By The Light Of The Silvery Moon

I could have used Lord Baltimore in the deer woods with me the other evening. For those of you who aren't familiar with the reference, Lord Baltimore was the legendary, half-Indian tracker, hired by E.H. Harriman to track down Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. In the movie, Lord Balitmore could track anything over any kind of terrain.

I was in need of a good tracker last night, since I am apparently lacking in that department. Yesterday, just about dark, Mr. 8 Pointer and a buddy of his, finally paid a second visit to my bait pile and I made what I thought was a perfect shot on him. But at the end of the evening, I was in my truck heading to Atlanta without any fresh venison in the back.

It was Wednesday evening, and I had managed to slip out of work a tad early. I was in my stand by 4PM. Sometime around 5:30, Mr. 8 Pointer and another small buck wandered into my corn pile. Both were eating casually, and I stood and drew back on Mr. 8. He was standing next to an old stump that I had previously measured with my range finder at 20 yards. He was positioned perfectly parallel to me, completely broadside. I took careful aim just behind his shoulder and let my arrow fly. I heard a loud SNAP! and the buck whirled in mid-air and sprinted back into the woods from which he came. I just KNEW I had made a clean shot.

After several minutes, I climbed down and walked over to the spot I shot the deer and began tracking him back into the swamp. About twenty feet from where he was standing I found my arrow, broken off at the shaft about three inches below the broad head.

AWESOME! The arrow had passed through the deer and it woud be just a matter of time before I found Mr. 8 Pointer's lifeless body. But upon further inspection, I noticed the broad head had very little blood on it-just a little hair and a fatty-type substance.

I had at least a good twenty minutes of light left so I started making circles from the spot I last saw the retreating deer. But as the light faded into night, I still hadn't located my buck. I flipped on my Mini Mag Light and called Danielle on my cell to inform her that it may be a long night in the deer woods.

For the next hour and a half I searched the surrounding area with no luck. I couldn't find so much as a drop of blood. Eventually my Mini-Mag's battery's began to dwindle and I was forced to go back to the truck and fetch my giant spotlight. For the next two and a half hours I searched a radius of over a mile, still nothing. Through creek beds, swamps, briar thickets, and cow pastures I looked for that stupid deer. Even when my spotlight faded, I searched by the light of the full moon. But I still came up empty handed.

Sometime around 11PM, I gave up the hunt. There was nothing more I could do. As I headed back to the truck and across the cow pasture which was now bathed in a silvery, lunar glow, I heard the distant howl of a pack of coyotes. They were carrying on like crazy about a mile from my location in the precise direction of my wounded buck. I felt certain they had found my deer and were enjoying a free meal thanks to Yours Truly.

"You're welcome, you filthy animals." I thought. Oh well, at least somebody gets to eat some fresh venison tonight. Bon Apetit!

Nothing Doing

Well I saw deer last night, which keeps the streak alive of seeing the four-legged critters at the deer woods. But I didn't see anything worth nocking an arrow for- just a few slick heads and yearlings. I wonder what's happened to Mr. 8 Pointer? I hoping he didn't wander off and find some other hunter's bait pile.

Still it was a good afternoon to be in the woods and to quote the wisdom of the popular bumper sticker-A bad day huntin' is better than a good workin'. Amen to that. I actually didn't take the entire day off, but I did manage to sneak out around 2 PM. When I arrived at the office that morning I wasn't about to leave my bow in the backseat of the truck to tempt some parking deck-loitering homeless vagrant. So I decided to take it into the office with me. I quickly hustled across the street with my bow case in hand, careful not to be spotted by one of Atlanta's Finest. They'd probably haul me off in cuffs thinking I was some disgruntled office worker coming to impale his fellow employees with a couple of titanium-tipped broad heads.

Slipping by the cops, I got into the building and was waiting for the elevator on the lower level when some elderly blue-haired lady walked up. There was definitely an awkward silence as she stared at my large, camouflaged bow case. Eventually the inevitable happened.

"So what's in the case?" she asked.

I considered saying a tuba.

"A bow."

"Oh...what do you use a bow for?"

Awkward pause.

"For deer hunting. I'm going hunting after work." I said.

"How CRUEL." She pronounced the word cruel as if Dick Cheney and I were about to water-board a six year-old child.

Finally the elevator door opened and as we rode up I proceeded to explain the ethics of hunting and the nutritional benefits of wild game to this lady. I even evoked the name Teddy Roosevelt. Blue Hair simply smiled politely and nodded her head in agreement. The elevator bell eventually dinged and the doors opened as we reached her floor.

"How CRUEL," she hissed in my direction as the doors closed behind her.

I really can't stand ignorant people.