Hunting And Fishing With Jo, Part 1

By Brandon Jewett

Editor’s note: This is part one of a story written by Brandon Jewett of Yakima about hunting and fishing with his dynamo of a daughter, Jo. We’re serializing it in four installments this week.

I’ve always considered myself a free spirit. I’ve been known to throw caution – as well as all other rational decision-making tools – to the wind. I always wanted a new adventure. I wanted to experience new things as much as I could before the inevitable aging process took its course. 

New adventures to me always incorporated some sort of hunting or fishing. I mean, what greater adventures are there? I have no intentions of climbing Everest. Scuba diving was cool, but also terrifying, and I hate flying. Therefore, my adventures usually mean putting boots to the ground or a hull in the water somewhere, at an acceptable altitude. Lame to some, but there is a lot of adventuring to be done without becoming too extreme and remaining somewhat comfortable. 

My adventures weren’t planned most of the time. Even draw tags, or over-the-counter tags purchased out of state were total fly-bys. An opportunity would arise, and I would jump on it. Usually, an ice chest of various beverages and a few snacks, along with a duffle bag and video camera to accompany my overabundance of hunting and fishing gear was all I needed. 

THEN ONE DAY AN UNEXPECTED ADVENTURE and opportunity arose, one I definitely was not expecting. The news I was going to be a Daddy.

Coolers full of beverages became bottle warmers full of formula. My always-ready duffle bag became a diaper bag, and my hunting and fishing gear was moved from my spare bedroom to the garage to make room for a crib and changing table. A new job was needed to stay in one place, and my hunting trips became few. I was living my greatest adventure daily with a beautiful, bald little baby girl. Jo has my eyes and had a devious little toothless grin. 

Jo just assumed she was tagging along, as she crawled inside one of his camouflage shirts with a ridiculously cute giggle and asked why her diapers didn’t “look like leaves.”

–Brandon Jewett

Before I knew it, my beautiful bald baby was a stunning blonde, curly headed, trash-talking lightning bolt of a little girl. Her baby teeth had come, and some had gone. Her blue eyes were bright as ever. She was constant motion, never without a snack, and was constantly at mine or her Papa’s (aka “The Dougernaught”) side. Even before she asked me, “What doing?” as I got ready for a hunt, she was sitting in the middle of my dad Doug’s pile of hunting clothes asking where we were going. Jo just assumed she was tagging along, as she crawled inside one of his camouflage shirts with a ridiculously cute giggle and asked why her diapers didn’t “look like leaves.” My dad passionately explained the purpose of every item, interspersing it with “Oh, let’s not touch that’s,” all with a big grin on his face, a grin that rarely leaves his face when his granddaughters are around.

It was obvious from the time she took her first steps (or sprints, I should say) that Jo had a Gypsy soul. She was constantly moving and asking questions, acquiring knowledge, as well as various trinkets in the forms of sticks and rocks to add to her collection – the same collection later found rattling around my dryer. She was independent and a professional at manipulating the unsuspecting person to get what she wanted, mostly in the form of a stuffed animal, and especially a snack. Usually your money was spent before you even realized what had happened. When she holds still, she’s scheming. You better be on your toes at all times. To her, there is no reason to hold still. Life is an adventure, and there is no reason we can’t be walking around and seeing new things. 

It seemed, though, that her interests peaked as much when the hunting closet opened as when the pantry door opened from a very, very young age. Well, almost as much as the pantry door. It was not long before she didn’t ask but told me, “I hunt with Papa, Daddy now morrow.” Well, OK then. We will go tomorrow. 

INTRODUCING A CHILD TO THE OUTDOORS isn’t exactly easy, but it doesn’t have to be hard either. It takes time, it takes patience, and most importantly, it takes snacks. The thing I’ve learned that seems to work every time is you must let the kid set the pace. When they are done, you are done. It’s important to remember that it’s their adventure, and it needs to be fun. “Going hunting” isn’t necessarily going hunting at all. It’s simply introducing your child to the woods. It’s listening to birds, chasing bugs, picking flowers and throwing rocks. 

I remember my first deer hunt vividly: It was a daring and dangerous adventure, full of rockslides, snakes, and elusive buck deer. We even encountered a dragon, but I fended him off with a barrage of .177-caliber pellets fired from my Crossman pellet gun. Or so I told my mother.

“Going hunting” isn’t necessarily going hunting at all. It’s simply introducing your child to the woods. It’s listening to birds, chasing bugs, picking flowers and throwing rocks. 

–Brandon Jewett

The Dougernaught tells a different story. He claims we walked 200 yards from the truck, sat on a stump and ate jerky. Clearly, he is suffering from amnesia after his traumatic encounter with the dragon. Fortunately, I was there, and we completed our adventure in roughly 45 minutes, returned to the truck and ate soup on the tailgate. He still claims it was chili. It was bean with bacon soup because we were out of chili, which I agree is a sin, but I remember this detail because it was fun. I went deer hunting with my Daddy.

He also still hasn’t thanked me for fending off the deadly flying beast.

I started pheasant hunting with him at a very young age, as did my older sister Jessica. We were 2 or 3 years old. I continued while she did not, although, when she can take a break from her successful writing career, you will catch her in the Dougernaught’s boat chasing salmon. 

The hunts were short back then, and that’s how I started Jo. She loved going to the mountains and riding around in the backpack as I checked my trail cameras. There is nothing I love more than “patterning” animals for months, only to have them be abducted by space aliens the day before the season opens. It’s great exercise in those off months and definitely not frustrating at all. Jo and I saw all kinds of critters. In fact, she is probably the only 7-year-old in the Northwest who can accurately judge the size and sex of a bear. Jo has probably seen more bears than most adults. It has everything to do with happenstance and absolutely nothing to do with Washington’s high bear population, though, right? 

THEN she experienced her first grouse. After both of our souls reentered our body (and I stopped screaming) from the unexpected eruption of wings from between my feet, she asked, “Can we eat those?” When I finally stopped laughing, I realized at that moment my little girl had become a huntress.

Yes, Jo, yes, we can eat those.

To be continued …