THE ECONOMICS OF ACTING ON POST-PRIMAL INSTINCT or THE COST BENEFIT ANALYSIS OF PULLING THAT TRIGGER

     Years ago while the old man was still alive, he, Bird and I were deer hunting with Ray Key in Cooperstown. We were putting on drives and I was on stand. I caught sight of something coming at me from the left. The drivers were pushing the woods to my right. Lopping along was a coyote so big it looked like a timber wolf. These were the days of slug guns with iron sights being the only legal option in Otsego County. I didn't think twice. I pulled the gun up and shot. The coyote turned, unscathed and rocketed by me. I threw two more shots at him and never touched a hair on his massive frame.

    When we all regathered everybody asked if I had gotten the eight point? What eight point? As my attention had been riveted  by that fellow predator I had missed even seeing the nice buck the other hunters had pushed to me. They never let me forget my fuck up. Bird still brings it up. I learned my lesson. I no longer shoot coyotes while turkey or deer hunting. They have every right to hunt right alongside me. I bring this up because the other day I had a similar experience. The legal department agreed that I could tell the story as long as I omit date and place. OK. Here goes:

    I was hunting from a ground blind set up about 100 yards from the spot I had had that encounter with the ten point. The blind faced the opposite direction on the edge of a logging cut with a good view of the woods. The morning had been quiet and cold. At 8:45 am I caught sight of something black coming from my right. I thought it was a turkey or fisher cat. Then, to my surprise, a 300 pound black bear emerged out of the woods running past me at fifteen yards. I swung the crossbow and tried to settle the pin low, behind his front leg as he came to a screeching stop quartering to me. I pulled the trigger and heard a thump. My heart was racing a mile a minute. Let me back up a bit. A few days earlier Savage had told me of two bears he had seen the same day at Paradise Pond. Savage wants to shoot a bear. I've seen plenty of bear in the woods but never during bear season with a weapon in my hand. I told Savage I was unsure if given the opportunity I would shoot a bear or not. I hadn't factored into the equation just how hardwired we hunters are in these situations. I didn't think twice about shooting that bear.

    I sat there, trying to catch my breath and listened for a death moan. I'd heard that a bear will exhale upon expiring and rattle the woods with a loud groan. Silence. But bear can also die without moaning. Savage had told me many times that a bear's vitals are much lower than a deer's. I aimed accordingly. I knew I hit him but was afraid I'd caught his gut and buried the arrow. This could be a hard track. After waiting for about twenty minutes I went in search of the arrow and a blood trail. Nothing. The spot where the bear disappeared was a jungle of deadfalls and briars. I needed help, so I called Bird. The consequence of pulling that trigger was now becoming apparent. Without blood it would be a long and torturous day criss crossing through the morass looking for hair, blood or a black body. We had no choice. We went at it, armed and ready for a wounded bear to explode from the undergrowth.

    This was my prime hunting spot, a deer bedding area that I was now contaminating with human scent and noise. If we did find the bear how the fuck would we ever get him out? If we didn't find him I was faced with sleepless nights of worry and regret, and days scanning the skies for crows and buzzards. By then it would be too late to recover much more than rotting meat. Even in the best case scenario of finding and somehow dragging the bear out of the woods I was faced with days of butchering and a heavy taxidermy bill. I'd have to have a sexy bear rug. My early deer season and hunt for these big bucks was about to be ruined. Why had I shot? I literally could not help myself. Then, as I stumbled over another blow down I heard Bird yell. He'd found something but I couldn't make out what. His voice was coming in the direction of the blind. When I got there he was holding my arrow. 

    Somehow I had not mortally wounded that majestic animal. The faint blood on the fletching  told the story.  The arrow had passed through so low it had just pierced his brisket, no vitals, bone or blood vessels. Yes, I had stung him but not severely. It was a mild flesh wound that would soon heal over. I was thrilled. Outside of a kill shot or a complete miss, this was the third best option. Bird and I were all smiles. I had shot a bear. And that bear lives. The search was over and the story was a good one with a happy ending. We didn't have to drag a three hundred pound corpse through the woods or face any of the other obstacles I had envisioned and outlined. I was back on the hunt for those bucks by the afternoon. I've learned my lesson. I promise. I will never shoot another bear or coyote unless it's in self-defense. And that's very unlikely.  I sure don't need a bear skin rug to feel sexy.