SHOOT? DON'T SHOOT. SHOOT!

    First just a follow up on the mouse mystery. I came out of the woods Saturday night and when I turned on the faucet barely a trickle of water came out. Huh? I flushed the toilet. Nothing. I had no water. I looked in the bowl. No critters. After talking to Bird, who suggested it was my expansion tank, I called my plumber Jay.  While on the phone I heard water running. The tank on the toilet was filling up. The last thing Jay wanted to do was drive up the mountain and diagnose my mouse problems. Jay said it sounded like a toilet issue and was no help on the mystery mouse. He did say my name had come up that very day when a friend asked if he wanted to buy the Maybrook Church. "Why?" Jay responded "If I want to go to church I go to the CLGM." A loyal plumber/congregant is a treasure. Fuck it. I had water again, so I let Jay off the hook. Crisis averted. The mouse remains a mystery.

   Sunday I slept in and the afternoon was a washout so I didn't hunt. This morning I drove down the hill to hunt Gilkey's. Although the property has changed hands twice, now owned by the artist Julie Merhetu, it will always be Gilkey's to me. I'd moved a hanger stand to hunt the back field by the river, even rigging a monopod rest on a little 1x4 extension for long shots. I was excited to get in the tree. I'd hung the rest on a tree branch that I immediately hit with my head climbing into the stand and it clattered to the ground. I was gonna climb down and retrieve it but since it was getting light I decided not to. This was my first mistake. At dawn I spotted a big deer 250 yards in front of me. It wasn't Golden Boy. This buck was bigger.

     With no rest I knew I couldn't make a shot on the buck so I watched and waited. He had a doe feeding to his left. The wind was in my face. Conditions were perfect. Between 6:30 and 8:30 am the field filled with deer. Two more smaller bucks and ten does were scattered between me and the river. The three bucks remained feeding, surrounding the one hot doe, still too far for a shot but plainly visible. Eventually the doe started to move back towards my ridge into the shooting lane I had rigged specifically for my rest (now laying on the ground). I squiggled in my seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs, attempting to steady the gun on the doe, just in case the buck showed. Then  I saw movement behind some tree branches. Biggers was coming. My weak arms shook, breathing increased and the bum eye began to go weepy. Steady man.

    I crossed my legs, leaned back, put my left elbow on my knee, and tried to get the scope on the moving buck. He wasn't stopping. I bleated. He kept heading for the spot where the doe had disappeared up the ridge. I bleated  again, loudly! Then he stopped. I clicked off the safety and fired. Just like last week, he spun and stopped. Now facing away, all I had was neck. I shot again. He bolted, tail up for the river, bounding across the field unscathed. I knew I had missed again.

    Even though I was certain of the miss I climbed down and went in search of blood to be sure. It was a futile effort. Nothing. Another clean miss. Last year, even though I saw good bucks, I never had a shot at a deer until New Years Eve when I shot a doe. I hit her perfectly and she still went 100 yards before dying. This year I've missed two slammer bucks with the 30.06 in one week. It's a record I'm not proud of. I can't blame my eye or the gun. It's me. I'm somehow fucking up. Both shots were fast, but not reckless or hurried. Missing two good opportunities at mature bucks has the knot in the pit of my stomach growing into a stump. My brother Ross compares me to a golfer frustrated with his lousy game. It's a good analogy. Like a golfer, no matter how many hooks, slashes or wild puts one is plagued with it won't stop the obsessive duffer from playing the game. That doe is still hot. Biggers may have to swim the river to get back to her. All I can hope for is I'll be in the tree when he does. I'll never leave the rest on the ground again. I'm such an asshole. No matter. The afternoon lays ahead.