JIMMY CARTER IS STILL DEAD

 Here’s the thing with hunting – it’s all about the known and unknown unknowns. You never know what will happen from moment to moment. I’m not a sports fan, but I imagine this is what makes sports so much a part of the American fabric – you never know how it will turn out. You always hope for best. Poor saps.

 This has been an extremely taxing and unpredictably hard deer season. Bow and crossbow found me involved in putting out three issues of FREE SPIRIT magazine (that no one will read or buy), so I was lazy in the hunt. The drought made matters worse with crunchy leaves, so I hunted the easiest stands to get in and out of (cemetery and Hassidics) neither of which produced. I should have been at Majestic. I fucked up royally.

 

Then I had the good luck of killing a buck opening day of gun season down at Gilkey’s (Julie's). That was nice. But that was a fluke. Unwilling to take a doe, I continued to try to get on a big buck, with no luck. As the second rut approached I opted for meat and was able to drop a doe with the 30.06 at 100 yards. All thanks to the LGM for that one. We ate most of that doe on the solstice. I still need meat.   

 

The past few weeks of muzzleloader season have been filled with frustration.  I missed an easy shot. No clue. And Bird gut shot a doe after sighting (and re-sighting) in his gun. Neither of us are confident in our guns. Which brings me to today.

 

I slogged up Majestic Mountain in the dark and was in the stand by 7:05 am. At 7:30 I saw deer. A group of six does and one four-point buck fed in front of me as the fog rolled in. The snow had melted, and the deer went in and out of focus. Then, at about 8:00 another half-dozen does, a four and and a spike crossed within 10 feet of my stand. This was the most action early I’d had all season. THREE BUCKS! My plan was for an all-day sit. Seeing these small bucks I decided NOT to take a doe and try for a big buck until AFTER NOON. Then all bets are off.

 

I didn’t see another deer until four o’clock. I was watching a group of does feeding in front of me (just out of range) when I spotted another group heading behind my stand. There were at least two big ones. I stood up and had a good rest on the tree. When the lead doe stepped out, I fired. She lowered her head and took off on a dead run, tail down. I had no idea if I had hit her.  

 

Yesterday this spot was a blanket of snow. After a night of rain and 50-degree temps it’s nothing but wet leaves. I got down and searched for blood. Nothing. I went in the direction the doe had run and looked for a body. Nothing. Then I back tracked and miraculously found a drop of blood on a wet leaf. I had hit her. Light was fading fast. I searched until 4:45 pm and then walked down the mountain, depressed and miserable. This is the worst.  Tomorrow I'll go back and search agian before we do our New Year's Eve drives. Gonna be a a full day. Oh yeah, Jimmy Carter died. I need a fucking drink.