Chris and I went to a youth hunt at one of my favorite places where I had experienced several grand adventures in the past. It's called Red Dirt wma. If you look for it on a map of Louisiana you will find it located in the heart of the Kisatchie National Forest, just south and west of the historic city of Natchitoches. The last time I can recall visiting the tall wooded ridges sprinkled with scattered boulders was way back in the year 1997, when I downed the largest racked buck of my life. During the drive for this special trip with my son I envisioned him doing the same. I should have known better.

My first clue things wouldn't be as I thought came shortly after arriving at the ranger's check-in station, a requirement. I informed the ranger where I intended to set up camp and he said that would be okay, but I may want to reconsider. During the ensuing conservation he told me of a 580acre forest fire burning nearby and all of the firefighters battling the blaze were using my camping spot as a base for operations!

Not knowing where else to go, Chris and I set up camp a short distance away from all of the firemen and their equipment and left for the Saturday evening hunt. I parked the truck off of the road and looked north, where the fire was located. A thick column of wood smoke billowed upward, about a half mile away. The pine scented-aromatic smoke was all around us, filling the sky and covering the land, somewhat reminding me of a foggy morning. The ranger didn't tell us not to hunt there, so we figured everything would be okay and entered the woods. DUH!

We spent the rest of that evening and the next morning waiting for the stampede of animals fleeing the fire. The whole while white and black ashes drifted down from the shy and landed softly on the ground all around us. The drone of the fire fighting airplanes buzzing the sky filled the airwaves. We didn't see any animals other than an overweight squirrel too big to flee and one hawk. I spent the entire hunt wondering if the fire would jump the road, consume my truck and then, us. I thank God it didn't happen.

Of course, we came home empty handed and unscorched. There was no venison in the ice chest. But we did come home with something much more precious than gold or venison, a shared memory of another great outdoor adventure in God's forest. And just when I thought I had seen it all!