If you're born into the Cornish clan, it's expected you'll grow up living and loving to hunt.
That's why every November, Greg Cornish and a troupe of brothers, cousins, uncles, dads and granddads would prowl the woods and ravines of the Cornish turf that nestles against the winding Blue Earth River near Vernon Center for Whitetails.
But a 1971 car crash that shattered a vertebrae left Greg a quadriplegic and wheelchair bound effectively forcing him from the hunting fold and eventually out of the area for warmer weather in California.
Twenty seven years later he's overcome the physical limitations of his disability as a successful Website designer in Nice, a northern California community. He's also Vice President of National Handicapped Housing Institute.
Recently he resumed angling and has designed a fishing boat that will comfortable and safely accommodate his wheelchair.
And he's also back in the woods hunting.
"Three years ago we finally convinced him to come back and try it," said cousin Jesse Cornish. "We really didn't expect him to have much success...we figured it would just be good for him if he saw a deer."
So on opening day, Greg was wheeled into the woods for a deer drive. As a concession to his disability a member of the hunting party served as an assistant. "I only have about 15 degrees movement laterally in my trunk and arms for shooting," Greg said, "So I need someone to turn my wheelchair in the direction of the target so I could follow it."
By resting his lightweight Berretta 20 gauge semi-automatic across his left wrist and pulling the gun tightly against his shoulder by pressing against the trigger guard with minimal use of his right thumb, he could aim. Then he pulled the trigger with his right thumb.
On that inaugural hunting trip - the first in 25 years - he surprised everyone by downing a fat doe that obligingly stopped within shooting range.
The following year, he scored again, tis time a yearling doe that would have run over him if he hadn't dropped it 5 feet from his chair.
This year accompanied by Jay Cornish, his cousin's teenage son,he was again wheeled into a strategic position for a deer drive.
"I told everyone I was going to be holding out for a buck this year," he said. They were all just hoping I would see a deer again.
The first deer trotted up behind them. Jay whipped the chair around so quickly that Greg partly spilled out of his wheelchair. The deer vanished as they struggled to reposition him.
Later another deer trotted into view. Ivory antlers flashed. "Here comes a buck," Jay whispered. He carefully swiveled the chair, this time more slowly.
The deer trotted within range and by divine providence, stopped to check the wind. A few careful adjustments, including threading the slug between two trees growing closely together and Greg had the bucks neck in his sights. He shot and the buck disappeared. "Where did he go," Greg asked?" "He's laying on the ground quivering," said Jay.
A single shot had downed the buck.
"There was a lot of whooping and hollering and backslapping going on...they probably heard us across the river," Cousin Jesse said.
In their excitement and exuberance, the hunting party managed to accidentally dump Greg from his wheelchair onto the ground.
The group fell silent as some of them leaned over to help Greg off the ground where he lay next to his deer.
"Hey I'm not hurt...I really wanted to get a better look at these antlers anyway," he told them.
The antlers?
By most measures they were unremarkable - a small eight point basket.
But while the Cornish clan has had numerous deer sporting far larger racks hanging from a meat pole over the years, not one of them has been a bigger trophy.
Staff writer for the Mankato Free Press, John Cross
Advertising