Not quite three decades ago, I received a phone call from longtime Post-Journal sports editor, the late Jim Riggs. The call came after I just left years working with a local radio station. Back in the day, local media really didn’t talk amongst themselves all that much.Today’s mood is much different.

Jim had seen that I had started doing an outdoor column for a local newspaper in Corry, Pennsylvania. The Post-Journal was looking for an outdoor writer to pen a weekly column. Jim asked if I would be interested in helping him out for a while. I, of course, jumped at the opportunity. Little did I know how that decision would change my life.

From the first column, talking about fishing with a plastic worm for largemouth bass on Chautauqua Lake, until this day I feel that I have been blessed and so very fortunate to share this page with you.

From a weekly column in The Post-Journal to almost 30 years later, my life has taken a ride that only few can imagine. I have had the opportunity and pleasure to share the fisheries and woodlots in Chautauqua County in every major outdoor hunting and fishing publication in the country during that time. From regional to statewide and local publications, I have been blessed to be a part of sharing hunting and fishing in this neck of the woods with more folks that I could explain.

As with everything in life there is a season. As my favorite time of year begins, I feel it’s a perfect time for me to step aside and let someone else feel the joy that I have received on these pages.

As I sat down to pen my final outdoors column for The Post-Journal, I can’t begin to count the many blessings that I personally have experienced with the fine folks I’ve been fortunate enough to share Chautauqua Lake, Lake Erie, Cassadaga Lake, the many tribs and the woodlots with. And then to have the honor of sharing those stories with you is something I will never forget.

Through this journey I have met thousands of folks, from fishing tournaments on Lake Erie or Chautauqua Lake, to chasing rabbits in the vineyards on the shoreline of the lake, or in a woodlot in Frewsburg waiting for that distant gobble to sound off. As with many things in life, all these relationships started out hunting and/or fishing together, and I’m proud many of them are still lifelong friends.

There are a bunch of people who have helped me along the path to allow me to share my ramblings on this page. Over the years there are too many to mention but a handful will always be in my mind.

First of all, there’s Jim Riggs. We lost him some time ago, but his words of encouragement still ring in my ears today. Jim had a calmness about him that few knew, but I’m so glad I was able to make him a friend. Jim was always a voice of reason in what could be a world of chaos. Cristie Herbst, longtime Post-Journal editor, is one of the best, most understanding, classiest and smartest people I have ever had the opportunity to meet. Cris and I would have discussions on the health of Chautauqua Lake and many times we would end the discussion with her saying, ‘Well, I guess we will have to agree to disagree. Cris was an amazing, amazing lady, and one of the best editors to oversee a publication that I could ever imagine. To her, I owe more than I could ever repay.

In the outdoor industry, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to many. To the late Bob McNitt, who gave a young, fat Swedish boy from Western New York the opportunity to get his first real gig in New York Sportsman magazine. What started as a couple times a year grew into monthly work and eventually Western New York editor. Another great influence lost in my life was Bill Hilts. Big Bill would always have a word of encouragement when I needed it, but when I missed the mark — and many times I did — he would let me have it in such a way that was amazingly kind but stern. Both these men gave me guidance when I needed it and words of encouragement when I had to have it.

There are so many others who let me live out my passion so I could share it on these pages. My parents have always been my backbone and no matter where or what I was doing they wanted to know about it. But, most importantly, they have kept me grounded. When I started to get a little too big for my britches, they would knock me down a few pegs.

Sharing a dream of any kind generally involves sacrifices. For my children — Craig, Paul, Matt and Ashley — my apologies for not always being there for you. I trust that I have been and will continue to attempt to make it all up to each of you and your children.

There are many things that I’m not gonna miss regarding having to produce a weekly column, but many more things that make sharing the outdoors with all of you folks worth it. I can’t tell you how many times people have asked me how I come up with something new every single week. I never really have had an answer for that except to say that oftentimes I see something or have a conversation with someone and it just hits me. The idea for a column.

I’ve lived in Western New York all my life, except for three years when I was younger. I call Western New York my home. I call Chautauqua County my home and I will always be a Jamestown Red Raider.

I fish the same bodies of water y’all have fished; I know the same rock pile off the docks on the other side of the point you tell me about; I’ve hunted much of the same woods y’all have hunted; and I know that ridge with the old oak trees on it and how it produces a good mass crop every year.

I know what it’s like to be in a tree stand with high winds; I understand why the ducks fly because of the wind direction on Chautauqua and Cassadaga Lakes; I still archery hunt in a tree stand; I still cast for muskies on Chautauqua Lake over the weed edges on the north basin with rock piles off; and I have gotten frostbite on more than one occasion — I’ve never said I was smart — while duck hunting the late season.

What I will miss is the people. I will miss the youth spring essay contest we ran for many years right here on these pages; the excitement in the voice of a child as he or she catches their fish; the joy in a parent’s eyes when they share the story of their child on a fish pond or rabbit hunt with an old friend; and the folks who come up to me at the local sporting goods, restaurant or just walking down the street and want to talk fishing or hunting, just to mention a few.

While this was not planned to be my column this week, the original column was about youth hunting weekend. I was going to share the hunt of my oldest grandson, Jack Robbins, and his first deer. Not just any deer, but a nice old six-point buck. I was going to discuss the weapon he used and how it was a gift from Robin and me on his 12th birthday a couple months ago.

Instead, life happens and a column that has been partly written for some time has taken the place of a personal hunt between three generations of the Robbins family instead of a random story with stock photos.

For those who know me, when it comes to fishing and hunting, it is all about the children. For years, I used to end every column on this page with 16 words and nothing could be in my mind more true, so if you would indulge me one last time.

Always take a child hunting and fishing, because they are the future of the great outdoors.