FORGIVE YOUR TRESPASSES?

  

I know. It’s called HUNTING with Supermodels. Sorry. I’ve hardly been in the woods. It’s been incredibly dry. Getting to and from the stand is like walking on bags of potato chips. Combined with the unseasonably warm weather, conditions have kept me on the couch. This morning it was too cold. I know, I'm a wimp. Yesterday I climbed GNJohn’s mountain for the afternoon sit. I spooked a doe going in and saw one red squirrel while I was in the tree. It sucks!

As of yesterday, we are now in crossbow season. I can still hit the target with the compound bow, but so much can go wrong I was glad to have the extra fire power and extended range of the scoped crossbow. I admit it, I’m getting old. But extra fire power does you no good when you aren’t seeing deer. This is not the case with the neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. C.

 

Readers may remember that a few years back I ran into a young couple that came up from Jersey to hunt the same woods as I do. We introduced ourselves and to my surprise they were readers of the blog. Like many of you, they have been disappointed in the lack of hunting stories this year. Sure, the babes are great, but plenty of you tune into HWS for the weather, wind direction, buck scrapes, and rut action. Sorry again. I got nothing.

 

This morning I was fucking around on the porch when there was a knock on the door. It was Mr. C. He had a story. He’d shot a nice buck over by the junk yard. He’d hit it low and a little back. “Gut?” I asked. He wasn’t sure. He said that he’d found white belly hair, but the blood (he had pictures) was bright red. No evidence of bowel. He’d followed the blood trail and jumped the buck just before dark. So, he backed out, hoping he’d bed down and die overnight. No such luck. The next morning, he picked up the trail, eventually losing blood. It’s heartbreaking, but it happens. With that kind of disappointment, I couldn’t figure out why the couple was so smiley. “Want to see what we got in the truck?” he asked. “She shot a 10!”

 

Let me back up a bit. A couple of weeks ago a friend set me a photo of a man being arrested for trespassing on the casino property. It’s a small community of deer hunters in the hood. I didn’t know the guy, but I knew exactly who he was. Savage Lynch had told me about one of his outlaw neighbors hanging a stand in there. It was he. It’s not like I’ve never trespassed, but when I do, I’m cagey as hell. This guy was just plain blatant with his illegal activities…a repeat offender. He’s the kind that gives all of us a bad name. “Where’d you get him?” I asked Mrs. C. as I examined her beautiful buck. “On the Casino property.” she said with a smile. Huh?

 

Turned out that the Cs knew somebody at the casino and got permission to hunt the same property that the outlaw got busted on. The story unfolded. “I was watching a six pointer chase a doe, when I heard crunching behind me.” She continued. “I turned and all I saw was rack. He never knew I was there. He was watching the six and the doe. He stopped at 20 yards, and I drilled him.” As Bird is fond of saying, “Right place. Right time.” I’ve barely seen deer and no buck sign nor rut action. Yet, these two young hunters are having a helluva season so far. I sent the buck pic to Savage to send to his neighbor. “Tell him next time to ask permission. He may just get it. I do not forgive his trespasses.” “Hope you don’t feel too bad.” Mr. C graciously offered.” No way! I love it. I’ve been around long enough to know this is how it goes. The rut is on. Somebody’s seeing deer. My time will come. Hope I don’t blow it when I get a shot. Congrats Mrs. C! That’s a perfect 10. I can’t wait to get back in the tree.