| July 28, 2008 |
| Passing Down the Tradition |
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By Stacey Swader -- As a little kid, my dad, Mark Scena, taught me the ins and outs of hunting. He took me on hunting trips and scouting missions, even as young as eight years old. I'm sure that he would have done it earlier, but he was in the Army and could only find time when Uncle Sam allowed him. We lived on a farm for a few years and then the Army moved us several times. The best move would have been to Colorado. Those deer, elk and big horn sheep are everywhere. We would just go driving to see what was around and find a herd of elk, or big horned sheep jumping rocks on the river ledges. "Keep your eyes open," he would always tell me. Ever since my dad was young, he has always been into hunting. He used his rifle for many years to get those big bucks, placing their antlers on the outside of our house. I remember sitting on the edge of our steps and when mom and I heard the shot, we knew he would be on the walkie-talkie within minutes. We'd get into the truck and head off to a designated area where he would be with his "trophy."
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