The best of all hunting stories tend to be born on deer hunts where we see everything but deer or if we see deer, especially bucks, nothing goes right and the monster with the big rack his head bounds off into the brush never to be seen again. It is on the days when the wind and snow both blow and everything is going sideways. There is nothing like the feeling of ice pellets blowing into your eyes and ears or heavy clumps of snow blowing off a high limb to land in your shirt collar when you are already about as could as you can get and still be breathing. Those are hard days that try and test you to the depth of your being, and yet, they are the most fun to talk about setting around the fire drinking coffee. What makes them great stories are the truths we each learn of ourselves. The one that comes to mind was a black powder hunt that my dad went on. It was as cold of a morning as a man could stand. The night was clear and frost covered everything. The woods were frozen and crunched underfoot with each step. Dad picked a place to hunt where the sun never touched, he didn’t know that until it was too late. Anyway, when all of us met up at midday, dad said that he had had several deer walk close to him. Bill said, “Why didn’t you shoot one?” Dad said as serious as a man could say, “I was afraid to shoot. I was so cold that I would have cracked like a chunk of ice if I’d pulled the trigger.”
Posted on: Sat, 03 Jan 2015 01:18:26 +0000
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