January/February 2014 EBJ (Issue 81) - This isn’t a story of a 10-mile backpack hunt into the beautiful alpine high country that Wyoming is so famous for. It’s a story of what life is all about after a terrible accident.
September 1st of 2001, while on a fun pheasant hunt with friends and my then eight-year-old son Remington, I had the misfortune of being shot pointblank in the head with my own shotgun as Remington brought back a beautiful rooster that I had just harvested. We’ll never know how or why it happened.
As I lay on the ground listening to Remington screaming, "Don’t die, Dad!, please, don’t let my dad die!,” I couldn’t help but think of all the great times we had had and of all of the great times still to come. I wasn’t about to just lie down and die – not today!
I told my buddy Garth that this was real bad and that he needed to get pressure on my head with something.
"I know Mark, I’m already doing it,” he said.