OLD SCHOOL FOR SOCIAL SCULPTURE GIRLS

 PHOTO: R. Kern

THE LUXURY OF TRANSMISSION

 Last night at the Dale found all the usual characters rubbing elbows and swapping stories. I seem to have seamlessly returned to my good old destructive habits (drink and drugs) as soon as the muzzleloader break kicked in. I’d spent the last two months leading the straight and narrow, hardly drinking, smoking only after dark, crashing around 9pm and rising at 5:30 am, seven days a week. Now the deer get a rest and I can’t wait (or stop myself) from tearing it up for the holidays. Once again, my wants and needs are simple: eat, drink, smoke, a little Shewho sex, and try to be as fucking merry as I can manage during this boozy season of joy.

 

The house is clean. The deer have been butchered and the venison is marinating in anticipation of tomorrow’s solstice feast. A big part of hunting for me is the opportunity to share my bounty with the congregation. I pride myself in being able to kill a deer, drag it out of the woods, butcher it properly, and cook up a helluva back strap and steak. I learned the hunting from my father, the butchering from my grandfather and the cooking I picked up on my own. Here’s the secret – marinate meat in soy sauce, ginger root, brown sugar, jalapeno pepper, and salt. Sear in a hot skillet with just a little olive oil. Serve bloody rare with a mushroom and onion sauté. That’s it. You can’t go wrong. It will melt in your mouth. Do you copy?

 

Oh wait. You can’t respond. Too bad. The way HWS was set up in 2007 (with no “like,” “follow,” or “comment” mechanism) has served me well over these many years. Unlike Instagram (with it’s nefarious “like” button) where I’m just as susceptible as any 13-year-old girl to the lack of attention paid, the blog lets me spew with no engagement (positive or negative). Also, I can post nipples, AND vagina with no adverse consequences. Although recently blogspot has put warnings on some of my posts, they don’t knock me off the platform with some arbitrary punishment, like Insta and fb does. They leave me alone.

 

As we were bellied up to the bar last night, I was informed that both Sara Bs regularly read HWS. I love these two fierce women and am honored they care enough to chk. in on me. Here’s the thing, other that Milawyer and my four siblings (yes I have a sister also), I have no idea who or how many readers I have. I like it that way. I assume I have a few less readers than The NYTimes and a few more than blood family. In this iPhone drenched, up yer ass, social media, Tik-Fucking-Tok landscape, a platform that denies participation by consumers turns out to be a unique luxury for the content provider. It’s not that I don’t care what ya’ll think, it’s just that I have no interest in hearing about it here. I have a landline which I assume is still published in the phone book. Call me up and bitch or compliment. It may take a few tries, as I don’t have voice mail. Email is best- address readily available online. I chk. it every day. Plus, you can always drop by for a visit. I’m home during daylight until the 26^th. Then I’m back in the woods. I hope you liked this blog. Just kidding. I really don’t give a shit. Please keep reading. Love you all. xx       

SWEATY GIRLS

 

THE BREAK

 A few years back the DEC gave us hunters a late season Xmas present here in NY. Muzzleloader season would break on Dec. 17^th and pick back up on Dec. 26^th. This is perfect timing to give us diehards the chance to catch our breaths, do a little Xmas shopping, clean up the house, wash cloths, and basically recharge our batteries for one last shot at horns and/or meat. Then it looks bleak until the May 1^st turkey opener. I’ve stopped watching the news. Is Trump still alive?

 

The last day of the season brought up UB and Bird for deer drives. Savage was in the hospital having something that begins with an “h” taken care of. Hemorrhoids? Humors? Hysterectomy? Hunchhobble? Whatever it was, that’s what he was doing instead of having fun with us on the mountain. It must suck being as old as Savage.

 

We drove behind the house, the cemetery and Butch’s back ridge. We all saw deer. Bird got a shot at a doe…and missed. Bobby saw a “decent” buck and I only had shots at a spike and a couple of little does, that I didn't take. Still, the weather was warm and clear, the afternoon was a blast, and the company was excellent. I wouldn’t really call it male bonding. The bonds were made a lifetime ago. I guess the nice thing is to see how strongly they’ve held over the years. You have to trust the people you hunt with. We ended the afternoon talking about Social Security. Turns out the right time to retire is as early as you can – 62. You didn’t have to tell me twice to retire. I know, it sounds boring as fuck. It wasn’t. I can talk any BS with people I like.

 

So, this morning Cheeky and I slept in. Then I went to Walmart to return my crappy raingear, got gas, deposited $150 in the bank that I got for an interview, got gas, went to Shoprite, and was home before ten. My other brother Rose was coming over at noon to spread a little green Xmas cheer, and take us all out to lunch. He brought along Bird and Savage- now recovered from his HERNIA operation enough to climb up into Rose’s massive new one ton pickup. You need a stepladder to get in this thing.

 

As much as I wanted to be back in the tree stand, this little break from the action, letting the deer settle down, taking care of business, doing a bit of socializing is a good thing for all concerned. We went to Dutch’s, had a nice lunch, a few beers, and hung out the rest of the afternoon in my kitchen. I love these guys. Savage might as well be blood. I trust all three with my life. We laughed and told stories going back decades. I was amazed that I hadn’t heard a few. Rose and wife SueBO hit a bear with his motorcycle this past summer. WTF? I didn’t know that. All came out fine, even the bear. The old white haired gentlemen just left. Now I can get down to writing the blog and testing product. 

 

I just tried Wedding Crasher. Nice. Smokes good. A solid back wall, with just a hint of pornography… I’m high as shit. Or maybe it’s the Hennessy. Either way. Thanks for lunch, and all the other goodies Rose. I still don’t know why you need two big, fancy, new, pickup trucks while your big brother drives a 24-year-old clunker. Just doesn’t seem fair. I know I don’t say it enough. And don’t tell the others, but you’ve always been my favorite.

 

BJORK

 

8-10-14-72-0

  

Play these numbers. Eight degrees. Ten hours in stand. Fourteen deer seen. Seventy-two years on planet. No shots. That was yesterday. Here’s a recap of the season so far:

 

One medium sized eight point shot 8:00 am opening day. The buck was on a doe down at Gilkey’s. I watched them for over an hour at about 200 yards. Then the doe ran right at my tree. An easy shot dropped him.

 

One medium sized doe. I hunted the extension Rd. from the ground one snowy morning. I dropped her at 100 yards. A larger doe was behind her. The shot was a little high – cutting into the back strap. Noted.

 

I like hunting the elements. Even with lousy rain gear I go out in it. Blowing snow is my favorite. The Oct. and Nov. drought has turned into the whiplash of rain, snow and brutal cold. Now that it’s muzzleloader season, I can shoot a decent buck or big doe. I need meat. As per usual I’ve been seeing nothing.

Then, on Friday I decided to hunt a stand I hadn’t visited all season: Majestic Mountain.

 

I’m very lucky to have a variety of beautiful spots within a short drive of my house. Majestic is open to me for bow and muzzle. During gun season a father/son team of knuckleheads have permission. Fearing a bullet from either of these idiots, I stay out. But now it’s my turn. I've shot some of my biggest bucks there.

 

With the rain, then deep freeze, entering the woods is like walking on potato chip bags. Forget being stealthy. One has to grit one’s teeth and try to get in the stand as quickly as possible. The good side of this is you can also hear a deer coming from behind a mile away.

 

This was the case on Friday. I heard “crunch-crunch” coming from behind on my right, close. I didn’t move. The sound stopped. My breath quickened in anticipation. Then again “crunch-crunch." I looked down and saw it was a buck. Four-pointer. Damn. No shot.

 

He moved on and about an hour later I heard another deer coming from my left. This spot is better – pines to cover my movement as I shifted and got the gun up. I saw it was a doe. A BIG doe. She was as dark as a buck, probably four or five years old, 150 pounds. Plenty of meat. As she stepped behind a tree at about 20 yards I raised the gun. When she stepped out I bleated her stopped, settled the crosshairs and fired. She barely reacted, standing there looking around for where that strange noise came from. What the fuck? Then she bounded off, tail in the air.

 

I am totally at a loss as to what happened. The gun didn’t sound right; not loud enough. This was supposed to be the year I didn’t miss or wound a deer. My eyes are good. Both guns are zeroed in at 100 yards. I called Savage. Even though I had checked my powder after hunting in the rain for three days, it looked fine. Savage’s theory was that it may have looked OK but been damp, causing the shot to go wild. I’m not buying it. I could’ve hit that deer by throwing the gun at it.

 

So that was why, after a sleepless night, I was back in the same tree at dawn the next day, in 8-degree weather. And I saw plenty of deer, just not that big doe or any bucks. Last night Shewho came over to make it all better. So, I didn’t hunt this morning. I’m going in after I post this. I need meat. One of those medium “mommies” may go down this afternoon….if I can hit anything with this fucking gun. So much for my confidence as the season winds down. Last day is for drives on Tues. Then venison feast on the Solstice on Sat., and the second half of muzzle after Xmas. Gotta keep at it.  

PG's NINE

 

Fuck the Pie! NO THANKS Giving

 First the report: These days we hunters stay in touch nightly, like a bunch of old women on the Bridge Club hotline. #1 Bird – he’s seeing does and small bucks- no shooters. He’s also decided not to take a doe until muzzle. #2 Savage – he’s ready to take a doe and is only seeing bucks. A seven, a four and a nice eight are all running around behind his house. He has had them all close enough for a bow shot. Attempting to stay COMPLETELY legal in his old age, he has resisted what he calls “the Devil” as the bucks prance around below his stand. Good luck with your demons Savage. I have no such burdens. #3 PGeorge – PG is not in the party line phone circle. Instead, he sends me photos and updates through email (see above) that I pass on. PGeorge has tagged out with another slammer. Hunting is not a competitive sport, yet…….PGeorge’s emails always make us feel like we have to step up and serve to get us back in the tree. It’s getting harder and harder to keep up with this guy. As for me, I’ve been out in the snow and rain. I’ve had action, but only seeing does and small bucks. Last night I had two identical four pointers right under my stand and passed on a big doe. As I write this, we are 45 mins. from sunrise. Today I’m ready to shoot a good doe if I get a shot. I’ll be back………

 

Just to backtrack a bit. Thanksgiving found Shewho without electricity again, and communications spotty on what we had planned for the day. When we finally connected it was decided that she come my way for venison and I continue to hunt. It’s not like Shewho and I never argue, but arguments never last. I wanted her to bring the fixings for apple pie to my place and cook it here. She countered that that was too much work in the transport. Her suggestion was to prepare the pie and bring it uncooked. The issue was daylight. Neither she nor I like to drive at night. The argument was burning daylight. Finally, she said “Fuck the pie!” Ahhhhhhhhhh…simple. I agreed. Kiss - Kiss and done. We had NO THANKS giving with store bought pie, heated up in the microwave. Perfection! I saw nothing this morning.  I will finish this posting after the afternoon hunt. Sit tight.

 

I’m back. It’s Monday morning. I spent seven hours in the stand  on Saturday and saw nothing. Saturday night found Shewho and I at the Dale with the gang. I made the mistake of leaving my truck at Majestic and catching a ride to the bar. By midnight the drugs were wearing off and I wanted to go home. “I WANNA GO HOOOOOME.” I whined. Shewho was having a great time. By 2 am I was an angry, depressed mess. Forget the afterparty with Shewho or Sunday hunt. All I could do was lick my wounds. I pride myself in being able to hang with the best of ‘em. This was a wake-up call. Guess I found my limits. Ugh.