I went before dawn on Saturday, and sat, and sat, and heard the
ker-whomping shots of people hitting deer after deer (they taught me the
different sounds), and then sat some more until the wind blew my stand
around, I couldn't hear any specific rustling, and the other shots all
but ended. Oh, and my ass hurt pretty badly after 6 hours, too. So I
cleaned up, took a long nap, and that was my first hunting experience.
I only reached for the rifle once, but didn't even grab it. Turned out
to be branches and a fallen log playing in the wind.
However, my brother-in-law bagged a 10-point "mounter" in excess of 220
lbs. at eight thirty. We'll have Uncle Buck for dinner soon enough. He
was a majestic specimen, to be sure. His body was like a barrel.
Brandon shot it directly though the heart, filling the lungs with blood.
That big strong beast ran only 40 yards. At least it was a quick
affair. Good shot.
But dammit for me, not even a look. But (as KB termed them) one more
bean-stomping, corn-eating, car-wrecking overpopulated buck down. And
this one it will be eaten and enjoyed, every last edible piece. His
head will be mounted in a nice place in their country house.
Speaking of thinning the herd, someone went to town for beer later
(doesn't that sound so Country) and at the gas station, saw a pickup
literally filled to the edges of the bed with deer... bucks, doe, etc.
"The most ridiculous thing I've ever seen" is how he termed it. Glad I
wasn't following THAT guy home. Eyuck. Bloodbath all over your car.
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