By Ray Lamberth

It was a crisp morning in 1967 when Art Lamberth first set out into the woods of rural Tallapoosa County with his Winchester 16-gauge pump shotgun in hand. He made his way through the dense woods. The world was quiet except for the crunch of leaves beneath his boots.

He’d been hunting since he was a boy, but this would be the first time he’d bring down a deer. He didn’t know it then, but that day would mark the beginning of a tradition that would span generations.

Art had grown up hunting with his future brother-in-law James Wheat, learning the ways of the woods and the patience it took to track a deer. The rush of the hunt was unlike any other, and that morning in 1967, when the shot rang out and the buck fell, was a moment of pure triumph. He had done it. The first of many deer to come.

And as the years passed, he’d continue to hunt, always with the same sense of excitement and reverence for the land that had shaped him.

Fast forward 58 years to a chilly morning in Lowndes County. Art’s grandson, JT, had been dreaming of this moment for years. Ever since he was old enough to walk, he’d heard the stories of his grandfather’s and uncle’s hunts, his own family’s deep connection to the woods.

His dad Ray had taken him out showing him how to track, how to wait patiently and how to respect the animals they pursued. JT knew he wanted to be part of that tradition.

This year, at 18, he was finally ready for his own first deer. With a .243 caliber Mossberg Patriot in hand, JT climbed into the deer stand on some private land his sister’s softball coach had permission to hunt on. It was a place where he’d spent countless hours, watching the woods, learning its rhythms. But today felt different. He wasn’t just a spectator this time – he was a hunter.

Sitting quietly in the stand, JT’s mind wandered back to the stories his grandfather had shared, the tales of the first deer and the excitement in Art’s eyes when he spoke about that 1967 hunt. He could almost feel his grandfather’s presence beside him, urging him to be patient and wait for the right moment.

His sister’s softball coach, who had invited him to hunt that day, was there too, offering quiet words of encouragement.

Hours passed before it happened. A movement in the trees caught JT’s eye. His heart raced as he saw the 3-pointer step into the clearing. He took a deep breath, steadying his hands, remembering everything he had learned. When the deer turned just right, JT raised the rifle, aimed carefully, and squeezed the trigger.

The shot rang out, the echo of it dancing through the trees. The deer fell. For a moment, everything went still. JT sat in awe, realizing what had just happened. His first deer, taken with the same calm and respect his grandfather had instilled in him all those years ago.

As he made his way down to the deer, JT couldn’t help but think of Art, miles away but somehow closer than ever. He knew that Art would be proud, that this moment was one they would both share – across time, across generations.

JT’s first deer marked the continuation of a legacy, a bond formed not just by blood but by shared experiences in the woods. It was a moment that connected the past with the present, showing that the traditions of the hunt were not just about the animals they pursued, but the memories they made along the way.

Later that evening, JT called his dad to tell him the news. His dad’s voice, filled with pride, echoed across the phone lines.

“You did it, son. Just like your paw did in ’67. I’m proud of you.”

And as JT looked out across the Alabama woods, he knew that this was just the beginning. There would be many more hunts to come, more stories to share, and a legacy to carry forward, one deer at a time.