Anyone who's ever dealt with supermodels knows that plans can change at the drop of a g string. At the last minute KM called me to cancel her weekend hunt. Seems there was a big "snowstorm" in the Bahamas, and she couldn't get out of her hotel room. I told her that was not a problem, to stay warm, and we'd do it another time. Poor thing must've been very upset. She kept sniffling, as she explained how deep the snow was. I had no idea the islands got such weather. Global warming I guess.
So instead of guiding Miss Moss, I called up Al Blanchard, Savage Lynch and Bird and we spent the day putting on drives around the shack. I own less that an acre of land but Carlito's farm combined with GNJohn's property is more than 300 acres. Thank God for good neighbors. Without their permission I would never be able to hunt and trap in the neighborhood. It's not that i never trespass, but I do try to keep it to a minimum.
The first drive was behind Elijah's old trailer, ending up at the cemetery. Savage put out eight doe to Al. And Bird saw one. I saw nothing. No one had a doe tag. It was bucks and coyotes only. The next drive was across Carlito's ridge and down to Ray Gilkey's. Savage and Al were sitters, while Bird took the high side and I dropped down to the river. Bird reached Al first and I looped around below them. We had radios but they didn't work that well. As i jumped two doe up to them, the radio crackled...."....a.......black man.....hisssssss......with a cell phone.....zzzzz" When the drive was finished i asked what the hell they were talking about? Seems there was a black man, in blue jeans, talking on a cell phone wandering through the icy woods. Go figure.
The last drive of the afternoon was across the road behind GNJohn's old house. Tracks and beds scattered the woods, but the furry, hooved critters seemed to have vanished into thin air. Bird and I sat, while Al and Savage pushed. No one saw a deer. There was about a half hour of shooting light left and I asked if anyone wanted to sit, or would rather go back to the shack and drink? I t was a no brainer. Savage burnt his ass sitting on the woodstove, figuring it was as cold as all the other times he'd been in my house. As it grew dark and the freezing rain came down, we told hunting stories, smoked, drank, and counted ourselves as lucky men to have spent another afternoon driving these woods. Kate missed a good one. I sure hope she gets plowed out.