WRINGING OUT 2024

 It’s over. I can’t believe it. My emotions are mixed.

 

Our traditional New Year’s Eve drives found Bird and I to be the last men standing. Savage, who was plagued with health issues all season, hernia and cataract operations, AND then got Covid, was obviously out. Then UB also got sick the night before, leaving just us two seventy-something Osti bros to put on drives for each other. Add to this the fact that I had to look for the doe I had shot the night before at 8:00 am that morning, and we almost cancelled. But we didn't. Soldier on. First the deer search.

 

I had passed Buddy Budde and son Rocket Boy on the road out of Majestic the previous night, after finding blood and no deer. I was in no mood to bullshit. As I stopped the truck to wrangle some help, I heard a voice coming from the dark passenger side. “Hey bitch, turn your truck around, come over and have a drink!” It was Rocket Boy Budde. The kid is 11. His father shrugged his shoulders, grinned, and rolled his eyes as if to say, “What can I do? He’s a handful.” I paid no attention to RB’s taunting and focused on getting help in finding that doe. “Can you and that pack of mutts help me look for a dead deer tomorrow at 7:30?” “That’s too early. 9:00.” “8 am…... and bring the boy……. bitch.” I countered. Then drove off not waiting for an answer.

 

As Buddy made coffee the next morning Rocket rubbed his sleepy eyes and sat on the couch in his PJs. “Are you coming?” I asked him. “Noooo.” He moaned. “Too early.” “GET YOUR BOOTS AND COAT. Move it!” His father barked. Rocket grudgingly obeyed as the pack of dogs: Dash, Max, (some random cur sleeping over) and Frank and Beans climbed all over the furniture. I didn’t have much hope in my deer search team, but it was all I had to work with. In the end we went up the mountain with a pack of three dogs - Dash (the elder) and the two pocket dogs Frank and Beans.

 

We immediately found a little more blood, but no distinguishable track. So began the grid search for  a body. After about a half-hour the dogs went silent and disappeared. Suddenly I heard what is always music to my ears, “MIKE! We found her.” I rushed towards the sound of the voice, only to find the whole canine crew pulling at what little was left of that doe. The coyotes had found her first. There wasn’t much to tug at. I immediately looked for the bullet hole. It was a kill shot and still she ran 100 yards. Without the dogs we never would have found her. Again, emotions were mixed. I mourned the lost meat but was glad the gun was on and happy to find the corpse. It’s part of the deal as a hunter. With no snow, and wet leaves in an area with massive scratching, it’s next to impossible to follow blood or the scuffed track of a mortally wounded deer. I take no joy in feeding coyotes, but nature always has the final say. I grabbed the doe’s leg and Dash bit my hand. OK. We’re done here.

 

For the rest the day Bird put drives on for me. On the last drive, as I saw Bird coming through the woods, I stood up and uncapped my gun. Then, looking below me and to my right I spotted a small doe standing there, also watching Bird. I fumbled for another cap, got the gun loaded, took a knee, and fired. I aimed for the chest. She ran…. tail up. That shot should have dropped her. Another miss? Ugh. Oh well, I’ll take it. I was way too exhausted to track another wounded deer. We looked for hair or blood. Nothing. Phew. The day ended with beers in the kitchen and many thanks to the Gods that allowed us to come out of the woods in one piece. Next.

I had a long night of partying ahead. I’ll just give you the highlights: Slick generously bought Oars and I dinner at a fancy restaurant. Then we drove off to Love Velma. There was a fifty-dollar cover. Yup. I know. Crazy. I did the classic Osterhout bum rush to the bar, as doorperson Clown Daddy was distracted by Slick and Oars paying up. I have plenty of capitalist friends, but I don’t adhere to theie ideology or economics. It works for me. An hour later Clown Daddy spotted me and asked “How did you slip by me without paying?” I just shrugged and grinned. “That’s how I roll....... bitch.” She rolled her eyes, grinned, and went back to charging more compliant suckers at the door.

 

 Just before midnight I left my date (Slick) at Velma and got a lift to The Dale with the Buddes and their driver/pool boy TOOval (a retired IDF rabbit sniper) and ate one (quite powerful) gummy, which did the trick for the entire evening. I danced the night away with my peeps. No Molly, only a beer or two and Catsilk Lani on the wheels of steel, kept me upright and waving my skinny arms until two am. Then I got in my truck, completely sober, and drove home. The only thing that could’ve made it more fun would have been having Shewho and Teehoo on board. But my girls wanted a quiet evening at home. I learned years ago not to impose my manic pathology on them.

 

In the end, we wrung the most out of 2024. In retrospect I was too lazy early in deer season but made up for it as the season progressed. The elements were tough – brutal cold, rain, snow, seesawing temps and no deer movement made for a rough slog. As I write this there’s still five hours of legal shooting light left. I could go back up Majestic Mountain and try for another doe. Should I? Naw. I’m done. I’ll shoot the last load into a target and see where the gun is shooting. The deer have nothing to worry about from me until Oct. I’ve got big plans for next year. Gonna move stands, cut paths, and maybe even teach Rocket Boy how to shoot and hunt. 2025 (for all its macro-horror in the world at large) may finally be the start of the Scoring Twenties here in the mountains. I for one can’t wait. HAPPY NEW YEAR to all my loyal readers. Much love. 2025 is all ours. 

PS

The gun shot three inches left of center - basically on. I should not have missed that last shot. Chalk it up to an unsteady knee and a lot of fumbling. Next season to resolve to do better. If I can only remember all my mistakes.