It’s time to update that hunting/fishing bucket list

What’s on your outdoors bucket list?

The newspaper in my hometown has a weekly feature that profiles different high-school athletes, and one part of it is a panel with a list of personal facts about the athlete: favorite sports movie, favorite school subject, dream job — that kind of stuff.

One of the things the football players and swimmers and discus throwers also have to volunteer is an item on their bucket lists. I have learned that an awful lot of teen-aged kids want to put on a parachute and jump out of a perfectly good airplane.

But that got me to thinking. As I approach age 60, do I have any bucket list items left, and if so, how many of them have to do with hunting and fishing?

Well, I’ve knocked off a few of them: Caught bull redfish? Check, several. Killed 8-point bucks? Check, several. Called in my son’s first gobbler? Check. Caught an 8-pound largemouth bass? Check. Caught a 4-pound smallmouth bass? Check. Caught brook, rainbow and brown trout all on dry flies? Check. Killed a limit of doves with two boxes of shells? Check, several times. Played golf at Augusta National and Pinehurst No. 2? Check. Sorry it’s not hunting or fishing, but I had to brag a little. For the record, I shot 83 at Pinehurst, 91 at Augusta.

One or two things on my bucket list, I’ve given up filling. Now that my dad is 85, I’m probably not going to call up a turkey gobbler for him. I think I gave up 10 years ago when I had a big tom on the ground, 100 yards in front of him, double-gobbling every 30 seconds. From 25 yards to the rear, I saw my dad reach up and adjust his cap, then scratch his rear end, then wiggle around and get comfortable, all shortly before the gobbler departed. Okay, he’s the best flounder fisherman I know, but a gobbler is never going to walk in range of his shotgun.

I’d love to kill an elk, but that’s probably not in the cards, because I don’t hold enough of those rectangular, green “cards” with Ben Franklin’s photo on them. My son tells me when he gets to be a rich contractor that he’ll take me to Colorado, but by the time he gets rich, I might be 85.

I’m still waiting on a really big gobbler. I’ve killed so many gobblers that weighed 19 pounds or better, I should draw the No. 19 if I ever decide to play on a senior-citizens church softball team. I’ve got multiple 12-inch beards on display, but never has a gobbler I’ve killed hit the 20-pound mark.

I’d probably love a 5-pound speckled trout and a really big flounder, but what I think I’d really love to do is live long enough to take my grandkids fishing or hunting, help them put the worm on the hook and unhook their first bream, pick up their first doves. Let’s get going kids; get me some more grandkids while I can still see well enough to tie a Uni knot or an incoming dove at 200 yards.

If I don’t kick the bucket first, maybe I’ll fill that list.