Ride at Old Belfast did the trick - Arkansas Online

Sunday was a day for smiles at the Old Belfast Hunting Club.

The household chores were done, and while the Hendricks family eschews working on the Sabbath, we did have to free a couple of proverbial oxen from a ditch.

Oxen freed, the afternoon was wide open for me to enjoy a few hours fooling around at a place that brings me immense joy in the fall and spring. Gosh, how many deer have I killed at Old Belfast? According to my journals, 24, with two different muzzleloaders, 10 different rifles and a crossbow.

I earned two-thirds of my only Triple Trophy Award at OBHC in 2020. My late son Daniel killed his only deer there, and my oldest daughter Amy killed her only deer there. My son Matthew missed a deer with a muzzleloader in 2009 because I failed to remove all of the powder solvent from the bore. Residual solvent contaminated the powder charge. Matthew fired at a buck one evening. The primer detonated, followed by a fierce sizzling sound. Sparks and smoke billowed from the barrel as I watched the saboted bullet fall harmlessly to the ground in front of the stand.

I came of age as a turkey hunter at Old Belfast, which has treated me to more epic hunts than a man deserves. There is one place I hold especially dear, a spot in the woods I call St. Tom's Cathedral. So wondrous is this place that I named my soon-to-be released book after it.

Every one of these moments was recorded in these pages.

Mike Romine of Mabelvale invited me to join Old Belfast in 2009, a few weeks before I began treatment for colorectal cancer. We were uncertain if I was going to make it to that first fall, and if I did, if I would be well enough to hunt.

Certain indignities are endemic to colorectal cancer. Without getting tedious with the details, suffice it to say that a 3-gallon bucket was part of my hunting kit for the 2009-10 seasons.

Old Belfast proved vital to my healing. A miracle occurred whenever I was there. For those precious few hours, I felt relaxed and free. Those hours hinted at what it would be like to be well again. It's taken years, but I am 95% there.

On Sunday, I hauled my wheezy old four-wheeler out to Old Belfast to give it a workout after rebuilding the carburetor and petcock valve the week before. I asked Romine if he would like to join me. He couldn't, but said, "Just remember I'm just a phone call away if needed."

Given the four-wheeler's recent history, that was highly probable.

Exiting my truck at camp, the smell of crushed weeds in my truck tire tracks created a piquant perfume that seemed to ferment in the hot, humid air. I backed the four-wheeler off its trailer and sailed down Old Belfast's interior roads at a medium pace. The tires slung gravel against the underbody. Several pebbles stung my face, which is why I always wear Oakley ballistic sunglasses when riding a four-wheeler.

It was immensely satisfying to hear and feel the throb of a motor running so smoothly because of my own mechanical handiwork. I relished the rush of the wind through my thinning hair and the thump of my open shirt slapping my back in the tail draft. It wasn't Dewey Bunnell's Ventura Highway, but on this day, it was close enough.

I drove down Baxter Trail to the club's east boundary and then drove down Collins Trail, past the spot where I killed a gobbler in 2013 that I call The Boss. That weeklong campaign is my favorite hunt, the one that gave me the credentials to call myself a turkey hunter.

I turned past the Freeze Camp and rode the rest of the roads on that side of the highway.

That was when I noticed how dark the sky was to the north and how quickly the clouds were advancing south. I opened the throttle and raced back to camp, nervously tracking lightning to the north while I opened, closed and locked the metal gates behind me.

With rain at my back, I stopped to examine something brown fluttering on the roadside. It was a single tail feather from a young turkey. That's not something my club mates need to see, so I tucked it safely in my basket, a talisman of good times to come.

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