Behind the Badge - Fathers and Daughters
Fathers and Daughters
District Game Warden Shawn Sperling
It was a mid-September morning during the 2024 youth deer season when I set out on patrol, hoping to catch hunters on their way out of the field.
I figured my best chance for a productive patrol would be a popular refuge not far from my duty station, one that sees plenty of traffic during this time of year.
Over time, I’ve learned a few backroads that tend to draw hunters.
With that in mind, I decided to take the long way in, meandering my way through some of those familiar spots.
Not long into the drive, a pickup truck caught my eye, parked facing north along the roadside.
It wasn’t a vehicle I recognized, and it didn’t match any of the local farmers' trucks I knew.
I had a hunch it belonged to a group out hunting, so I pulled over to check it out.
Rather than walking in immediately, I chose to sit back and observe.
The surrounding terrain was classic rolling country, with deep draws and hills that can hide movement easily.
I couldn’t see any hunters, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.
I’ve always tried to extend the same respect I’d hope to receive, unless there’s a reason to intervene, I do my best not to disrupt someone’s hunt.
They’d have to come back to the vehicle eventually, so I waited.
I found a spot tucked just off the road, semi-concealed by brush, and settled in.
About 45 minutes passed before another vehicle, a GMC Acadia, approached from the east.
It pulled up next to the parked pickup, and a younger male stepped out.
He looked around, caught sight of my patrol vehicle, and immediately got on the phone.
From experience, I’ve learned that when someone sees a game warden and instantly starts making calls, it’s usually not a great sign.
More often than not, that kind of behavior means someone’s worried about what’s coming.
But I stayed put and waited to see how it played out.
A few minutes later, the young man walked over to my truck.
We started talking, and he explained that his sister had shot a deer, and their dad was helping her pack it out.
I could hear the father still on the phone with him, his voice faint but steady on the line.
I asked where they were and whether the deer was tagged.
He said it was, but they weren’t exactly sure of their location, somewhere close, he figured.
That was good enough for me.
I moved my patrol truck over next to theirs and waited.
Sure enough, about five minutes later, I spotted two figures in blaze orange rounding a bluff, father and daughter each carrying a rear quarter of a deer.
The brother, it turned out, had just come to drop off some ice, as the temperature was rising fast.
Both the dad and daughter looked absolutely spent.
As we talked, I got the sense that they weren’t entirely familiar with quartering a deer and didn’t have all the tools they might’ve needed.
I offered a hand, emptied out my backpack, and headed back into the hills with them.
We crossed several drainages, climbed one last ridge, and there, lying in the grass, was a respectable whitetail buck.
The tag was properly notched and attached, and the girl confirmed she was the shooter.
The shot placement was solid—clean and quick.
I congratulated her, and they got to work.
I offered guidance here and there, showing them where to cut, and before long we had the rest of the meat packed neatly into my backpack.
I made it clear I wasn’t hauling the pack out.
With body armor and a duty belt on, I wasn’t interested in getting covered in blood.
“I didn’t get to hunt today,” I joked.
They laughed, and we started the walk back.
After a while, I picked up the pace a bit, telling them I’d meet them at the vehicle.
I figured they deserved a few minutes alone to soak in the moment, just the two of them.
Back at my truck, I grabbed some water and waited in the shade for their return.
When they finally make it back, they unloaded the meat and handed me back my now-empty pack.
I was just about to pull away when something made me stop.
Right there, next to the pickup, I caught one of those rare moments that isn’t often seen.
The father and daughter high-fived, twice, and then wrapped each other in a big, proud hug.
You could see the pride in their faces, the kind of joy that only comes from a moment well-earned.
I sat for a few extra seconds, thinking about how the morning had unfolded.
What started as a routine patrol turned into something far better, a reminder that some folks still do things the right way.
I felt lucky to be able to be a part of and witness such a rare moment and a core memory made between a father and daughter.
As I look back at my career, these are the type of wholesome moments I want to remember.