One time, I was cleaning my contact lenses over the camp sink, and I dropped one. Down it went, into a grungy, tangled heap of unwashed plates, pots, pans, and silverware from last night's supper. I was beside myself, ticked off royally, and possibly some teenage hormones were kicking in to boot. At any rate, I was moping around and generally in a black mood. It was Don who carefully poked and picked through the dirty dishes until he found my contact lens, which lifted my spirits considerably.
Don had some strange ways, no doubt about it. He was always the first to hit the sack, as soon as he had supper under his belt, and the first one out of bed in the morning. That's when he usually received a well-earned cussing from the rest of the guys, as he paraded around the small camp shack, banging pots and pans and singing Elvira at the top of his lungs, to wake up the rest of us. "Hum-diddy, hum-diddy!" he would belt out, between Elviras. I must admit I wasn't a fan of his early-morning antics - I am not exactly a morning person - but they did get us out of bed.
At one point, I showed up to a hunt in some new camo pants I'd recently bought. They were tiger-stripe camo... and lo and behold, Don arrived sporting new tiger-stripe camo himself! At the time I believed it was mere coincidence, but sometimes I wonder...
When I was seventeen years old and in my senior year of high school, I had my first opportunity to shoot a buck deer. When the time came, I sat in my stand staring and quivering like so much Jell-O, while the buck made a leisurely but eternal escape. Afterwards, I was sick about it.
All the guys were understanding, of course, but I remember Don's reaction most of all. After he had conveyed his sympathy to this broken-hearted lad, his eyes lit up as he kindly looked at me and said, "But just think if you had shot that buck! You hunting with all these old men, and you would be the one who got a deer! That would have really been something!" The joy in his eyes and the way he said that gave me encouragement in the midst of my pain, and I will always appreciate that.
One piece of advice he gave me around that time has paid dividends more than once in my years of hunting, though it is of course plain old common sense (as is most good advice). He said that it was a good idea to keep your gun to your shoulder, or at least close to that position and ready to use, at all times. In this way, the movement and therefore the time required to make a shot would be greatly reduced when a buck finally made its appearance.
I have taken several bucks throughout the years, hearing the echoes of his words in my head as I readied myself to make a quick, clean shot.
That was the last season that Don hunted with us. He retired and moved to the Florida panhandle and made himself scarce in our neighborhood. When I got my first buck the following season, I just had to call him and brag a little... and I think he was just about as proud as I was.
Don Poyet passed away last week and left this earth behind him, and though I hadn't seen him in many years and knew that he'd been having a rough time of it, the news brought tears to my eyes. The passing of that man I enjoyed hunting with in my youth created a void in this world that will exist from now on. There will never be another Don - I just wish I'd had sense enough to tell him so, one more time, before he left us for good.
Don was a good man, a fine hunter who helped this young hunter find his way and become successful in the woods. May God bless and keep him and all such men, forever and ever, amen.
- Russ Chastain
