Uncle Jerry
My Uncle Jerry died in the very mountains we hunted in West Virginia. It was 1996 and me and my cousins, Brad and Brent, were with him. On the third day of the hunt, Jerry shot at a buck during a traditional drive of “sh–house ridge” named in honor of the old outhouse there. We pursued the buck, recovered it, but there was no Jerry. Backtracking, we found him on his stand.
Jerry was dead. At only 50 years old, we were in shock. I think he would laugh dying on a ridge so named. He was a great Uncle!
The following year in West Virginia I had a brand-new Chevy Tahoe, and found out from my wife we were pregnant with our daughter. Opening day came, and I took the biggest buck of my life after falling in the creek. I know Uncle Jerry had something to do with it, too. He brought me good medicine.
Over the previous year, I had thought nothing worse could happen when he died on that mountain. In some weird way, his bad misfortune brought me good luck not only on that hunt, but life in general. I felt him telling me all will be fine and go ahead and have a good life, no matter what happens.
You just never know when bad circumstances will bring you good luck! It’s something I still believe in. So, if you happen to run into some hard times on the trail of life, don’t get discouraged — get ready to capture Lady Luck, she’s just around the corner.
Subscribe To GUNS Magazine
Read the full article here