early morning denseness they separated wishing each other luck.
As the sweet mountain fog began to burn away, something didn't  seem exactly
right to the Davis boy, "Barking dogs, clucking chickens, and the sound of children?"
Through the fog he realizes he had set up against a tree no more than 150
yards from a trailer and it's inhabitants.
Feeling frustrated after setting quietly for hours waiting for that
"Mountain Buck" he had dreamed of ,he decides to have his lunch and move
deeper into the woods. As he sat enjoying the thickness of the fern and mounds
of mountain laurel his attention was often diverted by the yelp of a mutt or the
screech of a child. He shakes his head in disbelief of his situation.
One more bite and one more tip of the canteen and then into the big woods away
from distraction, he thought , before that bite could be taking the young mans eyes
grew large and round as the thick necked beast thrashed through the brush.
Face to face, no more than twenty five feet away stood the snorting buck,
the very same buck whose form was etched in the back of the young dreamers
mind. Forcing peanut butter down a dry throat and sliding a jelly covered finger
around the grip of his Winchester the boy acts instinctively and drops the eight point
buck in its tracks.
              Rising to his shaking knees the young sportsman gives three bleats on the
crow call around his neck. Within minutes he's joined by his companion who shares
his excitement and the chore of gutting and dragging his prize.

Back at their vehicle, emotions still high, they arrange for Cookie
to use Davis's rifle and for the Davis boy to put on a drive. The two young
friends reenter the woods and within thirty minutes Davis hears a shot.
Then comes the familiar crow call they had always used to communicate
with. Laying at Cookies feet was another monster "Mountain Buck".
The two stood admiring the beast ,realizing it was almost identical to the other
eight pointer bagged earlier.
             In October of 1967 in Clearfield Co. Pa. two young hunters
shared something many only dream of.
             In Oct. of 1995, after being separated by the years, two friends entered
the field together again. By now Jim Cook, having had a stroke , was forced to hunt
from the pickup. Spotting a group of deer the men became excited and anxious.
Cookie unable to make the shot, asks his friend to do the deed. Reaching for his
gun, Davis stops ...... his time he would use Cookies rifle. Firing twice, the two men
admire once again the fruit of their labor, a proud seven point buck.
            Almost thirty years had past since their first big adventure but the excitement
and comradery remained.
                   "Are you sure we're going the right way?" "How much further?"
With a love of nature and a respect for friendship we'll always be going the
right way and we can go as far as we wish. Let us not forget what friendship means
and most importantly let us not forget our fathers ........ or their stories.

                                                  In Memory of
                                            James Walter Davis
                                                   1940-1996
              
by James William Davis