Hunting with Dad

If you’ve ever watched your father transform from the superman of your childhood into someone a little more human, a little older, but no less remarkable—then this story might feel familiar.

This past season, I had the privilege of guiding my Dad, who at 70, drew an Iowa archery tag. As a non-resident it takes no less than 4 preference points to hunt in the zone where my ground is. He drew in 2019 and hunted with me, but it was a little different than this time. We both knew that because of the duration of drawing a tag, it was going to be his last bow hunt here. After this year, he’d use his preference points toward future gun seasons, which takes less time to draw a tag. For the 2025 draw results for non-resident deer hunters in Iowa this year, see below.

2025 Iowa deer draw odds for non-resident applicants. Iowa Dept. of Natural Resources.

And as we shared the time in stand, it became clear this was about more than just a hunt for an animal. It was a father and son reuinion, doing something that they’ve always loved to do together. My friend Cole called it a tribute hunt, showing appreciation for the amazing sport Dad introduced me to. My Dad was willing to take his son out into the woods, which lit a fire that—God willing, will never burn out. I can’t imagine where I’d be today without him taking me hunting. To bring it full circle, one of the coolest moments in this entire season was when my son Jack joined Dad and I one evening, and the three of us sat in the same tree.

Three generations of Shyne in one tree.

My Farm

The farm where he would stay has been a major work in progress over the last two years. Kate, Jack, and I have done so much work to this place, and it has been really cool to see such a transformation—both in the wildlife habitat and the general improvements and infrastructure. It’s an old cattle farm that needed some serious love, and we’ve been giving it just that ever since the deed was recorded.

The entrance to our farm.

One of the last projects before hunting season was the new pond build and getting electricity set up. I had the electrician wire a 30-amp hookup in the old corn crib, a perfect place for Dad to park his camper and plug in. Halloween came, and when he finally backed it into the barn, it fit like a glove. Base camp was set.

Dad settled in to a well organized deer camp, an old corn crib on my farm.

Over the next week, we got into a rhythm of meeting up at dark, hunting through the morning, making a plan for the afternoon, and then eating dinner together. I stayed nearby at a farm that I manage.

I’d catch myself in the stand watching the man I’ve always looked up to. I’d see that same old grit I grew up admiring—the positive attitude, the toughness, the love for being out there. But I also saw the reality of age—just the edges of it—settling in. Even though he’s getting gray, he’s still strong as hell and sharp as a tack. My Dad will gladly sit all day in a stand, not encounter a single deer, and be ready for more. He takes pride in working hard, going through tough struggles, and earning success. That’s how he’s lived his entire life, and what would no doubt be the theme of this hunt together. It wouldn’t be in the cards for him to slide into camp and arrow a buck the first or second day. We’d take the grind over easy street, and that’s exactly what we got.

We had a blast together. We snuck across the farms with our e-bikes. We decoyed bucks in. We scouted and hung stands. We passed some great bucks. We sat over some of my food plots. We shared snacks and alot of laughs in the tree. We talked about the weather and the wind, work, and the world. We retold ALOT of old hunting stories, and we soaked it all in.

On the morning of November 17th, we hit a deep low with the miss of a nice buck. We were now in our third week of hunting, and Dad had been gone from home longer than he ever has—and I the same with my family. We were exhausted mentally and physically, but we weren’t going to give up on a low note. In fact, we refused to give up. So we put the clean miss behind us, set up for an evening hunt, and then planned the next day.

That next morning I noticed the wind forecast had changed from a southerly to a southeast, and I had to adapt. I decided we’d go deep into the timber to a hidden funnel called Knife Ridge that would take some effort pull off. We’d have to hike far through some thick stuff, cross a creek, and ascend a steep hill, then set our stands. At this point, I’ve hung hundreds of stands in my life and hanging a double set in the dark wasn’t an issue for me. Although Dad was wearing a little thin, he still followed right along.

We were both locked in the tree within 25 minutes of getting there, fully dressed and ready for another long sit.

Two hours later, the beast was down, directly under the tree.

Just like that, it happened—what would go down as one of the best moments of my life. Watching my Dad feel a huge weight lift off his shoulders and realize that he’s still got it. The first words after the deer fell were, “We really worked for it.” No truer words could have been said.

Watching him experience my world of whitetail here, that I worked hard to earn, was its own kind of milestone. The moments hit me hard.

There’s a raw pride in having your Dad hunting your own land, knowing you achieved something he’s proud of. But his son owning 160 acres isn’t what matters to him, its that his son used the values he was taught and persisted to put himself in a position to own a piece of land. That’s the deal. And in an ironic way, we weren’t out there to shoot a big deer. We were out there to spend a bunch of time together.

My Dad and I with his buck after our 30th sit of the 2025 archery season.

So here we go.

Dad -

The greatest gift I’ve ever got is from you and Mom - the gift of work ethic. And the sense of pride that comes from it. The desire to accomplish burns deep inside.

You and Mom taught me to treat people right. You’re both generous and have always put others ahead of yourself. May I continue to realize that, and be like you.

Thank you, Dad, for taking me deer hunting. Whitetails have changed my life, for the better, forever.

Thank you for showing me the right reasons to be a bowhunter.

Thank you for teaching me grit, patience, humility, and respect for the game. It can only be learned one cold morning at a time.

This season might feel like a passing of the torch, but it’s not a goodbye. It’s just another chapter—and one I’ll deeply cherish for the rest of my life.

-BH, 11/2025