Page 6 - July/August 2022 Outdoor Oklahoma

2021 CREATIVE WRITING COMPETITION

“HERITAGE LIVES THROUGH STORIES”

EDITOR’S NOTE: Each year, the Oklahoma Department of Wildlife Conservation and Oklahoma Station Chapter Safari Club
International join to sponsor a creative writing competition for Oklahoma middle and high school students. A boy and a girl from
two age divisions are selected winners. Students were required to write essays using the theme “Hunting: Sharing the Heritage” or
“Archery: What I Like About Archery in the Schools and Bowhunting.” Winners in the age 15-17 category receive a guided antelope
hunt in the Texas Panhandle, and winners in the 11-14 age category receive a hunting trip with Rack Attack Outfitters of Fairview(or
similar) and a scholarship to the Outdoor Texas Camp. In this issue, Outdoor Oklahoma honors high school category male winner
Ty Cottrill, 16, a 10th-grader from Fairview High School.

HUNTING: We waited for a few does to walk out like usual
SHARING THE HERITAGE when a train rumbled by, spooking them off. Even-
tually they decided to come back out to graze. After
By Ty Cottrill a while, a burly old buck walked out with less than 10
The definition of heritage is to pass down some- minutes left of shooting light. I was jittery while look-
thing that is either money, an object, or knowledge. ing at the buck and praying that it would stop walk-
Telling stories is heritage because you are giving ing. It seemed like after a lifetime, it finally reached
experience and ideas about something to some- the middle of the field and halted. I aimed at the front
one. You are not going to lie about it. When you of its shoulder and waited. Bam! The scope slammed
talk about last night’s trip, you do not make up a into my forehead, but I ignored it and yanked the
story about how massive that buck was. You tell the bolt back to eject the shell. I pushed it back and was
truth about how good it looked and how you want ready to fire again.
to kill it. It is an honest sport and is one of the great I aimed again and saw the buck practically flying
American pastimes. away. It got caught in the fence slightly and was
I love to hunt, and I love the benefits and rewards gone across the tracks into the woods. We searched
that come from it. The trophies to showcase and around for blood, but could not find any. We kept
the meals that I get to eat searching. I was getting more furious, then out of
“I laid there for a second make the struggle worth the corner of my eye, I saw just a little bit of red in
before I looked into its it. Be it a bow or gun, it the darkness. I sprinted over to it and saw a small pile
is all thrilling. It is a rush
of gore and splatter. I shouted, and my dad hustled
eyes and almost had to get up in the early over. We followed the blood spots to the fence,
morning with my dad climbed, and checked the tracks.
a heart attack.” without his coffee and in We left to go find the owner of the land that the
the freezing cold. I always deer had crossed onto. After about an hour, we came
make my hunting trips interesting for my dad just back with permission and delved into the woods. It
because I can. was pitch black, but we kept walking. I went left, and
My favorite hunting story with my dad happened Dad went right. I hated every second of it. It was
last year. It started a little later in the evening than dark and cold, and I kept stumbling. My foot caught
we wanted due to the fact that I had fallen asleep. a root, and I actually fell into the dry creek bed that
Thankfully, my dad has very effective techniques for my deer had died and fallen into. I laid there for a
waking me up, so we made it to the field pretty quick- second before I looked into its eyes and almost had
ly after that. I wore all my best gear: my hat, boots, a heart attack.
and camo jeans. I had also elected to wear my favor- I scrambled back and sat for a solid 30 seconds,
ite coat because it has incredibly massive pockets. I praying before I found my voice to call out. I laid
had my usual hunting gear in those pockets such as there waiting for my dad to fight his way through
my snacks, water, book, and knives. the jumble of undergrowth to me. I had my knife out
We had to walk a good distance to get to the because I did not know what else to do. When he
stand, and when we finally arrived, we were overlook- finally reached me, we celebrated and drug it out.
ing a field about 150 yards wide with a barbed-wire It was huge and old. We hauled it to the tracks and
fence bordering it. Past that was a pair of train tracks had to gut the buck there; it was just too heavy to
with woods farther on. The stand we were using was pull across. After gutting, we pulled it into the truck.
tiny, cramped, and rather uncomfortable with two Hauling it up felt like a dream. I was so happy, and it
tiny seats and windows to shoot out of. It shook with is one of my fondest memories to this day. It may not
our weight as we got settled in. be heritage, but I will pass it on anyway.

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