Well before first light I was walking up the hill to a place where my dad had taken a beautiful buck earlier in the season. While a buck would be a wonderful gift, I would be happy with any mature deer, pig, or edible mammal. It was very dark, and low cloud cover made it feel like all things were beneath an enormous blanket.
Sitting in the brush blind I could hear the small creatures that called it home busy at pre-dawn chores. I’m enjoying some time off, and they’re still at it. I hoped to get a deer during this hunt. My daughter would be joining me soon for the duration of the weekend, and getting any intelligent creature within longbow range of a seven-year-old is a tall order.
I hadn’t looked at my hunting license since the day I bought it back in September. This was my fourth hunt of the season. My grandfather and his brothers were sons of the depression. A tattooed old sailor smoking a filterless Pall Mall would speak of a single piece of candy received back then with reverence and awe; a gumball was magical. Similarly, my time to hunt is rare, and sweeter now, too.
What sounded like a yawning brontosaurus to my West was the awakening of the windmill. In the East the dove-colored grey of the approaching day leaked towards me the the way yellow escapes a punctured yolk. After the grey would come a red-orange like the flesh of a grapefruit. The wind was picking up now. At the restaurant recently I said “dang it’s windy out there” upon entering. An old man drinking coffee replied “good day to run a windmill”. One way to look at it. Today would be a great day to run a windmill, and donate a douglas fir arrow to the engine room of the deer now before me.
This was a nice deer, not the antlered variety—it wouldn’t be joining my Dad’s buck in the hallowed den above the fireplace—I was exhilarated nonetheless. The arrow slipped between ribs in its entry and departure with an effortless “thwipp”! I’ll have to check a Marvel comic from my school days to see if I spelled that right, but it was that beautiful sound unheard by my ears since December eleventh of last year. I saw the deer run, then slow to a squeamish walk, tail down, before disappearing into the brush. I have seen this behavior before, and felt very good about what I had done. After waiting for good measure I began to track, and while I couldn’t see it from the blind, I found my arrow right away. I’ve cleaned it up, inspected it, and shot it. It’s back in the quiver, and ready for the next deployment. At the end of an outstanding blood trail was an answered prayer; my first deer with a wooden arrow, magical as a depression-era gumball.
For this I owe quite a lot to two great gentlemen from Oregon; Allen Boice and David Lawson--Thank You!
Later on with the kiddo; a photo from the blind for mommy of my little one, Ava, and I. She takes camo seriously! Having her with me at the ranch was far and away the best part of this hunt...
Happy New Year everyone! Be safe, and best regards, Chase
Topic: A Fir meets Fur first! (Read 1000 times)
