The Legend of Timbo
The words “legend” and “epic” are thrown around a little too easily these days, in my opinion. However, the stories of Tim Snyder AKA Timbo really are the stuff of legend. We all know someone larger than life. It can be a coach, a cousin, family friend, even a parent. Timbo was one of those people for me. He was a big guy, both literally and figuratively. Combine that with his often gruff demeanor and he was intimidating to me when I was young.
Timbo was always at our house. The fact that we lived near his favorite hunting spot played a major role in that, along with him being my father’s best friend. Timbo’s love of hunting went beyond the typical person’s “thrill of the hunt” desire. The forest was like his fortress of solitude, where he went to escape. It wasn’t uncommon for me to wake up on a Saturday morning and see his ugly Chevette already in our driveway and for it to still be there when I was getting ready for bed. His dedication to the sport of deer hunting didn’t always exactly translate to a ton of success, however. This never seemed to dissuade him from going after the big one, year after year. His love for hunting was only surpassed by how much he cared about us kids.
Now, I could tell you about some of the times that we spent together hunting or fishing, but I have a different Timbo story. When I was in middle school, I wanted to have a sleepover for my birthday. Since my birthday is in August, we were able to have a campfire and sleep outside in tents. My dad got the fire going while my buddies and I settled in around it. He started telling us his childhood stories, which we always enjoyed. (side note - We got to hear, for the 75th time, the story of the longest homerun ever hit, which happened in the back alley behind my dad’s house. His buddy hit the ball and it landed in the back of a pick-up truck driving by, which kept on going.) However, he finished up with a scary story we had never heard before. The details of the story are foggy to me now, but it involved him working the night shift in the ER, the power going out, and a crazy patient. The main reason I don’t remember the rest is because about 1 minute into the story, we heard noises coming from up the mountain and a strange light floating out in the darkness. The light would go on and off, about 6-7 feet in the air! The noises and the light continued moving and getting closer each minute. Just as the story reached its finale, we heard a loud “snap” about 10 feet away. Before we could move or react, the light flashed directly in our eyes, blinding us! A loud scream came from the pitch black, rushing towards us! I’d like to tell you that we bravely faced the holy terror coming at us, but that would be a lie. When I finally crawled out of hiding from my pile of leaves, there was Timbo, laughing so hard he was crying.
Unbeknownst to us, Timbo had spent the past 3 hours parking a mile down the road, climbing the mountain behind our house, and waiting for my dads signal. When he saw the fire start, he began slowly walking down towards us. Once he was close enough for us to see, he began flashing his flashlight at us. Of course, the noises we heard were him walking through the woods in the dark. I still believe to this day that nothing could have made Timbo happier than seeing the scared sh$tless looks on our faces that night (other than shooting a monster buck). Timbo may be gone, but we will always have the stories he provided and love he shared.
From the left: Timbo, Uncle Bernie, and my dad
Timbo was always at our house. The fact that we lived near his favorite hunting spot played a major role in that, along with him being my father’s best friend. Timbo’s love of hunting went beyond the typical person’s “thrill of the hunt” desire. The forest was like his fortress of solitude, where he went to escape. It wasn’t uncommon for me to wake up on a Saturday morning and see his ugly Chevette already in our driveway and for it to still be there when I was getting ready for bed. His dedication to the sport of deer hunting didn’t always exactly translate to a ton of success, however. This never seemed to dissuade him from going after the big one, year after year. His love for hunting was only surpassed by how much he cared about us kids.
Now, I could tell you about some of the times that we spent together hunting or fishing, but I have a different Timbo story. When I was in middle school, I wanted to have a sleepover for my birthday. Since my birthday is in August, we were able to have a campfire and sleep outside in tents. My dad got the fire going while my buddies and I settled in around it. He started telling us his childhood stories, which we always enjoyed. (side note - We got to hear, for the 75th time, the story of the longest homerun ever hit, which happened in the back alley behind my dad’s house. His buddy hit the ball and it landed in the back of a pick-up truck driving by, which kept on going.) However, he finished up with a scary story we had never heard before. The details of the story are foggy to me now, but it involved him working the night shift in the ER, the power going out, and a crazy patient. The main reason I don’t remember the rest is because about 1 minute into the story, we heard noises coming from up the mountain and a strange light floating out in the darkness. The light would go on and off, about 6-7 feet in the air! The noises and the light continued moving and getting closer each minute. Just as the story reached its finale, we heard a loud “snap” about 10 feet away. Before we could move or react, the light flashed directly in our eyes, blinding us! A loud scream came from the pitch black, rushing towards us! I’d like to tell you that we bravely faced the holy terror coming at us, but that would be a lie. When I finally crawled out of hiding from my pile of leaves, there was Timbo, laughing so hard he was crying.
Unbeknownst to us, Timbo had spent the past 3 hours parking a mile down the road, climbing the mountain behind our house, and waiting for my dads signal. When he saw the fire start, he began slowly walking down towards us. Once he was close enough for us to see, he began flashing his flashlight at us. Of course, the noises we heard were him walking through the woods in the dark. I still believe to this day that nothing could have made Timbo happier than seeing the scared sh$tless looks on our faces that night (other than shooting a monster buck). Timbo may be gone, but we will always have the stories he provided and love he shared.
From the left: Timbo, Uncle Bernie, and my dad
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