Ever since I first heard this story at a sport show several months ago I have been captivated. There are so many different and compelling elements, yet it is the way the story plays on the imagination that makes it special. Webster defines imagination as: … the power of forming a mental image of something not present to the senses…

Based on my observations as a parent, aging encumbers imagination. More succinctly, children have a greater capacity for exercising this power than do adults and it is this blessing that adds exuberance to their lives.

And so it was for young Garret, as he lay on his bunk listening in the dark to his Dad and Grandpa relive hunting adventures of past generations. It's late October, the place; Lemon Stream Game Ranch in New Hampshire. It's the night before Garret and his Grandpa, Glenn Stearns, will take to the woods in quest of a yet to be determined trophy. Some may have an opinion about whether nine years old is too young for this type of adventure or if there are ethical issues concerning these high fenced hunting ranches that are springing up all over the place, but we are going to leave those debates to others. For Garret, the red stags, fallow deer and elk they had seen while riding around the preserve that afternoon had fueled a fantasy that carried him off into dreamland and an anxious night's rest.

Sixty-eight year old Glenn put his hand on his grandson's shoulder as they stepped off of the porch. His imagination had also been working overtime. Not only was there a preoccupation with the imagery of how the day's hunt might unfold, there were a lifetime's worth of memories of other cold autumn mornings when Garret's Dad, Jay was a youngster. Further back still, were rabbit hunting excursions with his own grandfather. He glowed with the pride and thankfulness for the wonderful opportunity that this day would provide. Jay was suffering from a back injury and would be forced to stay at the lodge. As he watched his father and son disappear into the predawn darkness he was keenly aware that he would rely on his own imagination and intuition to participate in the forthcoming day's events.

The plan was for the two hunters to make there way through the alder thickets and set up on the edge of a field approximately a quarter mile distant from their cabin. The frosted grass and leaves crackled under their foot steps as the first gray light of dawn lit the eastern sky. It was cloudy and the weather report was threatening heavy rain in the forecast; game should be moving. Simultaneously, both Garret and his Grandpa froze; something was moving 60 - 70 yards off the trail. They strained their eyes trying to pick out shapes. As the woods grew lighter, they made out two immature red stags. Although, not interested in harvesting the lesser animals, Garret on his Grandfather's suggestion, carefully broke out his shooting sticks and practiced drawing down on the unsuspecting pair.

Fifteen minutes later the hunters were set up on the edge of the field. There objective from the start had been to take a mature red stag. At over 700 pounds' these elk-like animals with their massive head-gear are impressive to behold and as Glenn and Garret sat together they heard one of the rutty stags calling in the distance. At first it seemed the animal was moving toward their ambush but as it continued to vocalize its position with a sound more like a lion's roar than the familiar bugle of an elk, Glenn realized they would have to move in order to intercept it. The two of them gathered there stuff and as quietly as possible moved across a stretch of hardwoods. Again they hunkered down next to a big tree and listened and again the stag called out in search of a cow in the mood for romance. It was still off to their left and moving away. The fine line between the images of their overactive imaginations and the reality of their surroundings became more blurred as they rose and continued their stalk.

Then, as in a dream, the unexpected happened; they topped a small hill and there in front of them was a herd of seven buffalo. Garret readied himself. The largest animal in the group was laying down to the left of the others. Brush from a blow down partially obstructed his line of fire so he inched a little closer toward his Grandfather. With a clear view, Garret positioned his Browning 30-06 on his sticks, pressed his cheek into the stock and steadied the scope's duplex behind the massive animal's shoulder. Time stood still. The crack of the rifle's report and the thud of the bullet's impact were simultaneous. As the bison stumbled out of its bed and lunged forward, Garret instinctively cycled another round into the chamber and as the buffalo stepped into the open he fired again. The 1500 pound beast dropped in its tracks.

As Glenn told me this wonderful story that day at the sport show, his eyes sparkled and his enthusiasm reflected not the memories of a 68 year old Grandfather, but the unbridled imagination of the 9 year old that lives within us all.