HOLLY WITCHEY

THIS AIN'T FUCKING HOLLYWOOD

Let me get it out right off the bat. I either totally missed or gut shot a buck this morning. Go ahead, I'll wait while you laugh.......

Are you done?

Ok, that's enough. Now let me give you the story. Last night I hunted the Cider House property off Rt. 209. It's 100 acres, about 6 of which are flat. 94 acres are straight up. Nonetheless I love hitting new ground. So I scampered up the ridge, setting up behind a blow down, surveying the Bashakill and the pines below. I saw nothing. Yet I felt really good. Hell, my legs could still take me up the mountain and   with that view, who could be dissatisfied? Still feeling my oats when i got home I called Buddy Budde and asked if he wanted to hunt Mupp's for a 3M doe? "Do you have a license?" I asked. Silence. I didn't need to ask if he had a doe tag. He promised to get legal if we could hunt Mupp's tomorrow afternoon. Done and done.
   My plan for the morning was to hunt Majestic. I don't have a cell phone or a watch, so i put an old alarm clock in my pocket and hit the woods. Around 8:30 am i heard "beep-beep-beep".  Was somebody's phone going off? Then i remembered the alarm clock. The fucking thing wouldn't shut off. i had to remove the back and reset the alarm for noon, if I could stand the cold. I settled back down and about a half an hour later I heard crunching in front of me. My breathing automatically quickened as i scanned the woods for movement. Then I saw brown. A deer was passing in front of me about 50 yards out. Immediately I saw horns. It was a nice buck- a six or an eight. I couldn't see brow tines. As he went behind a boulder i raised the gun. When he stepped out I put the cross hairs behind his shoulder and fired. He hunched, ran about 20 yards and stopped. I tried to get on him for a follow up but all i had was hind quarters. Then he disappeared. I figured he went down. I was elated.
   I waited about 10 mins. before getting down and recovering my dead deer- or so i thought. I saw where he jumped. There was snow on the ground, but no blood nor hair. I shoot a .243 which is notorious for no exit wound. Plenty of times i've not found blood, only to find a dead deer 50 yards away. This wasn't my first rodeo. So I methodically scanned the woods, hoping to see a white belly or brown back. Yeah, i know, I was in the same spot about a month ago with the bow. At least then I had blood to track. All I need was a speck. This time- nothing.
   The rest of the morning I searched for that deer. My early confidence, that I would just see him laying there, caused me to traipse through the crime scene, screwing the evidence, and losing the track. I took a short break to go home and confer with Savage. His take was that I'd gut shot it and if I could get on the right track I'd find him piled up. It gave me hope. Thankfully Buddy blew me off, so i went right back to Majestic and spent the rest of the afternoon searching for any sign that I'd hit that buck. I found nothing- no bile, no shit, no blood spray. I feel unworthy to even be carrying a weapon in the woods. You can't imagine the feeling of frustration and defeat I'm am feeling right now. I got back in the tree about 3 pm, hoping I'd just fall out and end my misery. No such luck. I looked through the scope and saw what I had originally thought was a clear shot was filled with little branches.  .243s are also notorious for deflecting bullets on the slightest twig. I can only hope and pray that I missed him clean. Tomorrow i'll go back and listen for crows. No happy ending here. This ain't fucking Hollywood.    

KATE

MURPHY

This season it's long cold days in the woods. Back at the shack, I stoke the wood stove, turn on the TV, eat something, crack a cold one and fall asleep on the couch with Ray and Spooky on my belly. Many times I'll watch "Huntin' and Killin'" on the PURSUIT CHANNEL. Many of these shows have either a Christian slant or a bring home the troops and take them huntin' and killin' (with a Christian slant). I admit it. It's like hunter porn. I watch just for the bucks. I could give a shit what they think about God.
   Recently I watched some hunter shoot a monster stag in New Zealand. The first thing he did for the camera, after the kill, was thank God for placing that tree branch in just the right spot for a steady rest. So much for the stag's God. I know I've said many times how failure always seems to follow me in the woods. But that's not really true. Failure may be omnipresent, but it's that dirty little demon Murphy who always seems to be sitting on my shoulder. Case in point: yesterday's hunt.
   It was the first snow of the season and I was as excited as if Santa himself had appeared for coffee. The woods were dead quiet. A steady light snow piled on the hemlock branches, bending them into my clear view. I'd set up a blind on Diamond Dave's property specifically for this day. As soon as it was light enough my plan was to pussy-foot along the river and hole up the day in the blind. I had already stocked it with a stool, a sleeping bag (for warmth) and a pee bottle. I wasn't 100 yards in when i saw a doe. She was staring right at me. I didn't move. For some reason she didn't bolt and then I saw other deer. When she lowered her head I raised my gun and looked through the scope. All I saw was grey. I'd waited all this time for messy weather and went in that woods without scope covers. Then i saw horns. I frantically rubbed the lens with the knuckle of my glove, to no avail. All I did was make it worse. The deer (including the buck) passed within 30 yards, finally catching all the movement,  bolting towards the river. Thanks Murph.
   That's the way it's been going. I crept silently through the woods in the snow. My eye caught fresh shit on the ground. With the next step my right foot crushed a plastic bottle hidden in the snow. The horrible sound echoed through the woods. A doe snorted, tail high and disappeared in the thicket. Who put that bottle there? Murphy of course. By the end of the day my ass was cold and wet and with 15 mins. of shooting light left i got up. Two deer had silently been approaching me from above. As they crashed down the ridge I just caught a glimpse of the large dark body of the first one. I'm sure it was a buck. Outside of the car I unloaded the gun only to find I had never chambered a round. Don't say it.
   In case you think all my luck is bad. I've taken one doe with the bow and another, down at Mupp's, with the gun. I've got meat, but no horns. The season isn't over until mid- Dec. I've got time. Second rut is coming. I thank the Little Green Man for allowing me to live in such a wonderful and challenging world and be healthy enough to hunt as much as i do. As we all know he's on the deer's side. I wouldn't have it any other way. And it seems that little bastard Murphy is still clinging to my shoulder. Just can't shake him. Mental note: tomorrow remember to load the gun.    

ON THE CRAPPER

DON'T BULLSHIT A BULLSHITTER

  Once the shooting started the deer have predictably become scarce. So around 2pm the other day I decided to hunt the orchard stand. All of bow season I had to just sit and watch as deer munched the grass 200 yards out in Gilkey's field. The lack of apples had kept the deer from coming within bow range. I hoped that now that the rut was winding down I'd be lucky enough to have a doe in lock down in the swamp and a buck near by. All I needed was for him to cross onto GNJohn's property.
   I climbed up in the stand and immediately caught movement way off at the curve in the river. A bunch of deer were milling about under the white pine. This was very unusual at this time of day. Maybe a buck was running those does out of the woods. I pulled up the binocs and counted 5 does. They didn't seemed to be hinky at all. Then i noticed why they were all gathered under that pine. Glistening in the sun was a pile green apples. Heads down, they were gorging themselves. Mutherfucker.
    I may not always be completely legal in this life, but when it comes to hunting I'm a stickler for the rules. I hunt hard. I hunt safely. And I hunt ethically. I can lapse when it comes to paper work and calling in every tag, but I never hunt out of season, never take more than I'm legally allowed or ever, EVER hunt over a bait pile. I wish I could say the same for my neighbors. As I sat there stewing in my own juices, a shiny white pick up truck pulled up to the Deniston monument. Then, to my amazement, he continued through the field and parked on the edge of the river. This lazy asshole was not only hunting over bait, he wasn't even bothering to leave the truck.
   I sat out the afternoon deciding what to do. About 15 mins. before sunset the deer began to congregate at the bait pile. The guy in the truck was glassing across the river, where I spotted more deer movement. Should I wait until he shoots or nip it in the bud. The sun sets at 4:35 pm. At 4:36 pm I got down from the tree. I didn't want to see this jerk get a deer. I shouldered my .243. As I sauntered across the field, deer scattered in all directions. I checked the trucks plate #. NYS---------VF. Then I knocked on the driver's side window. The guy was so intently glassing those deer, he damn near jumped out of his skin. "Whatthe......you scared me." he said rolling down the window. "You scared all the deer too."
"I know." I replied. "I did it on purpose." He looked at me in stunned bewilderment. "On purpose?"
I laid it out to him- hunting over bait, from a motor vehicle, after legal shooting time. "What bait?" he half heartedly responded. Asshole.
   Since I know the DEC reads my blog (for the stories not the photos), I won't name names. I let the guy know in no uncertain terms that he was on notice. "I don't give a shit that (the land owner) shoots over bait, out the window of his Escalade, but I'll be damned if I'll sit quietly by as every yahoo in the county parks in my view and pops deer on the way to the apple pile." The guy moaned about how he would never shoot a deer from his truck, and that he was just watching them and that his back was bothering him and..... I cut him off and pointed out the rifle on his seat. Don't bullshit a bullshitter. Next time I name names. Enough.

PS
Mupp shot a big buck this morning. HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL.  

HOLLIE WITCHEY

FOUR INCHES OF CLOTHES AND THREE INCHES OF DICK

Where was I? That's right- lucky 13. Turned out the 13th was a bust. Neither Savage nor I saw much of anything. But on the morning of the 14th things heated up again. I had a bunch of does out in the brushy field. Then I heard a grunt. This was the spot where I had seen the big one a few days before. I pulled up the binocs and got on the dark body slinking through the field, nose in the air, as does scattered. To my disappointment it wasn't the buck I was hoping for. He crossed the field a few times, then gave up and headed for my woods. I stood up and clipped my release. It was an automatic response. I'd already decided I wasn't going to shoot this deer. He came within 30 yards. He was a nice 8, not a giant, but if I hadn't seen the big boy I'd try to drop him in a heartbeat. Then he was gone.
  For the next couple of days I stuck with this stand, morning and afternoon. I saw does, another big coyote, but no bucks. By Friday afternoon bow season was over. And i'd come up short. I'd missed a coyote, wounded a buck and killed 2 does (one with the bow and another mercy killing with the 9mm.). For all the hours I'd spent in a tree it wasn't much to show for it. But no time to mope. Opening day of gun was Saturday.
   I decided to pull off the brushy field. It was too close to my neighbor's property. I knew if I shot a big buck so close I'd never hear the end of it. Instead I returned to Majestic. I got to my stand in the dark. I looked up to see a big hulking figure on the dawning skyline. SOME FUCK WAS IN MY STAND. But before I could get too worked up i heard the familiar nasal whine of my good buddy Buddy Budde. "I should've called you last night. I'll get down." Of course I wouldn't have it. I turned on my heels and headed for my other stand.
   Opening day was a bust. I saw a doe and a spike and that was it. After dark we all gathered at Mupp and Ginger's. This is a tradition we kept for years. Now with my folks gone and the other old timers not feeling up to the party, it was left to Savage and I to reign as the elders, while giggling kids and all the rest laughed and told stories of an opening day with no kills. There were plenty of deer seen but no one pulled the trigger. That's OK. No sense in tagging out early. The best is yet to come. Today's another day. It's cold. Pile on those layers and get in that tree.

PS- My neighbor RNButch got the big ten at 6:30 am opening day. Congratulations to him. I'm headed back to the brushy field stand. I hear there's still a big eight running around. With a little luck.....

MEBRAK

LUCKY 13

After putting the poor traffic accident doe out of her misery and driving home I realized my car was looking a bit Dexter. The large blue boning knife, the blood splattered plastic in the trunk.  Not to mention the driver packing the 9mm. "I swear officer. It's all legal. I'm an artist."
    Yesterday i moved the school house stand closer to the big sign I'd seen before Sandy hit. There was a large scrape and a tree tore up by a set of heavy horns. The sign was on the west side of a brushy field. I hung the stand on the east side, notched against a couple of hemlocks. There was another two rubs close by and a great view of the field. The first night I had a couple does come downwind and that was it. I was going tho hunt WSSP in the morning. I didn't want to pressure this one or take a doe here. Better to hunt the buck.
   The stand I had out at WSSP faced due east. I got in it before dawn (after slicing my finger on a butcher knife, rooting around in my dark car). As the sun cracked, I heard movement off to my right. A little buck was chasing a doe in circles, on the wrong side of the fence line.  It was encouraging. When the sun came up it was right in my face. Around 8 am a little doe appeared out of nowhere right under my stand. Then another. And another. The three milled about and I caught movement off to my left. I stood up and clicked on my bow release. Two large does were coming in. When one quartered away at 25 yards, I fired. I saw the arrow center punch her right behind the shoulder. She ran and turned. Then i lost sight of her.
   I got out of the tree and had to pee like a race horse. I came prepared. I had a plastic orange juice bottle to contain my fluids, not wanting to foul my spot with piss scent. I took off my coat and put it, and the pee bottle, in my pack. Then I felt something warm running down my neck. I ripped off the pack. Had I not screwed the cap on? I pulled the wet bottle out and realized there was a fifty cent sized hole in the top. It must've frozen and broke in the chaos of my Dextermobile. Oh yeah, I found the dead deer 100 yards into the woods. Success!
   One of the ways I'm contextualizing my deer season as art this year is by doing blood drags. Each one is on a slightly different material. I did one on canvas for the "roadkill doe" and army tent material for the WSSP doe. I drop the deer from the trunk of my car onto the material and drag it across. I think you'll like them.

    After washing the piss and deer blood out of my clothes I went back to the brushy field stand. Around 3:45 pm I saw some grass moving out in the field. It was a buck. It was a really good buck. I grunted and he raised his head and started for me. I stood up, grabbed the bow and then things began to get interesting. It was warm and the bugs were out. One of those gnats that always fly in your eye, flew in my right eye. I was facing due west. Then the clouds parted and the sun came out....blinding me. I lost the buck. Where had he gone? Had he bedded down? I had no idea. I slowly sat back down, questioning everything.
   For the last hour of daylight I didn't dare move. I had to pee again. The bandaid had dropped from my sliced finger and when I went to shoo a fly away, my long hair caught the finger and opened the slice like a paper cut. Now I was bleeding everywhere. I wiped it on my florescent orange pack. Hmmmmmm. That could look good as material for the next blood drag. But wait..... I'm still hunting. Don't get distracted. Then, just as shooting light was fading, that buck got up. He'd been in the field all along. I grunted again but he wasn't interested. He must've heard does in the woods. Then he was gone. I can't wait to get back in the treestand in the morning. Night is nothing but an annoyance these days. Lucky 13 tomorrow.      
  

UNTITLED

ARMED

I've only felt the need to protect myself from fellow humans with a firearm twice in my life. The first time was in the early 90's. I lived on E.7th and Ave. C in NY's East Village. This was the height of the crack epidemic and my slum lords had seen fit to rent out any empty apartments to the city, who in their infinite wisdom moved lowlifes into the building. My next door neighbors were a lovely threesome consisting of two local debutantes and a gentleman friend. The debs were identical twins. One was sweet as pie, while the other would slit your throat for a vial. I never knew which I would pass on the stairs. I'd mumble "Hi." and either receive an icy stare or a "Hello good looking." The guy was pure drug addict/pimp. I knocked on their apt. one time to ask them not to slam the heavy metal door so much. "Gofuckyerself." I got in return. The guy had a nasty little .38 Det. Special in his pajama bottoms. The next time I went upstate I borrowed an old 12 ga. double barrel and two shells from my brother, which i kept loaded at the door at all times. I just hoped I hit the mean twin with the second shot.
  The next time I armed myself I had a pistol permit and a big .357 mag. My mobbed-up upstate Sicilian neighbors and I were in the middle of a range war involving the building of a chain link fence 2 feet off my house. When the fat Italian fence crew showed up to dig the post holes I stood my ground. "Big man." they taunted, laughing in my face. "Big bellys." I countered, staring them down. That was the best I could come up with. "Ever heard of the SOPRANOS?" They weren't fazed, grabbing their shovels and line. It was then I opened my coat revealing the wheel gun. Not to be out done with pop culture references. "Ever heard of DELIVERANCE?" I asked. I don't think they had. But the gun made my point. They put the shovels back in the truck and drove away.

   I mention both of these instances because during deer season I am never unarmed during waking hours. When I'm in the woods I have my bow. When I'm at home or in the car I strap on the 9mm. This morning I left the house and quickly realized I hadn't put the clip in the gun. I turned around and slid in the clip. There's nothing more useless than an empty gun. I was on my way to The Thruway Market to buy wool pants. Just as I crested a hill outside of Bullville I saw cars pulled over on both sides of the road. To my left was a big doe with two broken back legs struggling to get up the bank. I pulled over. A sweet little old lady had struck the deer and was shaking next to a man in a pick up. I told them i was armed and asked if they wanted me to dispatch the poor deer. "Yes....please." the woman said, almost tearing up. I slid a shell into the chamber and killed the deer.
  45 mins. later the police finally showed up. By this time I was already gutting the deer. The cop saw my gun and stopped dead in his tracks. "You have a permit for that?" he asked, hand on his. I told him I did and after a short lecture about not shooting next to the road, and the vocal gratitude of the lady and all gathered, the cop backed off. In the end he gave me a copy of the accident report and helped me load the doe into the trunk of my Neon. It's not exactly a hunting story but good news for the CLGM congregation. We got meat. On the line of the accident report reserved for operator of vehicle number two it states simply in capital letters: DEER.

WOMEN OF CANTERBURY SERIES

MORE BLOOD

Savage told me to wait an hour and see if I could pick up the trail. Surprisingly I had a flashlight. I found the blood, and step by step, followed the track into a big tangle of spruce blowdowns. There was no snow but the leaves had frozen into a nice matt. With a little effort you could pick up the rips and tears the leaping buck made with his hooves. Blood- not much, bright red, seemed to either be right in the left front track, or sprayed slightly behind. 52 was to my left, so I knew I couldn't get too lost. But if I did get turned around I faced a big wet swamp. An hour later and about 200 yards into the blow down tangle, not finding a white belly, I gave up and went back to the house. The night would be a long one.
      I'd hunted hard since October 1 and this was the first time a deer had presented me with a good shot. Plus this deer was a very nice buck. Earlier that day I had practiced with the bow at 25 yards and was hitting bulls and holding groups. I was calm. The deer was perfectly broadside, head down, leg forward. I settled the pin behind the shoulder. Then just as my finger found the release, the buck must've moved backwards, when he worked the scrape. It's the only thing that makes any sense. You know I have no problem blaming myself, but this time I think it was just back luck.
    In the morning I found the blood trail again. He headed into the thick stuff. Then he hit a logging road and took a hard right, straight up the mountain. Savage had offered his tracking dog Butterfly Bonnie. But I didn't want to get the dog until I had throughly followed the track and assessed the chances of ever seeing this deer dead or alive again. As long as I could find blood on the leaves I'd keep going. Half way up the hill he bedded down under a deadfall across the logging road. There were two puddles of blood, maybe as big as a tea saucer, not a lot, and then I lost the trail. Back to the house to call Savage.
   I hunted the same stand that afternoon, hoping that if the buck wasn't too badly hurt he'd reappear for the hot does and the apples. No such luck. I still couldn't sleep. My dreams were of looking up from a drop of blood on a leaf, to see the brown back and golden antlers of the deer I'd only seen for a few seconds, but was now seared in whatever lobe clasps and squeezes such things. To say the least I was fucked up. The next morning I went back to where I'd lost the trail.
    I circled the bed until I found a tiny drop of blood. Had it again. Then as he went up the hill, some red spray. My spirits picked up. Blood. Blood. More blood. He was heading back across the flat top towards WSSP II. Two days of cold and no wind had preserved the track pretty well. Then, just as fast as I found the blood, I'd lose it. A drip right in that left hoof print. Then nothing. He was headed for another swamp. It was what I'd feared. This deer was hurt, but not badly. Wounding an animal is the worse part of hunting. But if you hunt long enough it happens. All you can do is try to minimize the instances. At least I had not hit a lung. This deer would live. I gave up the trail and moved on. On Election Day I bought a new bow, voted for Obama and am finally back in the shack, licking my wounds. Peak of the rut is still to come. Two weeks until gun.
  
  

COUPLE

BLOOD

I spent Sunday afternoon in a stand at WSSP II. Resisting the urge to hunt the apple tree, I hung it down in the swamp, close to Rt. 52. The constant traffic was annoying, but with the binocs I had a great view of the apple tree action. Around 4pm a couple of does wandered out of the woods and scratched under the tree. The last of the apples were holding on, even in the high winds, tauntingly just out of reach. All of the sudden the deer scattered and down the hill came a larger dark body. Even without the glasses I could tell it was a buck. He pawed at the ground under the far tree, working a muddy scrape. I took in the show.
   After a while all the scattered does regrouped closer to me, on another patch of mowed grass, unmolested by the buck- but not for long. I caught movement just before dark. It was the buck again. Seeing no females under the apple tree, he cut a beeline behind the barn and I lost sight of him. I kept my eye on the does, who were unaware of what was coming. I had turned away for a second and when I turned back the does were gone. Where did they go? Then I heard crashing in a dense stand of pines just off the road. For the next 15 minutes that buck chased does in and out of those spruces. In the midst of it the fawns peeled off and went back to feeding, giving mom and dad their privacy, (if dad had anything to say about it).
   The next day I couldn't resist hanging the stand on the wood line behind the apple trees. All was quiet until, like clock work, in came three big does. I'd been trying to get a shot at any deer since Oct. 1. Now there were three females easily within range. I didn't move. It was cold and when I'm cold I tend to shiver. Add to this the stress of deciding whether or not to kill one of these beautiful creatures and the shaking became worse. I was holding the bow, but still seated. The arrow began to shake in the rest. The shiny broadhead was twitching like a metallic squirrel tail. Then it started to clatter. I was hyper-ventilating and couldn't catch my breath. This always happens to a slight degree. Your heart rate goes up. But this was extreme. It had never happened before. Was I having a heart attack? The closest doe caught my melt down and all three bolted.
    It took me 5 mins. to compose myself. Then just as i was catching my breath I heard crunching leaves. I saw the big rack and dark body walking purposefully toward the apple tree scape. I slowly stood up, knocked an arrow, and as he lowered his head and stuck his left hoof into the soft ground, I settled my 15 yard right behind his front should and touched off. He squatted and spun as I heard a "thunk". Seemed like a good hit. For some reason, now, I was totally calm. I unhooked, tied off and lowered the bow, climbing down to find the arrow. I saw blood and hair on the fletching. It had passed through. Good news. I picked it up and checked for blood. There was light blood on the fletch, but the broadhead and shaft were clean. Whathefuck? It was still light enough, so I quietly ducked in the thick pines and immediately found bright red blood on the leaves. Excellent. I backed off and went back to the house to call my guru Savage Lynch to see what to do next. The next two days would be hell.  

BRAZIL

HEAD IN THE SANDY

This is the first time I've had the time and the internet to sit down and give you the HWS update. Here's the skinny.

   SANDY was predicted to start churning things late Sunday of last week. As it turned out it took another day to heat her up. By Monday mid-day, light rain and gusty wind out of the NE started to streak my neighbor's field. The ostriches stuck their heads up and happily ruffled the crud out of their feathers in the pounding rain. I had spent the morning lugging the 12 ga. around the woods, looking for turkeys to no avail. But what I did find was a big buck scrape and a rub so fresh the bark was still smoking where it lay on the leaves.  I was psyched. This was the first good buck sign I'd seen. I'd hung a stand behind the school house and really wanted to hunt it. Around 3 pm I lost power.
   I filled up the oil lamps, located a flashlight and sat on the couch staring at the black TV. I looked out the window. It wasn't really raining that hard. Maybe the really nasty shit would hold off until dark. I suited up, grabbed my bow and hit the woods. As I headed for the stand the wind picked up a little. By the time I was 20 feet up the tree and strapped in I heard a crack like a rifle shot. I looked up and the skyline was dancing like a Disney movie on very good psychedelics. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I love extreme weather, but.......By the time I had unhooked my harness and scurried down the ladder I knew I was in real trouble. As I ran through the tangled deadfalls, trees began to fall all around me. A hundred year old maple cracked in the middle and crashed 30 yards away. 70 feet high spruce trees with their shallow root system peeled off the ground like giant mushrooms. If this had been a video game someone was scoring big time just getting me to the road.
   Once I hit the road i realized I was now under the electrical wires and trees lined both sides of the road. The fire lit under my ass somehow got me home unscathed. Yeah, I know I'm an idiot. You can quit thinking that. That night I told Shewho I would sleep on the couch instead of the loft, as there is a giant oak shading my house. Around 3 am my neck hurt so badly that death by oak branch was preferable. I crawled in the loft. In the morning I surveyed the damage. At first I thought I'd dodged the bullet. Then I noticed something askew. The oak tree was fine. But leaning into it was a giant maple, unrooted by the storm. The oak saved my life. That maple would've crushed my house with me in it. But now a good gust of wind could still turn that maple and totally destroy my wonderful shack. $400 and a neighbor with an excavator later and the maple was on the ground. Phew!
   I won't bore you with all the miles I'm putting on my car feeding wood stove fires between Glen Wild and WSS to keep pipes from freezing as the power remains off in both houses. Chuck and Tessa @ WSSPII have been my port in the storm. I stoke the fires, hunt and end my day eating and drinking with my good friends. They have internet, TV, phone, and all one needs to stay comfortable. They escaped E3 & D until the lights came on. Today I finally hung a stand over here after seeing a good buck this morning run in front of my car. I saw him again tonight chasing does. The rut's kicking in. Things are looking up. Oh yeah, another noreaster is coming on Wed. Hang on. Looks like this is the future. Now if I can just get a crack at that buck.