Tuesday, November 9, 2010

It's Hunting Season, Again

Every year the testosterone in the male deer and the male Homo Sapien embark a collision course. 'Tis a yearly ritual. The deer are richly feed on "food plots" planted in the middle of nowhere to entice them  to grow enormous racks...horns, if you please. Hunters really ain't into deer. Hunters want a huge rack of horn to hang on a wall. The rest of the deer is really just a nusiance...but the hunting is all about feeding ones family, I say this tongue in cheek.

The price of a pound of deer for most hunters is about $225.00, and higher. In order to be a serious deer hunter one must walk the walk and talk the talk. I will begin to impress upon you the obligatory Toy List. You got to have a Ford Power Stroke 350 Diesel with 4 Wheel Drive, camo mud flaps, light bar, winch, a small trailer carrying two four wheel drive 60 HP 4 wheelers on the rear. These are a long term investment...two or three years...these become obsolete in two years. and must be replaced the third. Status must remains intact.

The living accommodations at deer camp are provided by Winnebago... a 27 footer. a palace on wheels with generator and satellite dish. Clothes, camo only, must be of Arctic quality to hunt in the "freezing North Ga hills." Two way radios are a must. A Garmin is a must.

Guns, OHMYGODGUNS. I almost forgot! Now we're getting somewhere. THAT'S really what this is all about. Big ones, loud ones, long ones, short one, side guns Tommy guns. illegal guns, assault guns. Sorry, ballistics are not my forte. I know what a 30-30 lever action is, Roy Rogers had one on his saddle. I know Marlin, Winchester, Remington, and kids in the Bronx make guns called ZIP guns.

I once had an Enfield 303, whatever the hell that is. I traded  it to Freddy Goodhart for a guitar.

Face it, I'm not a hunter...and I don't give a rip about guns. Sling shots, rocks, boomerangs...maybe. I know my Uncle John is devastated to hear me confess I am not a hunter. It's not un American not to be a hunter, is it?

Every fall before deer season at the hardware store you can hear men talking about their rifles; how far it will shoot and at what distance you're "sighted in". Occasionally, you'll hear someone tout his rifle as capable of knocking down a deer at 500 yards. Christ, you'd have to put salt on the bullet to keep the meat from spoiling before you got there.

So, now we have Deer, Hunter man, Guns, Knives...what next? THE BEARD! You have to have a beard to kill a deer. You start the beard in August as you spend countless hours planting hormone ladden "feed plots" in 90 degree weather, usually after a long day's work. I know it itches...but.

The season starts...the wagon are circled, the beer in the coolers, the camp cook at work, the ball game on TV, no women around to say "Yes Dear" to. West and Wewaxation at Wast.

Up at 4:00 AM...sit in a tree stand. Deer don't look up unless you call your buddy on the walkie talkie to tell him you see a deer. Let some walk by because you really don't want to disturb your nap by having to crawl out of you heated tree stand.

Stay up there till full light, go back to camp and eat bacon, sausage, eggs, pancakes chocolate cake, two more ham biscuits, and a quart of coffee. Sleep till noon, meander out for the evening hunt, come back.help field dress a deer or two, have a brewsky or two, lie about the big one you let go 'cause it was coming right at you... and do it for 6 more days. FUN, FUN, FUN.

Know what really gets an adult male hunters goat? A 10 year old boy killing a 14 point buck.  It is just NOT fair. The BIG BLACK BEARD ALWAYS gets the BIG BUCK. Rule: Don't take young men to camp for training....they make you look bad.

The deer slayer comes home. He deposits  his small spike buck at the processing plant to be rendered in to white packages with red print. At home, proclaims that he killed biggest baddest deer in the land,  it pawed the ground and charged my BIG BLACK BEARD from 30 feet away and was climbing the tree. I was in (what the hell do women know about deer). I was very nearly gored. I had my bowie knife, 357 Magnum and semi automatic 50 millimeter Deer Hater rifle and some black stuff under my eyes so he couldn't see me too good. The deer did the right thing, and died after I shot at him 6 times running right at me...from  200 yards...Deer huting is a little like fishing ...they get further and further away the more the story is told,

Paddle go off to the shower, beer in hand, to get 7 days of "pong" off yo'self....at the urging of you wife and children. (Pong, a great Australian word, meaning smells  BAD.) Shave your BIG BLACK BEARD  and go off to work the next morning. Refreshed, Renewed, Rejuvenated...feeling like an Old Spice man, knowing the world is rid of one more killer deer...the children are safe.

As a deer hunter, you have contributed to the local economy, in no small way. You have gotten your deer that will keep your family alive for another winter. Trouble is, nobody in the family wants to eat Bambi.

Too bad you can't hunt Hamburger Helper with a BIG BLACK BEARD. Happy Hunting.

2 comments:

  1. This is probably my favorite of your excellent posts, Dad. GUNSOHMYGODGUNS! Oh, how I laughed!

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  2. Paw, what can I say but wow! You have a gift. I laughed and laughed. Read it to Tim who laughed as well!

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