Steve Chapman - The Big Book of Hunting Stories: The Very Best of Steve Chapman

Table of Contents

HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS

EUGENE , OREGON

Contents

Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from the New American Standard Bible, 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org)

Verses marked NKJV are taken from the New King James Version. Copyright 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Verses marked KJV are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Verses marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version, NIV. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Cover design by Bryce Williamson

Cover photo da kuk, A-Digit, PREDRAGILIEVSKI, DenisKrivoy / Gettyimages

Includes new stories as well as some stories from these books by Steve Chapman, previously published by Harvest House Publishers:

A Look at Life from a Deer Stand

Another Look at Life from a Deer Stand

Tales Hunters Tell

Great Hunting Stories

With Dad on a Deer Stand

A Hunter Sets His Sights

The Big Book of Hunting Stories

Copyright 2020 by Steve Chapman

Published by Harvest House Publishers

Eugene, Oregon 97408

www.harvesthousepublishers.com

ISBN 978-0-7369-7844-6 (pbk.)

ISBN 978-0-7369-8019-7 (eBook)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Chapman, Steve, author.

Title: The big book of hunting stories / Steve Chapman.

Description: Eugene, Oregon : Harvest House Publishers, [2020]

Identifiers: LCCN 2019034740 (print) | LCCN 2019034741 (ebook) | ISBN 9780736978446 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780736980197 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Chapman, Steve. | HuntersUnited StatesBiography.

Classification: LCC SK17.C43 A3 2020 (print) | LCC SK17.C43 (ebook) | DDC 639/.1092 [B]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019034740

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019034741

All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any meanselectronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any otherwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of authors and publishers rights is strictly prohibited.

H ave you ever noticed that there is something about firsts that intrigues us all? We find ourselves spellbound by them, and for some reason we focus on them and often refer to firsts as the highlights of our lives. Consider the importance we place on the following:

firstborn

first step

first word ever spoken

first grade

first date

first kiss

first car

first man on the moon

first cup of coffee

first impression

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

On and on the list could go. As I pondered our affection for firsts, I began to realize that we are drawn to these initial events because they seem to have a unique ability to set the course for the journeys we take, whether good or bad.

In my forty-plus years of avid hunting, I still look back at my first morning in the woods as my most favorite outdoor experience. To this day I truly believe it put me on a path which I hope to travel as long as Im able to get around. Maybe you have a fond memory of a similar experience that set you on the same course.

For me, the journey began when I was fourteen years old. My dad was pastor of a church in the rolling hills of West Virginia, and among the members of his congregation was a gentleman named Kenneth Bledsoe. One Sunday after the service, he invited me to join him on a squirrel hunt the following Saturday. I could hardly wait for the end of the week to come.

Friday finally came, and my folks took me to his home. It sat along a rural highway on top of a ridge surrounded by gently rolling hills. His land was graced with large patches of woods and beautiful meadows. It was the middle of October and all the leaves on the trees were ablaze with incredible autumn colors. The red, brown, orange, and yellow hues seemed to glow in the bright sun with an invitation to simply stand in awe of Gods ability to paint a scene. The view that spread out before us was like a huge canvas, and we were fortunate to be living creatures on it.

I went to bed that night and quickly drifted off into a deep slumber. Little did I know that from that evening on, I would never go to sleep so easily on the night before a hunt. For the rest of my life, the anticipation of a repeat of the morning to follow would always make me anxious for the alarm to sound.

At 5:30 a.m. we were sitting down to breakfast. It hadnt happened often that I was up at that hour. Perhaps Easter sunrise service or leaving early to drive with my folks to Grandmas house were the only reasons you would find me up before daylight. But there I was, wide awake with anticipation and already dressed for the day.

In the dim light of the carport, Kenneth handed me the gun he had shown me how to use the night before. It was a .22/20-gauge over-and-under masterpiece. He put a handful of 20-gauge shells in my pocket, and we walked across the paved road at the end of his driveway and headed down a hillside into the darkness of the woods. My friend knew his way very well through the forest. Nearly every step of the way, he gave me instructions that would ensure our safety. When we came to the first fence, he held out his hand to take my gun. He said, Never cross a fence while holding your gun. Too many guys have died that way. Also, he warned me about choosing my steps carefully in the dark. Falling with a gun is no fun, especially for those around you!

I was getting my first safety course that day, and I felt secure with such a veteran hunter as Kenneth. I couldnt have chosen a better teacher. Many times throughout my hunting life, I have applied the lessons I learned that morning. Years later, when I finally took an official hunters safety course here in Tennessee with my son, I was amazed at how much ground had already been covered by my friend, who had never seen the textbook. Someone had taught him well, and I was grateful that the heritage was handed down to me.

About twenty minutes before daylight, we stopped by a large oak. With his big boot, Kenneth scraped away the dry leaves on the forest floor to reveal an area of dark, soft ground about three feet wide and three feet long. He said softly, Youll need a quiet place to sit. You dont want to be making a lot of noise while you hunt. Youre in the critters territory. They know sounds. Unfamiliar noises are a sign of danger to them. Now, have a seat here and try to move only when its time to take a shot. Then, as if I were being left on a deserted island, he walked up the hill behind me and out of sight. Just before he left, he whispered, Ill be around the hill. Stay here till I come back and get you.