Sure the Jews have Chanuka this time of year, but how can that compete with Santa Claus? Little boys and girls of mixed marraiges naturally would gladly toss the dradle in the trash just for a taste of figgy pudding and a chance at a new Schwinn under the tree. Mennorah or fake snow on big blow up baby Jesus' forehead, out in the front yard bouncy manger? No contest. Silent night or The draddle song? Hot chocolate. Carolers. Malls. Shopping. Ca-ching. Chinese food and a movie or glazed ham and lobster bisque? Nothing against my Semetic brethren, but what do they know about stealing xmas trees from state parks? Raised as a covered dish Presbyterian, and now a free agent, I feel a certain duty to take care of my Jewish friends this time of year.
So it is that Slick and I are going to have Xmas together. I usually go to the folks but now that all the neices and nephews are grown (and no fun), and after the dog shitting on the rug incident, I've decided to stay home. Shewho's with her daughter and everyone else I know has plans. So that leaves Slick and I to bring in the holiday together. We'll hang our socks (and his yamulka) on the stove pipe, turn on the home shoppping channel, pour a couple of eggnogs (with a stick in it)and try to sight in the muzzle loader. The neighborhood camels will watch as we bounce in the manger and toss our sweet lord back and forth. Once sufficiently toasted, the elves (cats) will help make a big dinner of venison, swine and various shellfish. More booze and the traditional smoking of the "evergreen" will follow.
I'm looking forward to spending the day with someone of an other faith and culture. I want to share my traditions with him and learn from his strange customs, such as wrapping pennies and ordering things online. I think this could become a holiday tradition. This is the time of year to educate all those infidels of the glory and majesty of an inflatable virgin Mary snuggled up to a chainsaw carved black bear, bringing in Xmas as one. Peace on Earth and goodwill to all.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
GOING ONCE. GOING TWICE.....
In a world where the individual seems so overwhelmed by bad news, that most people just shut down out of sheer impotence, one man took a stand and made a difference. Friday, Univ. of Utah economics student Tim deChristopher went straight from his economics final to the BLM auction of vast acreage in the Utah wilderness to the oil companies. He saw a smattering of tree hugger protesters outside and decided he had to do more to disrupt the auction. In a matter of minutes he had a bidder's paddle in hand and before he knew it, he was driving up the price of every parcel on the block. In a moment of pure inspiration this student saw an opportunity and siezed upon it. Before he was through he was the proud owner of over 20,000 acres of pristine wilderness in Utah for a little over a million bucks. What a deal! I've rennovated upper east side apartments for 10 times that.
Of course being a student, Tim did not have the money in his checking account. But the damage was already done. The auction was in disaray. Federal agents took Tim into custody and then released him, but not without charging him for various offenses. This morning he was on Democracy Now. He goes to court later today. You could tell he was riding a high. His act (like Julia Butterfly sitting in that tree) was inspired, pure and effective. It was a work of art. All eco-protesters, as well as eco-millionaires like Robert Redford should take note. Every auction should be filled with straw bidders to stir things up or people with real money should buy up these properties and protect them from the oil companies. $1,000,000 is nothing to Robert Redford. Tim did good. Follow his lead.
Of course being a student, Tim did not have the money in his checking account. But the damage was already done. The auction was in disaray. Federal agents took Tim into custody and then released him, but not without charging him for various offenses. This morning he was on Democracy Now. He goes to court later today. You could tell he was riding a high. His act (like Julia Butterfly sitting in that tree) was inspired, pure and effective. It was a work of art. All eco-protesters, as well as eco-millionaires like Robert Redford should take note. Every auction should be filled with straw bidders to stir things up or people with real money should buy up these properties and protect them from the oil companies. $1,000,000 is nothing to Robert Redford. Tim did good. Follow his lead.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
HOMO FOR THE HOLIDAYS
Look, I'm already a slim bachelor who lives alone with three cats. How much of a stretch can it be to go over to the dark side for the holiday season? I wanted the Obama inaugeral gig. I heard I was on the short list. But instead he's going with some homophobic Evangelical cracker. So as a member of the clergy who caters to gay weddings and funerals I'm going homo for the holidays.
The first thing I did was decorate. I put up twinkly lights around my dead buck and attached two shiny red xmas balls to his crotch. My new couch, straight from "Nana's" house (complete with 70's pillows) made my place look even more gay. Now we're getting somewhere. Then the phone rang. It was GNJohn. He told me about his past week. It has way more holiday spirit than mine. MERRY XMO.
Al Blanchard, GNJohn and I spent last winter building GNJ's new house. A year later he has a great house and is broke. Remember this as we go forward. Last week he spent his last $1000 on a new gold front tooth. He came home and showed it off. It was shiny. A couple of days later another tooth started hurting. He lived with it until he couldn't sleep from the pain. But before he drove to his city dentist he went to get his oil changed. The mechanic noticed his front tires were bald. $200 later he headed to Manhattan. Half way down the thruway he started to shake uncontrollably. His gums were turning black. The dentist took one look at him and made an appt. with the surgeon for the morning. GNJphn had brought his dog Girl. Girl doesn't "get" NYC so it took a 2 hour walk for her to take a shit. GNJohn was dying.
The next morning he had to move the car. He did- but close to a hydrant. The surgeon removed the tooth with much bone splintering and pressure, but no pain. The Doc was good. GNjohn drove back up on the mountain with a pocket full of vics., but not until getting a $115 ticket for that hydrant. After he got through telling me this, we got to talking about his father's mini-strokes and the aunt's skin disease. Not to be confused with the sister in law's flesh eating virus.
I ran out of gas tonight. But I had an extra tank. I'm sorry that's all I got. I can't compete with GNJohn for his holiday tale of pain and suffering. Oh yeah, the windshield wipers on the truck stopped working. I think it's the fuse. Am I getting anywhere? I guess no matter how much I gussy up the place and sit around watching John and Kate plus 8, I'll never really be gay. I takes a certain comittment that I just don't have. GNJohn showed the hole in his mouth off to post office girl Emily. He bragged that he was now a local. Emily sized him up. "You're just a poser." she said. "A local loses that tooth in a fight." That's my kind of committment. That's not to say that homo for the holidays can't compete with Gay for a Day in the straight community. Instead of watching Obama pray with the Rev. Homohater, take a homo to lunch. Spread the love.
The first thing I did was decorate. I put up twinkly lights around my dead buck and attached two shiny red xmas balls to his crotch. My new couch, straight from "Nana's" house (complete with 70's pillows) made my place look even more gay. Now we're getting somewhere. Then the phone rang. It was GNJohn. He told me about his past week. It has way more holiday spirit than mine. MERRY XMO.
Al Blanchard, GNJohn and I spent last winter building GNJ's new house. A year later he has a great house and is broke. Remember this as we go forward. Last week he spent his last $1000 on a new gold front tooth. He came home and showed it off. It was shiny. A couple of days later another tooth started hurting. He lived with it until he couldn't sleep from the pain. But before he drove to his city dentist he went to get his oil changed. The mechanic noticed his front tires were bald. $200 later he headed to Manhattan. Half way down the thruway he started to shake uncontrollably. His gums were turning black. The dentist took one look at him and made an appt. with the surgeon for the morning. GNJphn had brought his dog Girl. Girl doesn't "get" NYC so it took a 2 hour walk for her to take a shit. GNJohn was dying.
The next morning he had to move the car. He did- but close to a hydrant. The surgeon removed the tooth with much bone splintering and pressure, but no pain. The Doc was good. GNjohn drove back up on the mountain with a pocket full of vics., but not until getting a $115 ticket for that hydrant. After he got through telling me this, we got to talking about his father's mini-strokes and the aunt's skin disease. Not to be confused with the sister in law's flesh eating virus.
I ran out of gas tonight. But I had an extra tank. I'm sorry that's all I got. I can't compete with GNJohn for his holiday tale of pain and suffering. Oh yeah, the windshield wipers on the truck stopped working. I think it's the fuse. Am I getting anywhere? I guess no matter how much I gussy up the place and sit around watching John and Kate plus 8, I'll never really be gay. I takes a certain comittment that I just don't have. GNJohn showed the hole in his mouth off to post office girl Emily. He bragged that he was now a local. Emily sized him up. "You're just a poser." she said. "A local loses that tooth in a fight." That's my kind of committment. That's not to say that homo for the holidays can't compete with Gay for a Day in the straight community. Instead of watching Obama pray with the Rev. Homohater, take a homo to lunch. Spread the love.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
WHEN THE MUSIC STOPS
I discovered porn and hunting early in life. In the 50's if you must know. The so-called porn was tiny B&W booklets hidden in my old man's desk drawer. They were put out by PUP'S PARTS, an auto parts company. These quaint little tomes had busty babes in see-through nighties and racy cartoons, in various degrees of bad taste. Bird and I took every opportunity to sneak a peek. Smokie was too young. Hunting was tagging along rabbit, duck and pheasant hunting with the old man or lonely woodchuck hunting with an old long bow and target arrow. I eventually did get a chuck (cornered by my hound dog). The target points just bounced off. I literally had to knock it from the dog's neck with the bow and beat it to death. It sure wasn't pretty, but I think that still counts as a bow kill.
After puberty and the Vietnam years I soured on hunting as well as porn. In 1975 I was in the Mitchell Brother's SF. Nekid girls were everywhere. I got a job illustrating stroke books "in the style" of some dead illustrator. It was tedious work dictated to me by my boss, a homely Mafia princess in house coat and fuzzy slippers. "In today's story Nurse Nancy is giving Dr. Bones a sloppy blowjob. And Mike....." she said, singling me out from the Chinese gay guy and hillbilly from Florida. "Mike......please a little more graphic. Less artsy." I had a prudish way of squiggling over the nasty bits. The hillbilly, known for his giant, squirting dicks, just smirked. I got 10 dollars a drawing. On a good night I could make a C note. 8 hours of pouring through skin mags and putting the body parts together in a Frankensteinian approach to illustrative narrative was exhausting. At the end of a hard day, the last thing i wanted to do was go to a dirty movie.
Since I lived in the city and knew no one who hunted, I stopped hunting. Even when I visited back east, I took a less than serious approach. I borrowed gloves, coat, hat and gun from Bird, went up on his back hill for a couple of hours and then went back to the house to watch cartoons with my neices. VHS was yet to be marketed to consumers, but art students had half inch B&W video tape to play with. The first thing I did was video the wife and I getting busy. Tommy and Pam got nothing to worry about. (Don't worry #1. I taped over it.) Back in SF, my interest in porn started to heat up again.
The only place you could watch a dirty movie in bed was a motel. I decided to curated a series of artist videos that would air between the motel porn. The Motel Tapes were a big hit. I wasn't actually doing porn, but exploiting the already charged space around it. That's artspeak for I did the stuff that didn't turn you on. I thought about hunting again, but did nothing to get back into the woods. It wasn't until 1993, back in NY, that I took it up again. And when i did, I jumped back in with both feet. Typically, at first, pigeon holing it as art. I read magazines and replenished the gun cabinet. My first squirrels I skinned salted and stacked in cardboard ravioli boxes. I broiled the tiny critters with a little garlic. Mmmmmmm. Food, as well as art.
Now, some 15 years later, it's still art for me. But when the season's over I need new activities. I get my porn for free from the internet and my "hunting porn" on two cable TV channels- Versus and Pursuit. This quite bizarre line up of shows on chs. 603 and 608 is totally consuming me. There's Les Johnson, blastng coyotes at 600yards on PREDATOR QUEST. A hillbilly couple of champion archers on STAYING SAFE or the cute yuppy version DRIVEN. The later couple looks like they'd be just as comfortable hosting MTV's Spring Break House. Jello shooters on that dead buck anyone? There's a lot of product hype and Maxoderm and Enzyte hawking, but compared to Oprah or IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE, it's no contest. The guests range from kids with cancer to CEOs of gun companys. WHITETAIL ADDICTION is my fave. It's do-it-yourselfer's show of giant buck kills. And all these shows are structured exactly like pornos.
First there's the set up. The plumber rings the doorbell. A little grunting and rattling from the stand. A pretty girl answers the door. A buck peeks out from behind a bush. Hmmmmm? Hmmmmm? In both hunting shows and porn the predictable plot proceeds with varying degrees of proficency, always accompanied by some horrible swelling music. Then.....AND ONLY THEN... when the music stops, and the camera zooms in for the money shot, death or ejaculation occur. Finally, two of my favorite pastimes combined as one. You'd think the animals would get hip to that music stopping.
After puberty and the Vietnam years I soured on hunting as well as porn. In 1975 I was in the Mitchell Brother's SF. Nekid girls were everywhere. I got a job illustrating stroke books "in the style" of some dead illustrator. It was tedious work dictated to me by my boss, a homely Mafia princess in house coat and fuzzy slippers. "In today's story Nurse Nancy is giving Dr. Bones a sloppy blowjob. And Mike....." she said, singling me out from the Chinese gay guy and hillbilly from Florida. "Mike......please a little more graphic. Less artsy." I had a prudish way of squiggling over the nasty bits. The hillbilly, known for his giant, squirting dicks, just smirked. I got 10 dollars a drawing. On a good night I could make a C note. 8 hours of pouring through skin mags and putting the body parts together in a Frankensteinian approach to illustrative narrative was exhausting. At the end of a hard day, the last thing i wanted to do was go to a dirty movie.
Since I lived in the city and knew no one who hunted, I stopped hunting. Even when I visited back east, I took a less than serious approach. I borrowed gloves, coat, hat and gun from Bird, went up on his back hill for a couple of hours and then went back to the house to watch cartoons with my neices. VHS was yet to be marketed to consumers, but art students had half inch B&W video tape to play with. The first thing I did was video the wife and I getting busy. Tommy and Pam got nothing to worry about. (Don't worry #1. I taped over it.) Back in SF, my interest in porn started to heat up again.
The only place you could watch a dirty movie in bed was a motel. I decided to curated a series of artist videos that would air between the motel porn. The Motel Tapes were a big hit. I wasn't actually doing porn, but exploiting the already charged space around it. That's artspeak for I did the stuff that didn't turn you on. I thought about hunting again, but did nothing to get back into the woods. It wasn't until 1993, back in NY, that I took it up again. And when i did, I jumped back in with both feet. Typically, at first, pigeon holing it as art. I read magazines and replenished the gun cabinet. My first squirrels I skinned salted and stacked in cardboard ravioli boxes. I broiled the tiny critters with a little garlic. Mmmmmmm. Food, as well as art.
Now, some 15 years later, it's still art for me. But when the season's over I need new activities. I get my porn for free from the internet and my "hunting porn" on two cable TV channels- Versus and Pursuit. This quite bizarre line up of shows on chs. 603 and 608 is totally consuming me. There's Les Johnson, blastng coyotes at 600yards on PREDATOR QUEST. A hillbilly couple of champion archers on STAYING SAFE or the cute yuppy version DRIVEN. The later couple looks like they'd be just as comfortable hosting MTV's Spring Break House. Jello shooters on that dead buck anyone? There's a lot of product hype and Maxoderm and Enzyte hawking, but compared to Oprah or IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE, it's no contest. The guests range from kids with cancer to CEOs of gun companys. WHITETAIL ADDICTION is my fave. It's do-it-yourselfer's show of giant buck kills. And all these shows are structured exactly like pornos.
First there's the set up. The plumber rings the doorbell. A little grunting and rattling from the stand. A pretty girl answers the door. A buck peeks out from behind a bush. Hmmmmm? Hmmmmm? In both hunting shows and porn the predictable plot proceeds with varying degrees of proficency, always accompanied by some horrible swelling music. Then.....AND ONLY THEN... when the music stops, and the camera zooms in for the money shot, death or ejaculation occur. Finally, two of my favorite pastimes combined as one. You'd think the animals would get hip to that music stopping.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
THE HORRIBLE STINK OF THE ROTTING CORPOCRACY
I woke up at 5:30 am like clockwork. Got up. Turned on the twinkling xmas lights draped over Rudolph the red balled reindeer. Grabbed my gun. Turned on the Pursuit Channel and methodically made my way around the shack. Is that a rub on the coffee table leg? I swear I saw tracks in the closet and scrapes in the kitchen, under the coat rack. Ssssshhhhhh. Between ads for hardon pills and cream I thought I saw a big buck crosing the TV screen. I laid the gun barrel over the back of a chair and waited....
After two months in the woods I knew it wouldn't be easy to make the transition back to civilian life. I heard crows and looked up. Buzzards were circling the cieling fan. Was this the big one? Had I actually hit him? I followed my nose behind the woodstove and there it lay- not the monster buck, I had missed clean, but the foul coyote shredded carcass of the American system of government and finance. It seems an unethical hunter had gut shot his buddy and left him to die an ignoble death in the weeds. How could this have happened? Let's try to piece together the forensic evidence.
Once upon a time corporations and government hunted together. Each year they would don the blaze orange, load up the pick up trucks with apples and pumpkins and make their way to the mountains for a weekend of drinking, card playing and shooting around the bait pile. If it was brown it was down. Spikes and does were piled in the truck beds and back to the city they went. It was a system that seemed to work. With names like Madoff and Blogovavich, politicions, hedge fund managers and corporate execs took a little time off to hunt with each other. Deals were made. Pockets were lined. Bush came late and hunted from his tinted window SUV with the lights and heater on. He never even turned the radio off. Then, this year there were no deer. So they drank and their trigger fingers got itchy.
Poor people with late mortgage payments and hardly any meat on their bones were the first to fall. Because the bankers had the most powerful guns and the most ammo the politicians didn't dare draw a bead on them. But fat under gunned auto execs looked mighty tasty, sneaking through the under brush. Brokerage houses were easy picking and by the end of the season all bets were off. No one was safe. For now it's left to the scavengers. For me, I have laundry, wood to get in and a house to finish building. That should keep me busy 'til spring. Four months until turkey season.
After two months in the woods I knew it wouldn't be easy to make the transition back to civilian life. I heard crows and looked up. Buzzards were circling the cieling fan. Was this the big one? Had I actually hit him? I followed my nose behind the woodstove and there it lay- not the monster buck, I had missed clean, but the foul coyote shredded carcass of the American system of government and finance. It seems an unethical hunter had gut shot his buddy and left him to die an ignoble death in the weeds. How could this have happened? Let's try to piece together the forensic evidence.
Once upon a time corporations and government hunted together. Each year they would don the blaze orange, load up the pick up trucks with apples and pumpkins and make their way to the mountains for a weekend of drinking, card playing and shooting around the bait pile. If it was brown it was down. Spikes and does were piled in the truck beds and back to the city they went. It was a system that seemed to work. With names like Madoff and Blogovavich, politicions, hedge fund managers and corporate execs took a little time off to hunt with each other. Deals were made. Pockets were lined. Bush came late and hunted from his tinted window SUV with the lights and heater on. He never even turned the radio off. Then, this year there were no deer. So they drank and their trigger fingers got itchy.
Poor people with late mortgage payments and hardly any meat on their bones were the first to fall. Because the bankers had the most powerful guns and the most ammo the politicians didn't dare draw a bead on them. But fat under gunned auto execs looked mighty tasty, sneaking through the under brush. Brokerage houses were easy picking and by the end of the season all bets were off. No one was safe. For now it's left to the scavengers. For me, I have laundry, wood to get in and a house to finish building. That should keep me busy 'til spring. Four months until turkey season.
Monday, December 15, 2008
2 FOR 8
That's the tally. I shot under 2 does with the bow before hitting one. Then I shot a buck with the .243, missed the big one with the slug gun, missed a doe with the .243 and two more with the muzzle loader. It's probably my worst season for misses. But, the good thing is I haven't wounded anything, shot myself (or anyone else)and there's two days left to redeem myself. This deer season has been long and hard. Since October 15th I've hunted almost full time. I'm broke, worn out and trying my damndest to put another in the freezer. For those citizens who think it's so easy to shoot Bambi, try the last two days of muzzle loader season. One day it's 5 degrees and ice. The next it's 50 degrees and rain. The deer are all spooked. Tomorrow they're calling for snow. Please let it be so.
The deer are holed up in pockets. Sitting in a stand and waiting for them to stroll by may work, but chances are you have to sneak up on them. The weather plays the most important role in this. Rain is good. Snow is better. So for the next two days I'll move. I stink. (Who has time to wash clothes?) My gun is finally sighted in. (I hope and pray). I have a half dozen shots left, tape for the barrel and my legs are strong. From all accounts no one shot the big one. At sunset tomorrow it's all over. The dark winter begins. I hear the market has gone to hell and the world is a dangerous place. I have to go back to work and deal with all the problems out at WSSP. Has Detroit been bailed out? Do I care? Not yet......
The deer are holed up in pockets. Sitting in a stand and waiting for them to stroll by may work, but chances are you have to sneak up on them. The weather plays the most important role in this. Rain is good. Snow is better. So for the next two days I'll move. I stink. (Who has time to wash clothes?) My gun is finally sighted in. (I hope and pray). I have a half dozen shots left, tape for the barrel and my legs are strong. From all accounts no one shot the big one. At sunset tomorrow it's all over. The dark winter begins. I hear the market has gone to hell and the world is a dangerous place. I have to go back to work and deal with all the problems out at WSSP. Has Detroit been bailed out? Do I care? Not yet......
Monday, December 8, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
WHY IT'S SO GOOD FOR ME
Not to say it's so bad for you, or to be braggy. But, I just have to say, that today reminds me of why I'm on this earth. First, let me catch you up on my doing. Because of a hard freeze and deer season, WSSP is on hold. Morris is on the septic problem and I'm forced to trust him. I hope he's right when he says "It's gonna work, Mike." Luckily I have a very understanding client. So I'm free to hunt. Deer season wise it has been hit and miss. After my miss at the big one I have seen less and less. Now resigned to take does, I have only had small bucks in my sights. Yesterday i missed a 100 yard shot at a doe in the last 5 mins. of shooting light. I should of had her.
Last night it snowed about an inch and in the morning it was dead calm. I went behind the school house and saw nothing but turkeys. Around 11am Savage Lynch, Bird, Al Blanchard,and Bobby Rowe were coming up to put on drives. Around 10 am the wind kicked up and it started to snow intermitently. This was perfect weather for drives. A deer drive is when you try to spook deer towards standers. And in this kind of weather, (wind swirling snow) either can get a shot.
So we started driving Elijah's towards the cemetery. Al and I stood and Bird, Savage and Bobby drove. They saw a whole bunch of deer early and didn't shoot. Al saw one but his eyes weren't adjusted so he didn't shoot. And I saw nothing.
Second drive was Al and I on the back ridge above Ray Gilkey's pushing to Bird, Bob and Savage. I saw 4 turkeys and a 4 pointer at the end. No shots. Third drive was GNJohn's swamp. They pushed 3 does to me and Al. I could've had a running shot, but decided to pass. Bird saw nothing. It was time for lunch. Let me just say that I couldn't be hunting with four finer individuals. Savage brought bologna sandwiches and I cookd up a venison steak. Al drank water and refused to eat and Bird had an apple. Bobby munched on chips. Low maintenance to a man.
The last drive of the day was behind The Denniston Farm Foundation house on GNJohn's Mountain. It was a new drive for us. I laid it out with maps and diagrams and was certain everyone knew where to go. Right. As Savage and I pushed, the others took their places. Five minutes into the drive I saw two does on the snowy ridge. I settled in and laid the gun over a rock. I didn't want to miss. The doe moved. i moved. Just when I had her broadside...I clicked off the safety and.....A SHOT! I thought it was Savage. It wasn't. The does bolted. I got on the radio and alerted Savage. I tried to get on the larger doe to no avail. Then another shot. Definitely Savage this time. I called. No response.
I continued up the hill and found Al. He said Bird was in a different spot than we agreed upon. CHRIST! He was worse than the old man and ex-wife Melanie put together. As the light began to fade and the snow blew i made my way back to the truck. Bobby looked forlorn. "What's wrong little buckeroo?" I asked. Seems he had gone into woods with an empty chamber. Three doe had stood in front of him pleading to be shot. He pulled up his gun. Click. I told him it was a way better story than shooting one. "And you?" I asked Savage. He had missed the first doe and had shot again at another coming from the other direction. "You get it?" He pulled a fez of hair from his pocket. It was the tip of a deer's tail. Now that is shooting.
And this is why it's so good. I just spent most of a day with four men I would trust with my life, chasing deer up and down snow covered, wind blown ridges, and came home with the bloody tip of a deer's tail. Then we proceeded to drink and rag on each other, as we relived the entire day. Listen to the evening news and hear how bad it is. Go deer hunting with men you trust and see how good it is.
Last night it snowed about an inch and in the morning it was dead calm. I went behind the school house and saw nothing but turkeys. Around 11am Savage Lynch, Bird, Al Blanchard,and Bobby Rowe were coming up to put on drives. Around 10 am the wind kicked up and it started to snow intermitently. This was perfect weather for drives. A deer drive is when you try to spook deer towards standers. And in this kind of weather, (wind swirling snow) either can get a shot.
So we started driving Elijah's towards the cemetery. Al and I stood and Bird, Savage and Bobby drove. They saw a whole bunch of deer early and didn't shoot. Al saw one but his eyes weren't adjusted so he didn't shoot. And I saw nothing.
Second drive was Al and I on the back ridge above Ray Gilkey's pushing to Bird, Bob and Savage. I saw 4 turkeys and a 4 pointer at the end. No shots. Third drive was GNJohn's swamp. They pushed 3 does to me and Al. I could've had a running shot, but decided to pass. Bird saw nothing. It was time for lunch. Let me just say that I couldn't be hunting with four finer individuals. Savage brought bologna sandwiches and I cookd up a venison steak. Al drank water and refused to eat and Bird had an apple. Bobby munched on chips. Low maintenance to a man.
The last drive of the day was behind The Denniston Farm Foundation house on GNJohn's Mountain. It was a new drive for us. I laid it out with maps and diagrams and was certain everyone knew where to go. Right. As Savage and I pushed, the others took their places. Five minutes into the drive I saw two does on the snowy ridge. I settled in and laid the gun over a rock. I didn't want to miss. The doe moved. i moved. Just when I had her broadside...I clicked off the safety and.....A SHOT! I thought it was Savage. It wasn't. The does bolted. I got on the radio and alerted Savage. I tried to get on the larger doe to no avail. Then another shot. Definitely Savage this time. I called. No response.
I continued up the hill and found Al. He said Bird was in a different spot than we agreed upon. CHRIST! He was worse than the old man and ex-wife Melanie put together. As the light began to fade and the snow blew i made my way back to the truck. Bobby looked forlorn. "What's wrong little buckeroo?" I asked. Seems he had gone into woods with an empty chamber. Three doe had stood in front of him pleading to be shot. He pulled up his gun. Click. I told him it was a way better story than shooting one. "And you?" I asked Savage. He had missed the first doe and had shot again at another coming from the other direction. "You get it?" He pulled a fez of hair from his pocket. It was the tip of a deer's tail. Now that is shooting.
And this is why it's so good. I just spent most of a day with four men I would trust with my life, chasing deer up and down snow covered, wind blown ridges, and came home with the bloody tip of a deer's tail. Then we proceeded to drink and rag on each other, as we relived the entire day. Listen to the evening news and hear how bad it is. Go deer hunting with men you trust and see how good it is.
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